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Part 48 |
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Five weeks. He doesn’t want me. I don’t think I can go on like this. Without him. But he doesn’t want me. Was he waiting for me to send him away? Waiting for me to say the words so he would be considered blameless when he went to be with Angel? Does it matter? He doesn’t want me. I’d make the call if I thought he wanted me. But he doesn’t want me. I made him choose and he chose. Not me. I could call. Quick call. Just be good to know he’s okay. Hear his voice. Quick call. Which I’d make if I wasn’t so damn scared. Rather hear nothing at all than fuck off. Because fuck off works. It’s how you bust up. At the kitchen table, specially sharpened knife in his hand. Xander pressed the point into the tender skin of his inner arm, slowly slicing it open, letting the blood well and spill. Focusing the pain, focusing the pain and bringing it to one particular spot, focusing the pain and bringing it to one particular spot and releasing it in a swell of crimson. Controlling the pain, the only way he’d ever found to control the pain, discovered by accident, literally, a month after he’d left Sunnydale, left Spike. Repeatedly dipping a fingertip into the growing pool on the table, Xander wrote: S – P – I – K – E. There was just enough blood to frame it, which looked nice, and Xander smiled approvingly. He laid his left forearm flat, palm up, and picked up the knife for a second time. The blade glinted as Xander positioned it two inches from the inside of his elbow, started to write for a second time: S – P… The ‘I’ was the cut he’d just made, that worked well, kept it tidy …K – E. The scarlet letters were mouth-wateringly vivid against their pale backdrop; Xander admired his handiwork and wished this would scar. But he didn’t scar easily, not physically at least. The first year away from Sunnydale had taught him that. Add his natural resilience to the effect of vampire’s blood which he was still experiencing despite not taking any for weeks, and his skin would be blemish-free in three days max. The few scars he had retained over the years were from feeding Spike, because he had constantly picked at them so they’d never heal well. That would no longer work. To get these letters to scar he’d probably have to go deep enough to kill himself and that wasn’t what he wanted. Not yet. He waited for the bleeding to stop, cleaned up after himself, and went to the living room (determinedly ignoring the answering machine as it determinedly ignored him) to talk to the picture of Spike on the wall. Usually he would babble on for hours to his silent companion but today… Today he had used the knife to regain a little control and he was quiet, calm. Numb. Xander stroked the image, assured it of his love, showed it the tribute on his arm. Would Spike’ve loved this or hated it? Told me off for wasting the blood, maybe. Or got horny, blood made him horny. Never enough to fuck me though, never enough to claim me, make me his Consort. See why now. A Consort is for life, not just for… Amazing. How does that work? Still feeling the pain despite being numb? Shock? Doesn’t make any sense at all. Nothing makes any sense. You don’t love someone this much and tell them to fuck off. They don’t love you as much as they say and go. I could call. ‘Your loss, Xander.
Fuck you!’ Or maybe I couldn’t. … Six weeks. Xander checked the text message on his cell phone and swore. The third occasion in a week he’d been called to a site because of people trying to steal materials. By the time he and the cops arrived it would be too late, the thieves would be long gone, and all that was left was the making of more pointless statements. He called the night-watchman at Preston Hill and told him to notify the local precinct but not to get the cops out. Then he called Patrick and told him what was happening, refusing to let Patrick meet him at the site because why should both of their evenings be a write-off? Especially when Xander’s plans consisted of doing nothing but staring at a picture on the wall and maybe bringing out the knife if he got desperate enough. Besides, Xander was superficially happy to spend an hour or two with the watchman, a young harmless demon who’d wanted a solitary, nocturnal position to allow him time to pursue his one true love: the penning of bad pulp fiction for a surprisingly popular demonic publication. Samuel had, naturally, been drawn to Xander and found him kind and sympathetic to his needs, and now looked up from his work with a welcoming smile as Xander stepped into the site office. “Hey, Sammy. Anything new?” “They came, they went, they haven’t returned.” “Same three guys, you think?” “I didn’t see them clearly,” Samuel shrugged apologetically. “If you’d let me…” “No. You stay in here, you don’t go chasing off after anyone. It’s not safe. I’d rather the insurance claim was for materials than medical expenses.” “You think the insurance would cover my kind of hospital?” Samuel enquired with a toothy smile. “Let’s try not to find out. How about the security cameras?” “The men are masked; they keep to the shadows.” “I told Pat they were a waste of money.” Xander looked over the demon’s shoulder at the A4 pad on the desk. “What ya working on?” “The Case of the Human Attaché.” “Attaché as in…ambassador?” “As in briefcase. Case, attaché, case, attaché,” Samuel grinned widely. “Attaché case.” Xander returned the grin. “Yeah, I got it. Just wasn’t sure if I wanted to. Like to read me some?” “Can I?” The demon flushed a light blue with pleasure, one of the few indicators that belied his human appearance. “Would you like to hear the transition?” “Y’mean with the skinning and general luggage manufacturing?” “I’m particularly pleased with some of the descriptive sequences. I’d value your opinion.” Xander started to make very strong coffee. “Sure. It’ll be just like a trip back home.” “How is your Master?” Samuel asked politely and, despite the screaming inside his head and the torment within his heart, Xander smiled because Samuel always asked when he considered the moment to be appropriate, and always asked with apparently due reverence. “Not around right now,” Xander said diplomatically, knowing the young demon would, for various reasons, be horrified by Spike’s departure. “But I’m sure he’s just fine.” “Do you think…do you think I might meet him one day?” “Umm…maybe, maybe…” Xander stalled. “But, y’know, I like to keep my work and my private life separate. Why d’you want to meet him?” “It would be such an honour. I’ve never met a Master before, and to meet a Master vampire…” Samuel almost bounced in his seat with excitement. “I’ll see what I can do.” Xander finished making the coffee, wondering how Samuel would take the news that he’d told his Master to fuck off. He wasn’t looking forward to telling… Who was he kidding? Jake had figured out he hadn’t called Spike; as soon as he’d returned to work instead of taking his planned leave, Patrick had guessed that something had gone very wrong; if one knew they all knew. Xander took a deep breath, plastered that fucking stupid ‘everything’s great’ smile back on his face and turned. “Okay. Let’s hear it.” An hour later they were discussing techniques of curing human skin to make suitably sturdy leather for a whole range of luggage items when Xander shot up in his seat. “Alex?” “Alarm.” Samuel quickly checked the control board. “No, it’s the Merc. Tell you, if some punk’s messing with my car I’ll skin ‘em and you can try out the attaché case for yourself.” The demon began to follow Xander as he headed off. “No, stay here. I’ll be back in a few.” Xander had had to park further away from the site entrance than he preferred, and he grumbled his frustration as he hurried in the direction of the alarm. “’Kay, baby, daddy’s on his way.” Xander trotted around the last corner, aiming the alarm control at the car as he did so. The alarm cut out immediately but Xander was also immobilised, staring open-mouthed at what someone had done to his beautiful Mercedes. A pickaxe. A pickaxe was buried in the hood. The information took some assimilating. A pickaxe. Was buried. In the hood. Distantly knowing he should do something, not having a clue what, Xander stood in absolute shock trying to take in the violation. Too stunned for clear thought, for any emotional reaction other than the pricking of tears behind his eyes because this was too much on top of everything else, way too much on top of losing Spike; he registered the keys cutting flesh within his clenched fist, but he didn’t register the sound of footsteps behind him, approaching fast. Xander never knew what hit him. … Spike was a resilient demon. He’d lived through the attentions of Angelus and the Initiative and a whole lifetime of nasties trying to take a bite out of him, figuratively and factually. But he’d never experienced fear like it. From the moment he’d heard the words… “Spike, it’s Patrick. I need you to be calm and listen to me…” …he’d known it was bad. Really bad. He’d listened numbly for a while, barely able to respond to the information that Patrick was carefully imparting; when Angel had walked into the room and reacted to the expression on Spike’s face, rushing to support him in some capacity, he’d gladly relinquished phone and control to his grand-sire. Call finished, the older vampire slid the phone into Spike’s pocket and tried to make eye contact. “We’ll leave right now. Take the Jag. You want me to drive?” Nod. “Get your things together.” Angel waited for some kind of movement. Nothing. “Spike, get your things together.” “Why?” Spike asked absently. “Because you’ll have to stay and look after him. You won’t be back here for a while.” “I’m going to lose him.” “You don’t know that. Where are the keys, the car keys?” No answer and Angel went through Spike’s pockets to find them. “Get a grip, Spike.” “The last thing I said to him…” Spike murmured. “We don’t have time for this now. We’ll talk in the car.” Angel accepted that his urgency was not transmitting to his grand-childe and he grasped Spike’s shoulders, giving him a shake. “Spike, snap out of it. Spike!” The younger vampire tried to brush Angel off, stepping back. “I can’t do this. Can’t go. Can’t watch him die.” “We’re going. You’ve got five minutes. Then, whether you’re ready or not, we’re going. Even if I have to carry you kicking and screaming to the car, and you make the entire trip locked in the trunk.” Spike’s head dropped, his whole body radiating defeat. Angel roughly took Spike’s chin and brought his head up until they were eye to eye. “You have to be strong. It’s your turn to be strong for Xander.” “I can’t do this.” “What are you going to do then?” Spike shrugged. “Give up on him and let him die thinking you don’t give a damn? Is he right?” Spike instinctively lashed out, catching Angel squarely on the jaw and sending him flying halfway across the room. He sat up slowly, giving his head a quick shake to clear it, blinking a few times before focusing on his trembling, growling grand-childe. “That’s better. Now pack.” … Spike was in a daze during the journey. At the edge of his senses he could hear himself panting with fear – a truly hateful sound – but he had no idea of how to stop it. This was unreal, a prime-time tale of horror, a sicker joke than anything the Hellmouth could throw up. He’d thought about it theoretically in context with turning but, in fact, losing Xander was marginally beyond a reality he was able to grasp. But Spike was trying his best, struggling to prepare himself for the moment when there was no Xander; when his existence would have no meaning, eternity would be a laughable concept, and the sunrise couldn’t arrive quickly enough. He wanted retreat. He could still vaguely recall the peace, the blissful experience of being safe and cosseted; in its deepest state it felt a little like floating, in warmth and comfort and… Like being held by Xander. Somehow, everything that was good felt like Xander, how Xander made him feel. Something he was terrified he’d never get the chance to feel again. He wanted retreat. He didn’t want the cold realities of this world, he didn’t want more pain, he didn’t want loss, he wanted…retreat. And it brought about the strangest sensation inside him: it was painful, but there was no pain, tearing with nothing torn, nauseating but without nausea. Dizzy, dizzy, dizzy. Spike swallowed hard. Shook until he thought he would rattle apart. He was disintegrating in the most literal sense. The single, collected flow of thoughts was jaggedly breaking apart, his essence was breaking apart, and there seemed to be nothing he could do to stop it. ‘You will not think of the sunrise,’ reverberated sharply, independently, inside his head. It surprised him: recently he had ceased to think about William and integration because the process was almost complete. Now undone. He sought William, sought this separate entity out, drawing him from the depths and desperately seeking consolation… Retreat. Let me retreat. …only to be rejected and sent back to the here and now. ‘I will be present but you must face this. Xander will need you,’ William insisted before slipping away, leaving Spike to face his fears. “Tell me something,” Angel said, coaxing Spike’s focus outward. “Something?” “About Xander. You and Xander. That I don’t know.” “Me and Xander…” Spike thought, raked through the memories for…something. “Flowers. He likes flowers. I buy them for him every week, there’re always fresh flowers in the house. Well…maybe not now, right now. He loves the garden, and I was thinking of getting some roses planted so… I hope he…” Spike drifted away again, remembering a red rose on a pillow. “Something else.” No response. “Spike. Something else?” “I can’t…” “Yes, you can.” “I…” Spike thought some more. “He relaxes upside-down.” “Upside-down?” “He’ll work out, swim, then do a headstand up against a wall and stay there. Quiet.” “Quiet? Xander?” Angel smiled: a quiet Xander was a novelty. “What do you do to amuse yourself when he’s quietly upside down?” “Blow him,” Spike answered with simple honesty. Angel smiled again but Spike didn’t see, couldn’t see past the picture in his mind of his beautiful human. His beautiful human who was apparently horribly damaged. “I’ve been such a fucking idiot, what is the matter with me! Letting him be alone… I should have been there whether he wanted me or not. And you… Why didn’t you do something!” “Because you’re such an easy person to do something for, isn’t that right?” “You should have…” “I phoned him.” “You—” “Phoned him.” “Phoned him.” “On his birthday.” “On his birthday.” “Is there an echo in here?” “He tell you to fuck off too?” “He wasn’t there and I left a message.” “And?” “And nothing. He never called back.” “What did you say?” “That I wanted to talk to him if he was ready. He obviously wasn’t ready…” Angel carried on talking, moving
from the subject of phone calls to what was closer to hand; Spike faded in and
out, catching fragments. Important to
see Xander. Understand what. Regret it if.
Accept. Not too late to. Hypocritical.
Capacity for evil. Soul to
love. Demon raging. And Xander is family. Patrick calling Spike tried to tune out completely, leaning his head back and closing his eyes. Images burst into his mind like a succession of fireworks: Xander laughing and squirming beneath him, trying to be mad as Spike marked his neck; Xander at work, successful, confident, determined; Xander swimming, graceful and sleek; Xander furious, hurt, and telling him to fuck off; Xander making love to him, making love to him; Xander washing the cars, getting soapier and wetter and sexier with every Spike-originated splash; Xander pretending not to cry at TV shows featuring improbably miraculous reunions between estranged fathers and sons; Xander dancing, captivated by his music; Xander shaking with lust as an unworthy vampire toyed with his body, begging… Inside. Touch me inside. …and writhing… There, that’s… Oh, fuck, Spike. Oh, wow. Wow. …and being… Please, let me… …absolutely… Fuck, Spike, yes! …perfect. Spike softly keened and Angel took a sideways glance, fairly sure his boy didn’t know he was making the sound and feeling so incredibly bad for him. He reached over, couldn’t touch, pulled back. “Not long now,” he said, needing to make some kind of gesture. Spike nodded, turning his face away. “You’re not going to tell me everything’ll be fine then?” “I want to.” “But you can’t.” Beat. “No, I can’t.” Spike nodded again, and Angel tried to shut off as the keening resumed … It was a bad dream in slow motion. Angel parking the Jag in the underground car park, Spike out before the car had stopped moving and racing through the hospital to find the area Patrick had given him directions to. Gabbled introduction to the nurse and being ushered to a private room. Sudden. Profound. Stillness. Spike took in his surroundings in one snapshot moment. The machines, the bed, Xander lying there so still and pale. Rafe and Moira in the far corner, Moira’s face buried in her husband’s chest as he shushed and hugged her. Patrick and Beth at the foot of the bed, wearing masks of pain. Jake sitting at Xander’s side and clutching his left hand, an unceasing stream of tears pouring down the young man’s face. The chair to Xander’s right was empty and Spike felt Angel guide him to it, sitting him down, putting Xander’s hand in his. Spike frowned, wondering why his senses were closing down at this precise moment, when he needed so badly to hear the beat of Xander’s heart, feel the heat of his lover’s touch on his icy hands. He glanced perplexedly up at Angel, feeling his sire’s unsteady grasp on his shoulder. Spike looked back to Xander, squeezing the inanimate hand, letting the truth filter through his defences. “Xander?” he whispered, sounding lost and hopeless and far too fragile to cope with this. The sound of bones cracking in Xander’s hand alerted Spike to exactly how ferocious his grip was. But he couldn’t relax it, couldn’t let go. “Xander…” I’m in love with you. I can’t remember not being in love with
you…Alexander Harris is the man who is willing to share your life, to give you
everything you want…You’re a desperately evil creature, you know that? And I love you more than words can say…You
thinking you’ve made a great mistake and sex is always going to be boring with
me?…Prick you and I bleed…Can you be proud of me? What I’ve achieved for us?…I’ve got you and this
is for always. It’s perfectly real…Nobody
can take away what’s mine. You’re mine… Xander… Gonna keep you buck naked for a
week and just fuck you and fuck you and fuck you…I claim you and it’s
forever. From this moment on it’s like
no-one else ever touched you. You’re
pure. And you’re mine…You mean
tonight? I got you to come more than
anyone else ever did?…I’m not funny. I’m
bitter and twisted…Because you’re the only person I’ve ever met that I can’t
live without?…I’m not afraid to love you. The only thing I’m scared of is
losing you. Xander… I’d forgive you anything. I forgive you…I want to think about it all
day until I’m crazy with frustration. I
want to be desperate for you…We’re getting in the back…Can I touch you?…You, I
love more than should be possible. I am
in love with you and only you. You make
me happy and desperate and horny and fulfilled.
You make my life right…Whatever we call it, I always make love to
you…Say you're in love, in love with this guy…I think that I don’t deserve you,
but that all the shit in my life must have been payment for this…You’re so
beautiful. When you’re naked. When you’re hard for me. When I’m inside you. When you come. So goddamn fucking beautiful. So goddamn fucking beautiful. So goddamn fucking beautiful. Xander… Always me, sweetheart. Keep looking at Xander…I can be anything you
want me to be…You’re mine. And I will
take what’s mine…Am I ever careless with my property?…I needed you to want me
more than you’d ever wanted anyone else, I wanted you to say that…Worthy. Of my love, my life, my respect pride
devotion my desire body soul I don’t recognise that as me when do I look like
that you don’t like them calling me Alex do you Xander’ll keep you safe don’t
you worry you’re graceful and you’re beautiful and I’m so damn proud of you. Alexander… Fuckofffuckofffuckoffdon’tcallImeanitdon’tbotherjustfuckoff. ‘Be a sensible fragile mortal
and try not to get yourself killed, eh?’ Fuckofffuckofffuckoffdon’tcallImeanitdon’tbotherjustfuckoff. ‘Try not to get yourself
killed…’ The grip tightened. But it wasn’t as if he was hurting Xander. Xander would never be hurt again. Vampiric senses tingling, Spike knew that the sun was rising on his last day. A relief. Because. Because. His precious, his darling Xander, his reason for being was gone. And sometimes death was forever.
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