Spike didn’t hear Beth come into the room a while later, didn’t even realise she was there until she was by his side, whispering his name.  He looked up in surprise, registered who it was and tried to smile.

“Angel went to pick up your friend.  They should be here soon.”

“Right.”

“Take a break.”

“No, I…”

“He’s not going anywhere.”  She squeezed Spike’s shoulder; he almost crumbled under the touch.  “I’ll stay with him.  I want to be with him.”  Spike nodded appreciatively and rose, began a slow walk to the door.  “Spike…”  The vampire looked back.  “We’re here for you too.  Because you’re loved for yourself, you know.  Not as an extension of Alex.”

Proving the kindest words are sometimes the hardest to hear.

Outside the room, Spike leant back against the wall and closed his eyes, craved a cigarette for the first time in months, lost all track of time.

Images: Xander posing in the studio, stretched and naked; Xander playing scales on the piano; Xander working out, sweat-drenched body glistening in the sunlight, tantalisingly out of reach; Xander in the back of the Merc, coming in his pants; Xander begging not to be hurt by the demon; Xander in the garden at midnight, slowly stripping off and lying in the damp grass: ‘Ride me?’; Xander promising, promising to be there, always be there.

“Spike?”

Spike opened his eyes and turned his head in time to see Willow along the corridor, breaking into a run to get to him those few seconds quicker.  Arms open he moved toward her, catching her as she sped into his embrace.  They folded into one another, clinging to the comfort.

“Did Angel tell you what we’re going to do?” Spike asked when he was finally able to speak.  Willow nodded against his shoulder.  “Think it’ll work?”

“I don’t know.  But I want you to give Xander a chance.”

“It’s worth the risk?”

“It’s worth the risk.”

They pulled back and looked at one another, seeing the mutual upset and fear.

“I won’t if…”

“Do it.”

“You don’t want time to think about it?”

“Angel says Xander’s condition is deteriorating.  You have to do it soon.  Before it’s too late.  Do it.”

Spike led Willow into the relative’s room, introducing her to Patrick, Jake, Rafe and Moira.  She shook their hands in turn, feeling she knew them already because Xander had spoken about them at length during his visits to her.  She shared that, and they all smiled unsteadily.

An awkward pause, and everyone seemed to be waiting, looking to Spike and waiting.  He took a deep breath.

“I want to take Xander off the ventilator.”

The indignant uprising Spike had been expecting never materialised.  There was yet more silence, much thought, many exchanged glances as people tried to assimilate the idea and the possible consequences.  After twenty difficult minutes Patrick removed a sheet of paper from his pocket and handed it to Spike, speaking as it was unfolded and read.

“It’s Alex’s living will.  He gave me the authority to make that kind of decision.”

“But since Spike is here…” Angel began.

“It’s the one part of his Grim Reaper documentation Alex chose not to update.”

Spike passed the paper to Willow, not sure whether to be saddened, angry, frustrated, or simply rejoice that he had been relieved of making the decision.

“It’s plain that Xander didn’t want extreme measures used to keep him alive if – if…” Willow couldn’t say the words but the point was made.

Patrick came to Spike, took his hands, looked deep into his eyes.  Whatever he saw there reassured him.

“It’s up to you, Spike.  You have our support.”

“Fucking hell,” the vampire whispered miserably as his head dropped.  Edging Patrick aside, Willow pulled Spike possessively to her, hugging him tightly.  She could barely hear his next words.  “It’s happening, Will.  I’m ballsing everything up and I’m going to kill him.”

“No.  You’re going to save him.  Please be brave, Spike.  Please.  I can’t be brave for us both.”

“Willow,” came Angel’s voice from behind her.  “Go and see Xander.  Say what you need to.”

Angel looked to Patrick, asking for his help.  He got it.

“Yes.  We all need to say goodbye.  In case…”

He stopped as Jake sank into a chair, dropping his face into his hands, shaking with the effort of trying to hold it all together.  Spike slipped away from Willow and sat beside the distraught young man, showing no hesitation before putting an arm around him and pulling him close.

“Say no.  Say no and we don’t do this.”

Jake shook his head vigorously.

“But you’re right.  Lexy would have hated this.  Let him decide.  Let him go if he wants to.  He always knows best.”  He gave a brief hoarse laugh.  “Least that’s what he always tells me.”

Pausing to squeeze her hand, Patrick took the living will back from Willow and studied it unseeingly.

“I’ll speak to the doctors.  They’ll need to check this over with the hospital’s administrators before they take any action.  I’ll sign whatever’s necessary.”

He looked to Spike and received a grateful nod in return.

“Pat.  I’ll come with you,” Jake volunteered, making himself cope.  “Legal issues.  I should be there.”

“You up to it?”

“I have to be.”  Jake fought to level the tremble in his voice.  “Let’s get him off that damn machine and allow him some dignity.”

The two men left.

“Going in?” Spike asked Willow.

“Will you come with me?”

“I need…  I need some time with Angel.”

“Oh.  Yes.  Of course you do.  I’ll…umm…”

“Beth’s with Xander.  She’ll make sure you’re okay.”

“I’ll…  In a minute.”

Spike turned to where Rafe and Moira sat, hands clutched together, silently inconsolable.  He went to them, crouching in front of them in an attempt to make eye contact, covering their hands with his own.

“Say no.”  The couple shook their heads in tandem, depriving Spike of his final excuse to prevaricate.  “Go in and see him.”

Moira looked at him and Spike was sure he saw in her face what Angel had seen in his earlier.

“I can’t,” she whispered.  “I can’t see him…”

The words were swept away by a flood of tears, and Rafe gently gathered her closer before exchanging a look with Spike that said, yes, they would go in to say goodbye.  Both of them.

Spike stood and turned, exchanging nervous glances with Willow and Angel before leaving the room, the older vampire in pursuit.

…

Willow stood outside Xander’s room, trying to find the courage to go in.  When she eventually entered, it was to just inside the doorway: physically unable to take another step, trapped by fear, struggling to see past the machines and tubes and bags and monitors.  Beth was fussing over Xander, carefully picking dried blood out of his hair.  She looked up and over to Willow.

“Hello, I’m Beth.  You must be Willow?”  Willow nodded, eyes finally fixed on Xander, still too scared to move or speak.  “Come and see him,” Beth said gently.  “It’s like he’s sleeping.  He’s just asleep.”

Willow’s chin began to tremble, tears welled in her eyes.  Beth came to fetch her, putting an arm around her trembling shoulders and easing her over to where she could see her friend better.

“Xander…” was all Willow could manage before her throat constricted.

“See?  Just asleep.”

No.  Not just asleep.  Black and blue and purple and red and bloodied and broken and dying.  Willow began to sob, letting herself be hugged and comforted by this stranger whose unmistakable love for Xander made them instant friends.

The first rush of tears passed and Willow let Beth put Xander’s hand in hers.  She held on grimly, however much the lack of response hurt.

“He’s going to…”

“Be fine.  I think he’s going to be fine,” Beth insisted, doggedly positive.

“Spike wants him taken off the ventilator.”

“I knew he would.  I don’t blame him.”

“Patrick and Jake are talking to the doctors.”

“Did you come alone, Willow?”

Willow nodded.

“It was in the letter.  Xander left a letter in case anything bad ever happened to him.  He said he wanted me to come alone.”

“Selfish boy,” Beth smiled.

“No,” Willow tried to smile back.  “Our friends, the people who would have come, have been through a lot and he didn’t want them reminded of bad times, or for them to remember him like…like…”

“We subject the people we love best to the very worst.  Poor consolation, I know, but he obviously trusts you beyond the others.”

“We’ve always been close.  I miss him all the time.  He was coming to see me at Christmas but Spike couldn’t face it,” Willow said distractedly as she ran her fingertips over the goatee.  “This is new.  I never saw this.”

“He hasn’t had it more than a few weeks.  It suits him.”  Beth gazed affectionately at Xander.  “He’s a very handsome man, yet he doesn’t really know it.  He jokes about being, and I quote, ‘Totally fucking gorgeous’, but he doesn’t believe what he says.”  Willow heard Xander’s voice in her head and nodded.  “Self-deprecation.  It makes him all the more endearing.  But it’s cruel that he should find it so hard to believe that people admire him and love him.”  Beth turned to Willow, and her voice shook with emotion.  “We do.  We do love him.”

“I know.  He spoke about you a lot.  All of you.  He calls you his family.  His other family.”

They remained in silence for a while, then Willow began telling Xander about how Dawn and Buffy were, and the difference his monetary gifts had made to them all; she spoke about the shop and how well it was doing thanks to the input of capital; she confessed that Oz had left her, but it was her fault, and knew Xander wouldn’t be surprised at that; assured him that she would call Giles later and see if he could fly over for a visit.

Beth touched her shoulder.

“I’m going to see what’s happening.  Will you be all right?”

“I’m fine now.  As fine as I’m going to be.  Thank you.”  With another touch, Beth turned to go.  “Can I tell you?” Willow said quickly.  Beth turned back.  “Because I have to say it to someone and I can’t say it to Spike.”  Beth came and took her hand.  Willowed swallowed hard, tears threatening to spill.  “It’s terrible.  Xander’s so badly hurt and all I could think about, all the way here, was me.  It’s me I’m feeling sorry for.  That is terrible, isn’t it?  You can say it’s terrible.”

“That’s not terrible.  That’s the way we love.  We love selfishly.  And why shouldn’t we?  I’ll say I don’t want to lose Alex, and that’s as much for me as it is for him.  I’ve been there, I’ve lost, I don’t want to go there again.”

“Yes,” Willow agreed emphatically.  “Because, because, there was…  Someone.  And all I could think of…all I could see…”

“I know.  You never get over losing someone you love that much.”

“Did…did Xander tell you?” Willow asked in a whisper.

Beth shook her head, tenderly stroked Willow’s cheek.

“He didn’t have to.”

Head dropping onto Beth’s shoulder, Willow wept as she hadn’t for years.

…

In the deep shade of the garage, and behind the dark glass of the Jag’s windows, Spike and Angel sat in as much privacy as they could hope to find.  Angel waited patiently for any indication from Spike that they were going ahead with their arrangement, but his grand-childe was silent and withdrawn.

“Spike…”

“Don’t rush me.”

“If you leave it too long he’ll be close to death and you’ll turn him without meaning to.”

“It doesn’t work like that.”

“Doesn’t it?”

Spike frowned at Angel.

“I d’know, does it?”

“Want to risk it?”

“No, but…”  Spike took a deep breath, forced himself to reveal what was playing on his mind.  “What if I kill him by doing this?  Assuming he can survive coming off the ventilator, what if the effect of the blood is too extreme and I finish him off?”

“Is this rhetorical?”

“Free-for-all.  Shove your oar in, be my guest.”

“You’re giving him a chance to live.  More than that, a chance to recover, to be himself again.”

“But what if…”

“Just take care with how much blood you feed him.  A little at a time, watch his reaction.”

“That simple?” Spike snorted.  “Great.  Watch his reaction.  Watch him—  Oh, fuck, he can’t die,” Spike finished weakly.  Angel tried to figure out what Patrick would do at this moment before awkwardly reaching over to take Spike’s hand, surprised when Spike accepted the gesture and hung tightly on; Angel could feel the trembling but had no idea what Patrick would do about that.  “We wasted all that time and now he’s going to die.”  Spike fell silent for several minutes before a sad smile touched his mouth.  “There’s this old song.  Says, ‘If it wasn’t for bad luck, I wouldn’t have no luck at all.’  Back in Sunnydale, me and Xander used to joke about it being written for us because if something’s going to go wrong for anyone, it’ll go wrong for us.  Either of us, both of us, together, apart, didn’t matter.  This is…this is spectacularly bad though.  Even for us.”  There was the sad smile again as he looked to Angel.  “Wrong of me, innit?  Prattling on about luck and he’s dying.  I always knew I’d lose him.  Just didn’t think it’d be yet.”

“You can’t give up, Spike.”

“Can’t I?  Shows what you know.  You don’t understand me, and you certainly don’t understand me and Xander.”

“I’m trying to,” Angel offered.

Spike turned to Angel, ready to let fly with a vitriolic comment.  But his grand-sire looked as lost and miserable as he felt, and the comment was replaced by self-interrogation as he wondered why he was taking this out on Angel.  How Angel had got to be the bad guy.  He glanced down to where their hands were still joined.

“Promise me you’ll let me go if he dies.  I won’t do this until you give me your word.”

“You would recover in time.”

“I don’t want to recover in time,” Spike insisted through clenched teeth.  “I’ve had enough and without Xander there’s no point in…  Look, I know you think I’m a piece of shit and not worthy of respect, but I’m asking you to respect this decision.  Promise me.”

“If you’ll promise me we can talk first.”

“All I’ll have to say is, ‘Xander’s dead.  Goodbye’.”

“You agree and I’ll agree.”

“Oh, fuck you!”

“I’ll take that as a yes.”

Spike glared at Angel for as long as it took him to remember why they were fighting, what they were about to do.  As in here, now.  Blood, feed, sire, childe.  He drew the hand he held closer, turning it to study the wrist, running a light touch over the smooth skin.  Abruptly, he pushed the hand back toward Angel.

“You open it up.”  Angel slowly shook his head.  “Why not?”

“Drop the seats back.”

Spike didn’t question this, and they both adjusted their seats until they were lying side by side.  Angel undid the neck of his shirt, pulling the material aside.  Spike’s eyes widened with surprise.

“I can’t do that.”

“Why not?  If I’m offering?”

“It’s too…”

Spike couldn’t find the words, all he knew was that his sire – his sire – was turning his face aside and provocatively gifting his neck like a subordinate.  No.  Like a lover.  Still not right.  Like someone…like someone…who wanted to be loved.  If Spike couldn’t appreciate that he could appreciate nothing.  With a shiver he moved nearer to Angel, running one hand behind his head, the other beneath his shoulders, and he brought them close, face nuzzling Angel’s neck.  Still he hesitated: Angel’s passivity was not enough and they both knew it.

“Drink, Childe,” Angel whispered.

Game face.  Improbably gently, Spike sank his fangs into skin the flavour of a thousand memories.  An affectionate growl emerged involuntarily as the rush of blood filled his mouth: liquid life, power, knowledge, sex; the strength of it was overpowering and Spike drank mindlessly.  Drank until a hand in his hair eased him away.  Withdrawing his fangs, Spike lapped up the last of the blood as Angel’s flesh healed beneath his tongue.

“Thank you, Sire.”

“You don’t have to thank me.”

“Xander’s taught me some manners,” Spike smirked.  Then remembered.  The thrill of the blood gave way to the crushing knowledge of Xander’s condition.  Guilt knotted his guts.

“He’s made you tender,” Angel observed.

“No, that’s me,” Spike said brusquely as he pulled away from his grand-sire.  “That’s William’s influence.  I can’t be bothered to pretend I’m any different, even for you.“

They adjusted the seats and climbed from the Jag, began walking back to where Xander was dying.

“This is all too fast.  Happening too fast.”

“I know.”

“D’you think they accepted it too easily?” Spike asked.

Angel took a guess at what he was referring to.

“Taking him off the ventilator?”  Spike nodded; Angel thought.  “They were expecting it.”

“You reckon?”

Angel thought some more.

“There’s something…” he started unsurely.

“Don’t even have to go there.  There’s something, all right.  And you didn’t get to feel the energy that Patrick usually pumps out.”  Spike’s voice dropped as he thought about that.  “Coping with this must be draining him: he’s besotted with Xander, y’know.”

“Yes, I know, you’ve told me several hundred times.”

“Oh.  Didn’t think I’d mentioned it.”

Angel gave a soft laugh at that: Spike never stopped talking about Xander.

“This…something.  Any chance it’s malevolent?”

“Don’t think so.  If I’d’ve thought that I’d’ve had Xander away from here, from them, whatever it took.”  Angel nodded, brow furrowing.  “That’s it.  You have a nice old mull and tell me when it’s all figured out, eh?”

In the elevator, Spike started to breathe, short, sharp breaths; Angel took a sideways glance, took in the clenched jaw, clenched muscles, clenched fists.

“Up to this?”

“No choice,” Spike replied tensely.

“Want to wait a while?”

“No.”  Pause.  “You gave your word, remember?”

“I remember.”

“How long till sunrise?”

The scene when they entered Xander’s room was too much like the picture Spike…  William.  …had summoned up on the way here: Jake at Xander’s left, Rafe and Moira in the corner, Pat and Beth at the foot of the bed.  But there was Willow at Xander’s right, moving aside to give Spike room.  Instead, Spike hugged her while Angel went to say his goodbye, watching as his sire kissed Xander’s forehead.  Barely heard him whisper, ‘Honoured Consort’.  And then he was beside them, taking Willow.  Jake moved away from the bed, giving Spike a little more privacy.

Another of those long, difficult walks that peppered his life, Spike made his way to what could laughingly be called Xander’s good side, horrified once again by the condition of his partner.  Angel had been right to worry about Spike’s state of mind.  Minds.  Retreat had never looked more appealing, the Spike persona teetering on the brink of losing cohesion.  William was so close to the surface now and his despair was quietly frantic.  Forget the past, forget the infatuation of over a century before, forget the obligation of caring for Drusilla; William had never been in love before Xander.  We can save him.  But only together.  Give me the strength, Spike told William, taking a deep, deep breath and, literally, pulling himself together.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, Spike leant down and pressed his cheek against Xander’s.  Xander proving that he could juggle with four eggs until poked in the ribs.  A long silent moment as Spike readied himself to say goodbye.  Xander kissing the Merc goodnight.  But goodbye was never going to pass the cold lips that kissed the corner of Xander’s mouth.  Xander rocking him, rocking him and making it all better.  The cold lips that pressed to Xander’s ear.

“Please don’t leave me.  Xander, please.”  Xander: warm, alive.  Warm.  Alive.  “I know I’ve never been good enough, but please don’t go.  Give me time to prove myself worthy.  Please don’t leave me.”  Darling Xander…

The doctor arrived.  Spike barely listened to her legally necessary words of caution, just wanted to get this part over with so he could have his own crack at killing Xander.  He stood back, arms wrapped around himself in a pointless bid to stop the shaking, watching as doctor and technician set about stealing Xander’s breath away with clinical efficiency.  Registering warmth close by, Spike realised Jake was beside him.  He took a glance at the young man’s face, and the fact that Xander was so loved hit him hard, hard enough to make him tell the doctor to stop.  Almost.  He remained silent.  As silent as the disconnected ventilator.

Xander didn’t breathe.

Jake turned to run and Spike’s hand shot out, grasping his arm and forcing him to remain.

Xander didn’t breathe.

Willow whispered to Xander, over and over, begging him to try.

Xander didn’t breathe.

Spike listened to Xander’s heartbeat weakening and experienced distant thoughts about sunshine.

Xander didn’t breathe.

A subsonic growl from Angel.

Blood.  Spike released Jake and stepped forward, picking up the glass from beside the bed, taking a mouthful of water before biting his tongue.  Brushing the technician aside, ignoring the doctor’s protests, he pressed his mouth to Xander’s, sharing the diluted blood, gently rubbing Xander’s throat to encourage him to swallow.  He felt movement, a minor tremor under his hand.  More water, more blood.  Definite swallow, albeit an autonomic not conscious response.  Then…  A single, rasping inhalation.  Followed by stillness.

Xander didn’t breathe.

Spike bit harder into his tongue, prepared to risk the blood neat.  To those watching it looked like nothing more than a kiss.  But as Spike withdrew, Xander’s body responded to the trickle of powerful liquid that was rapidly permeating his system.

“C’mon, Xander.  No-one’s challenging your right to be the stubbornest git on the planet, you’ve got nothing to prove here.  Breathe for Spike.”

Xander…

Breathed.

The assembled group listened anxiously, collectively clinging to each rattle as oxygen was drawn, as Xander breathed for Spike.  And Xander kept on breathing.  Ignoring the bemused look that flashed between doctor and technician, Spike ‘kissed’ Xander once more, and the rattle soon smoothed to a dull whistle.  Spike looked over questioningly as he heard Willow’s tearful giggle.

“Sleeping beauty,” she apologetically laughed through her sniffles.

Spike saw relief, maybe subdued happiness on other faces, and he wished he could explain to his new family that this was no longer about giving Xander the chance to die without being attached to machines, but giving Xander the chance to live.  Exactly as Angel had said, and was that really less than an hour ago?

…

Spike was finally left alone with Xander, and he sat clutching his hand as he contemplated the next move.  Okay, the tiny amount of blood used so far hadn’t harmed Xander, had in fact helped him and the doctor had cautiously pronounced Xander’s condition critical yet stable, but there was still danger in introducing larger quantities to the human’s fragile body.

“Wish you could tell me what to do.  Don’t think you realise how much I need you to do the thinking for me.  Every day, there’s at least one moment when I need you to make up my mind for me.  Angel gives me this look, and I can’t tell if he understands that it’s a part of me missing you, or if he’s just full of pity because I’m vague and hollow and not who I was, or if…if I’m just pissing him off.  I hope I’m just pissing him off,” Spike finished with a smile.  He played with Xander’s fingers, kissing every tip.

“Who’ll forgive me if I get this wrong, Xander?  I could kill you with too much, kill you with not enough.  Keep you alive but damaged; make you whole and see your heart explode with the strain.  Not sure if I’m brave enough for this.”  More kisses, transferring to the broken skin on Xander’s wrist where the ID bracelet had been ripped away.  Xander…belongs to Spike.

“And who says you’ll wake up?  Doctor doesn’t.”  Spike laughed quietly as he remembered:  “Sleeping beauty.  That’s right.  Sleeping beauty.  I can wait a century.  Whatever happens, I’ll take you home, look after you.  You won’t be in here any longer than you have to, because I know you hate these places, don’t you?  I’ll take you home and look after you.  For always.”

Spike moved from the chair to the edge of the bed, lifting his wrist and slicing it open with fangs that dropped and retreated in seconds.  Gently opening Xander’s mouth, he pressed his wrist to it, trying to judge how much blood he was giving, but what good was judgement without knowledge?  This was terrifyingly random.  Kill or cure and a whole batch of in-betweens that didn’t bear thinking about.  Spike stroked Xander’s throat, waiting in trepidation, expecting…what?  A strong tremor through the otherwise immobile body made Spike snatch his wrist away, licking it to heal the wound as he watched Xander with desperate eyes, the mantra in his head simplified to a basic, Don’t die don’t die don’t die…  Several more tremors as violent as the first, then Xander was still once more.

Spike listened hard.  Breathing was a little clearer, but the squeaks and creaks, gushes and gurglings remained unaltered.  Risk more?  He felt the too-familiar prickling sensation of imminent tears and knew that it was himself he was feeling sorry for now.  He shifted slightly and laid over Xander, pressing his face into the centre of the gently rising, falling chest, kissing the mottled skin.

“Don’t know what I’m playing at.  And I hate loving you so much it makes me scared to take chances.”  He ran his lips over the distinct boot mark that marred the flesh over Xander’s ribs.  “Tell me, Xander.  Tell me what to do.”  No response.  Of course, no response.  “Okay.  Going to give you some more blood.  If that’s a bad thing, tell me to stop.”  Nothing.  “Got us a plan then.”

Repossession 51       Repossession Index       Repossession Notes

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