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Part 47 |
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One week. Xander had great difficulty accepting that he was going to walk into an empty house at the end of every day. There was an element of denial working for him, and it was certainly easier to cling to that than face up to the prospect of this loneliness for the foreseeable future. He spent time in Spike’s studio, realising how out of touch he was with what the vampire had been doing before he left. There were hundreds of sketches that Spike had drawn of Xander, even several portraits he’d never seen before. There was a complete series of drawings that depicted Xander from waking, through stages of arousal, to completion. Some of the pictures were breathtakingly erotic, and Xander, thinking of Spike thinking of him, got hard as he studied; he desperately wanted to know if the vampire had been as turned on as he drew, if he’d got so horny he’d had to stop and jerk off. I shouldn’t have to wonder, I should have been here, I should’ve made the time. We could’ve been sharing these and fucking like crazy. Other books were full of
preliminary sketches, women he knew in passing as acquaintances of Beth: cute
women and handsome women and beautiful women, stunningly captured for lucky
husbands, boyfriends, girlfriends. This
one, Xander barely knew her, couldn’t remember her name, semi-naked and turning
a look so provocative on the artist that Xander’s fingers itched to tear the
sketches from the book and rip them – her – to shreds. A huge surge of jealousy and Xander began to
go through the drawers of Spike’s desk, looking for who knows what but finding
a diary and not even having the decency to hesitate before invading his partner’s
privacy. He flicked through the pages,
finding names and times, often in Beth’s handwriting. Notes told of mediums used for portraits,
dates when they’d need to be ready, and figures reflected what Spike had been
paid for the work. He must have been
so excited, and he didn’t get to share it with me. Back into the drawer and Xander found
paperwork relating to a bank account and a list of deposits showing that that
was where all the money had gone. And the expressions Spike had captured on those women’s faces… Always women. Guess he’d feel safer with women. …were so sensual. Desirous. For Spike. Xander wasn’t fooling himself, those looks were for Spike, and Spike was so damned gorgeous he deserved them. Had anyone offered more than a look? And had Spike… No, no, no, no, NO! On too few dates in the diary was Xander’s name, drawn in illuminated letters and decorated until every fraction of the paper was covered. Big guilt as Xander realised these were the days they’d had sex; bigger guilt still as he accepted they were special enough occasions for Spike to mark in this way. He must have been so lonely, so frustrated. But he never pushed, he never complained, he…accepted. The better person. He always was the better person. When he comes back I’ll fix things at work, make changes to give me time with him, this won’t happen again, I won’t leave him alone again. When he comes back? If he comes back. In the bottom drawer of the desk Xander found drawings of Spike, wonderful drawings, but each of them ripped into several pieces as if the artist had found it impossible to be satisfied with what he’d produced. Xander went into the computer to try and find the photographs they’d been taken from but Spike was too clever for him… Why did he have to be so good at this? Why’d he have to be so smart and learn so fast? He was hacking into protected sites in the time it took me to figure out how to get rid of that fucking paper clip. If he’d act his damn age and be a technological dinosaur I’d be in here. …and all the files were locked and protected in ways that consistently defeated Xander’s unimpressive computer skills. The only reward for his persistence was the system spectacularly crashing. Xander took the torn pictures and patiently taped them back together, sitting up an entire night without noticing the time as he pieced together the scraps. Choosing a favourite, he scanned it into the computer, using an art programme to tidy up the remaining damage before printing it out in several sizes. The largest he fixed to the wall of the living room, the smallest was slipped into his wallet. Just looking at that beautiful face made his chest tighten with love and regret, and his hand was on the phone a dozen times in ten minutes. But he didn’t choose me. It was always too much to hope that he’d want me for long, that the novelty wouldn’t wear off. I had more than I ever expected. No messages on the answering machine. … Two weeks. Patrick called Xander into his office, sat
him down, offered him a trip to Xander came home, house horribly
silent after the celebrations in There were a few messages on the machine, nothing from Spike, but then that hadn’t honestly been expected. … Three weeks. Xander stared at his bank statement with disbelief. Two of the bonuses he’d been due since last year had finally gone through and there were seven figures plus change staring back at him. He wanted, always wanted to spend every last cent on Spike, but…no Spike. Oh, God, no Spike. I can’t do this. After quick calls to Jake and the
bank to ensure his wealth wasn’t a typographical error, Xander decided it was
about time he helped out the less prosperous side of his family. He sat down and wrote substantial cheques to He thought about a new look, about
how Alex Harris, who could afford to write cheques to the value of
four-hundred-thousand dollars without blinking, who wasn’t slowly dying inside
from grief, should present himself.
Deliberately avoiding the store where No messages. Xander checked all the connections on the machine. Thought about buying a more reliable model. … Four weeks. Turning slowly before the mirror, Xander checked out the makeover. He liked the haircut, liked the ‘tache and goatee, liked the new clothes. It was as if the guy in the reflection wasn’t him. And he liked that best of all. He was fussed over and feted at work, entering his office to find a huge banner strung across the room, several-hundred helium-filled balloons clinging to the ceiling, and Jake looking very pleased with himself. “You didn’t have to do this.” “Kidding, right? You only turn thirty once. Unless you’re going to lie about your age.” “You know what Beth gave me? Moisturiser. What does that say?” Jake laughed and took a good look at Xander. “That what’s left is worth preserving?” “LEXYLEXYLEXY!” Rafe hollered his way into the office, gifts under one arm, files under the other. Everything was dropped as he approached Xander and pulled him into a bear-hug, planting a sloppy economy-size kiss on his forehead. Xander cringed under the onslaught but held Rafe back, and for an instant it was incredibly painful: the friendship, the contact tore into his loneliness and aggressively stirred. Xander turned his face into Rafe’s neck, wanting to hide himself away, knowing his breathing was so rough it was making a public announcement of his barely contained misery. A large hand cradled the back of Xander’s head and didn’t so much stroke as scratch, fingers tangling carelessly in the expensively cut hair. “It’s okay,” he heard Jake say to Rafe in a confidential voice that was too serious to be serious. “Beth gave him moisturiser for his birthday. He didn’t take the hint too well.” “Wait until next year. That’s support hose and she gets offended if you don’t wear it.” “How does she check?” “You don’t want to know,” was the ominous reply. It was just too ridiculous and Xander started to chuckle. “Sorry,” he said against Rafe’s shoulder. “Was I always like this?” “Never like this,” Jake confirmed grimly. “That’s okay, honey,” Rafe crooned as he patted Xander’s head. “We understand. You’re gay now.” The poorly suppressed humour in Rafe’s supposedly tender voice was all Xander needed, and he broke into gales of laughter, pushing away from Rafe to go and sit on the edge of his desk as he wiped his eyes. One look at his colleagues trying to keep straight faces and his laughter rang out once more. He just about had it under control when Patrick came in to see him. “Party at Donny’s tonight.” “I really don’t…” “Say no and I take your car away.” “Yes, party, fantastic, so in the mood.” “Christien’s getting here at two-thirty, can you take care of him?” “Sure. I’ve got plenty of stuff to go through with him.” “Excellent.” Patrick slapped his hands together and rubbed. “Good day planned.” He turned to go, looked back and peered at Xander. “Alex, you look great. Have you been…using moisturiser?” Patrick moved fast and the rolodex from Xander’s desk bounced harmlessly off the back of the door. … Home early to change for the party. A few cards in the mail; family photos from Cordelia, and Xander once again thanked any and all Gods that she’d managed to get away from Angel before the Hyperion had, literally, come crashing down; wonderfully long letter from Giles. Xander checked the answering machine. His Sunnydale girls singing a very bad version of Happy Birthday, followed by sweet individual messages from each of them. No-one said, ‘Say hi to Spike’. They knew. Showered, dried, co-ordinately
perfumed and deodorised from jaw to feet, dressed, rotating before the mirror
yet again. What Spike wanted. Leather and silk. Probably not the colours he wanted, not the
Angel colours. … After the first six beers Xander conceded that the party had been a good idea. After sharing one or two or possibly several joints with Jake he thought it was the best idea ever. He danced with anyone and everyone, proved you could waltz… ‘I can’t learn to waltz, I’m too clumsy.’ ‘Clumsy, bollocks! C’mere, I’ll be the bint…’ …to every musical genre on the jukebox, and, with a little help from his business partners, convinced the room that if karaoke wasn’t dead, it deserved to be nailed down and buried alive. He ended the night with some good-natured bickering with Christien about one of the details on the theatre project and, after the offer to settle the point by arm-wrestling was declined, Xander dragged the Dane out of the bar and across the road to the office. “So, Alex, how is Spike? I was surprised not to see him tonight.” “Upped and went,” Xander smiled ruefully, grateful for the marijuana buffer. “You’d think I’d be used to it by now, but… That’s life, I guess.” Christien drifted to Xander’s side of the desk and Xander shifted a blueprint a little further in his direction, tapping on a certain area. “This is where your problem is, and no amount of—” Xander’s voice broke off as he felt the Dane’s hand slide around his waist. “Uh…Chris…” “He must be a very foolish man,” Christien said sympathetically. “To leave you.” “It’s not like that.” “It’s okay, it happens to us all.” More than slightly flummoxed, Xander turned, hoping to escape the hot hand gently stroking his side, but his inebriated reflexes were too slow and Christien managed to stay in touch, get both arms around him. “This isn’t a good idea,” Xander insisted, trying to back off but finding himself trapped by his own traitorous desk. Christien shushed him before moving in for a kiss. Xander froze in absolute shock as a warm mouth covered his own. Oh. My. God. OhmyGod! I’m being kissed by a guy. I’m being kissed. By a guy. A guy who isn’t Spike. A live guy. Xander’s chilled-out hormones were warming up, slipping Xander a vision of fucking this man, being fucked. Could I pretend? His hair isn’t as blond. His eyes aren’t so blue. Accent’s wrong. He’s a hundred years younger. But could I pretend? No. Betrayal wasn’t exactly sexy. Spike is gonna be so mad with me. Fucking do something to make it stop, Harris! Xander managed to break the kiss momentarily before there was a hand at the back of his head, encouraging him to stay. As Xander opened his mouth to protest Christien’s tongue glided between his lips. The action brought Xander to his senses and he shoved Christien away from him. “Alex?” “You’ve got it wrong, you’ve got it all wrong. When I said Spike went away I meant he went away for now because he goes to stay with – with family every so often and I hate him going and he’s gone but it’s for now and not going to be for long because he goes and he comes back every time.” Okay, babble. Babble is good. And getting away from him. Get away from him. Xander awkwardly skirted the desk and weaved away from Christien. “I love him and I only want him and it’s not like I’m not flattered but I’m really not flattered even and I don’t want this so…no.” Xander took a deep breath and, despite knowing it was appallingly offensive, couldn’t help vigorously wiping his mouth. “I’m sorry, I misunderstood.” “Okay, you misunderstood,” Xander accepted brusquely. He flung a hand in the direction of the blueprint. “Now, we can look at this or you can go. No, better still, you go and we’ll look at this on Monday and we’ll forget about what’s just happened and you will never lay a hand on…” Spike’s property “…me again. We clear?” “Perfectly clear.” Xander took a look at the other man’s face and saw the contrition. Ah, fuck, he’s a nice guy, I know he’s a nice guy. In another life… Xander took a deep breath, tried to miraculously sober up. “I’m sorry, Chris. I’m sorry. Overreacting here, but I will not do a thing to hurt Spike.” Christien gave a weak smile and nodded, collecting his coat and heading for the door. “What were you thinking?” a bemused Xander asked before he could get there. Christien turned back with a shrug, not quite sure whether the question was rhetorical or called for an answer. He gave it a shot. “I was thinking how attractive you are. How lonely you seem, and maybe I could make a difference to that. I was thinking how wonderful you smell,” he smiled apologetically. “I thought it would be nice to kiss you. I was right.” “I didn’t want you to do that.” “Didn’t you? You’ve been flirting with me all evening,” Christien pointed out gently. “I… No, I haven’t, I don’t.” The Dane took a tired breath and sighed it away. “Okay. You haven’t and you don’t. I offer my apologies once more. I hope I haven’t offended you.” “No,” Xander replied quietly, still preoccupied by Christien’s suggestion. Xander waited in silence until Christien left; as he turned he noticed his reflection in the window. Xander, not Alex. Xander, dressed like… Fuck knows. What was I thinking? I’m pathetic. When did I get pathetic? “Hey, come up and see my blueprints.” Wish that’d worked in high school. “God, I’m drunk,” he told the other Xander who wouldn’t quit staring at him. “Drunk and even more stupid than usual because I’m drunk. And I don’t…flirt.” Xander wiped his lips again and again, finally making himself a coffee, drinking it black and scalding, attempting to scour the taste of someone who wasn’t Spike from his mouth. He sat at the desk and tried to wrap his addled mind around what next. Okay. The sensible thing is not to tell Spike. Ever. That’s the sensible thing. But if I don’t tell Spike I don’t get Spike making me feel better for being a jerk and letting this happen. He’ll say I’m oblivious. I am oblivious. One less thing to argue about. He’s gonna be so mad. I want him to care enough to be mad. Maybe…maybe he’ll be mad enough to come straight home. Xander reached for the phone, hand falling back as his thoughts continued. Or maybe he’ll laugh at me and tell me to fuck off. Because, let’s face it, making me feel better isn’t a Spike priority at the moment. He hasn’t even called. Okay, I haven’t called either but it isn’t his birthday. But I… But if… No, because… I told him to fuck off and he fucked off. The truth finally hit Xander. He fucked off. I told him to go and he went. Spike went because I told him to go. He went. It’s over. I busted us up. “Your loss, Xander.
Fuck you!” “No. Please.” “Your loss, Xander.
Fuck you!” “Please, sweetheart, no. Please…” Xander wanted to get away from the pain of that: he stood, too fast. The booze and the dope hit him and he swayed violently before dropping back into his chair. All he wanted was to go home, to find a message from Spike telling him he was on his way back, that he loved Xander, that Xander hadn’t busted them up. I busted us up. Xander put a hand over his heart, needing to know if it was still beating despite being broken. “Hey,” came a voice from the doorway. “Jay,” Xander observed, feeling a swell of gratitude. “Where’s Chris?” his friend asked as he strolled, in a casual semi-stoned way, toward the desk. “Gone.” Jake nodded. “He made a pass.” “I was worried about that.” “You were… Do I flirt?” Jake considered. “You were flirting tonight,” he replied honestly. “With everybody, not Chris particularly. Kinda…I-need-attention flirting, not wanna-get-laid flirting. Cute.” Xander groaned and dropped his face into his hands. “I’ve got a cab waiting. I’m taking you home.” “I wanna go home,” Xander agreed as he dropped his hands to the arm rests, shakily pushing himself to his feet. “Uh-oh.” He reeled against the edge of the desk, perching there and hoping the world would slow down. “Man, you’re wasted,” Jake chuckled before taking a few definite steps in Xander’s direction, slowly helping him to his feet and carefully balancing him before fetching his coat and easing it on. “He kissed me. Lasted a couple of seconds but now I can’t taste Spike anymore,” Xander whispered miserably. “I didn’t know he was going to do that and now I can’t taste Spike anymore.” “Let’s go home, huh? You’ll feel better tomorrow.” Head spinning, Xander took a sharp breath, trusting that Jake wouldn’t let him fall flat on his face. “’Kay, Lexy?” “’Kay, Jay.” “We gonna try…walking and whatever?” “Fucking Christien. How fucking dare he?” Despite the content, the delivery was subdued. “Yeah. That was wrong. He shouldn’t have done that.” “But he’s nice. He likes me. And I guess I wouldn’t have minded if I hadn’t minded so much.” Beat. “Uh-huh.” Leaning against Jake, Xander unconsciously rested his brow against his friend’s. “I don’t know if he loves me anymore.” “Christien?” “Spike.” “He loves you.” “It’s over. I busted us up. It’s over.” “He loves you,” Jake reiterated. Xander tilted his head back to meet Jake’s eyes, rocking until Jake grabbed him by the shoulders. “You think?” “I know. We both know.” “But I was flirting,” Xander said, tearing up for the umpteenth time. “He goes away and I’m…I’m… Which is wrong. I don’t and I wouldn’t but Chris said and you said.” “It doesn’t matter.” “It matters. Spike doesn’t know and maybe he shouldn’t but maybe I should I mean no maybe I do and if I do maybe he should because… Because… I mean… I don’t know what I mean. Can we go home now?” “Wanna try the walking thing?” Xander nodded weakly, letting Jake take his hand and lead him. … Jake checked the machine at Xander’s request. “There’s a message. You want to hear?” “If it’s not my baby, scrap it,” Xander called from the midst of disorganised clatter in the kitchen, because if there was one thing he’d learnt from a Master vampire it was that inebriation and bacon sandwiches were a marriage made in a heavenly dimension. “Don’t you want to know…” “Not Spike, scrap it.” “Sure?” “Sure.” Jake pressed play. “Xander, it’s Angel…” Sad and disappointed on his friend’s behalf, Jake clicked delete.
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