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Part 71 |
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Denial, denial, denial. Denial, denial, denial. Denial, denial, denial. Think I’m in denial. No, I have a Spike, not a hole in my chest where my heart used to be,
so everything’s fine. Abso-fucking-lutely fine. Denial. Denial. Denial. I have a hole in my chest where my heart used to be. Fuck. “What’re you up to?” “Shopping list. Thought I’d start with the kitchen. Crockery, glassware, mugs, microwave… Maybe I should just put ‘entire ground floor of our house’,” Xander tried a smile but couldn’t quite make it happen. “Seems pretty comprehensive.” “I can’t think. Keep getting stalled on the microwave. Association, I think.” The vampire’s poker-face didn’t waver, didn’t crack for a moment. “What time is Jake getting here?” “Soon.” Denial, denial, denial. Fuck. Can’t. “Spike…” “Go and get ready. You don’t want to keep him waiting.” “I am ready.” “Shave.” “Can’t be assed.” “You look prettier when you shave.” “Like that matters right now,” Xander snapped. “It does, love,” Spike said with a gentle smile that succeeded in expanding the hole in Xander’s chest. “You made a promise.” Brow wrinkling in distress, Xander turned away and stared at nothing. “Keep your promise,” Spike cajoled. Deep breath and Xander was
summoning his resources, being strong for Spike because, allegedly, he was often at his best when he was at
his worst. And this was worst. “I told you. I won’t let
you down.” Spike came to him, fingers on Xander’s jaw, nails scratching back
and forth in the stubble. “Shave.” Xander agreed with
a nod, and received a kiss for his obedience, a kiss that he didn’t want to let
go of and he dragged Spike into his arms to prolong it. Spike smoothly extracted himself from the
octopus manoeuvre, took Xander’s hands in his and repeated, “Shave.” “We talking about how you want to remember me? ‘Cause that isn’t helping.” “We’re talking about presenting a front. Want Jake to know how screwed up we
are?” Xander thought about that and gave
a slow shake of the head. “Get on with
it then.” “I can’t fool him.” “Then let’s try fooling us.”
Sharp nod this time, and Xander attempted to blink away the sorrow in
his eyes. “Car,” Spike added. “Car?” “Car. Drive. Jake.” “Shit, I can’t…” “Yes, you can. Go and make
yourself gorgeous.” Spike welcomed Jake in with an attitude that in no way suggested
he’d thought long and hard about this deceptively insignificant human knowing
that Xander smelt as sweet. Friends, after all, Spike and Jake: no need
for suspicion or wariness, and Spike only possibly wished there was a demonic
version of the Initiative who could dissect this one for him. Spike explained that Xander wouldn’t be long, and Jake said there
was no rush, asked Spike if he was coming along today, didn’t show any surprise
when the vampire said no. Spike watched
as Jake wandered into the living room and took in the stripped walls before turning
to the area with the most damage, stoking his fingers over the gashed plaster. “I remember Alex planning this before the two of you moved in,”
Jake said without checking to see if Spike had followed him. “The hours he spent poring over colours. All I kept hearing: ‘Wonder if Spike would
like this better than this,’ and two virtually identical colours to choose
from. He was so…” Jake’s voice faded and he moved to examine
the hole where a chair leg had been thrust through the wall. “Everything can be fixed. Just about anything
can be fixed if there’s a will.” “You think Xander shouldn’t be with me.” Almost a statement, almost a question, and it
emerged without Spike knowing it was on the way. It took Jake a while to respond.
He carried on looking round the room and hosted a heated mental debate
that Spike could practically see the subtitles for. Eventually he turned back to focus his
attention solely on Spike. “You make him happy.” “And you’re wondering how the hell I do that when…” Spike gestured to the state of the room. “I want him to be happy.
Ultimately that isn’t about…”
Jake mirrored Spike’s gesture before he gave the slightest smile. “I’d kinda like you to be happy as well.” “The two may not be mutually exclusive.” “Don’t hurt him,” Jake said softly as the smile turned off. “Please don’t hurt him.” Spike made a slow approach. “Tell me.” Jake paused, evidently considering what to reveal. “I was here when you weren’t.
I saw the damage you did by staying away.” “Xander told me…” “To fuck off, I know. He
explained that, repeatedly explained it.
Alex blaming himself doesn’t exonerate you.” “I know that. But I get
everything wrong.” “That’s a tidy little excuse.
Not a good one though. Use it and
it makes you…less.” Okay, that was probably true, Spike conceded to himself. There was too much honesty flying about here
and he didn’t fancy it at the moment; he left Jake and went back to the
kitchen, sitting on the counter and brooding. When Xander made his entrance it was plain he’d taken the fooling
themselves to heart: he was bright and cheerful, lifting the atmosphere with an
act that paid tribute to the years in Sunnydale he’d spent disguising the bad
and affecting the good. Spike listened
as Xander found Jake in the study and they talked computers, hearing the voices
becoming louder as they headed in his direction. Time to play his part, and he arranged his
features into something less sombre. “… and as long as it’s compatible with what we’re using at work…” “It’s our own software, we send our IT guy around, not a problem.” “So I can get something flashy instead of practical?” “Whatever turns you on. You
want our guy to try and save what’s on the old hard drive?” “I’m getting that done but not by our people.” “No?” “There’s personal stuff on there that I want kept private. So do not want to be the gay porn
screen-saver for October.” Xander
glanced over the list he’d been making earlier and added a few items. “Got to get another desk,” he said before
letting the bright front momentarily slip.
“I liked that desk,” he said regretfully. “Remember where you got it?” “I, er… I made it.” Out of the corner of his eye, Xander saw
Spike’s head drop to mask the expression on his face. “But that doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter. I wanted new, I’m getting new, and it doesn’t
matter. Spike, it doesn’t matter.” Tiny nod and Xander perked himself up. “Hey, c’mon, this isn’t a wake, this is
spending money and I love spending money.
I was well indoctrinated by my girls.” “They okay?” Jake asked. “Yeah, spoke to them last week.” “You seeing them soon?” Xander knew what Jake was fishing for and gave him an
uncomfortable look. “Hadn’t planned on it.” “You don’t still think…?
Oh, shit, you do.” “Leave it, okay? Humour
me.” “But it’s not you, you’d never hurt…” “Shut up, Jay!” Xander snapped, sounding like he meant it. Jake shoved his hands into the pockets of his
jeans and scowled. Xander took a look and
couldn’t fight back the short laugh.
“Now he’s hunched,” Xander told Spike.
“We’re not supposed to play with him when he’s hunched.” “Shutting up,” Jake said tersely, but it was impossible to miss
the humour beneath the surface. Xander spread paint cards out on the nearest surface and drummed
his fingers on them. “Okay…” Spike pushed himself to follow Xander’s lead. “So, the two of you are…?” “Picking colours and stuff. Walls, carpets, drapes, maybe if I see some lamps I like…” “You are going to look so gay.” “I am gay, and that’s something you should be grateful for.” “Frequently, love.” “There's nothing gay about painting walls,” Jake insisted. “You have some very strange ideas.” “You don't know the half of it.
If it was up to Spike we’d be back to the brickwork and accessorising
with lichens.” “Just try not to get mugged at the ruche and froufrou counter.” “D’you hate this place?” Xander demanded, trying to keep a straight face despite the ruche and froufrou. “No. Why?” “Well, I chose the colours and the designs and it was decorated before we moved in.” “And it’s very nice. Proves my point.” “It does?” “You can be so…gay.” Xander tossed his un-tossable hair and flounced away to the hall. “Fascist.” Spike watched him go with a smile and turned to Jake. “What are you laughing at?” Jake shook his head. “Fucking gorgeous, isn’he?” “Oh, yeah,” Jake agreed easily.
“You really don't want to come
with us then?” “Let me see, what's the time...”
He looked up at the wall and was reminded that the clock had been yet
another casualty. Jake offered wrist and
watch. Spike peered. “Eleven-twenty... Umm...nope, rather drop my tackle in a
blender.” Another burst of laughter.
Xander stuck his head around the door frame. “Hey, sweetie.” Spike
looked questioningly across. “Not you,
the other one. We off, baby?” Still giggling to himself, Jake strolled to the door. “I know we’re buying paint, and that’s pretty deep, but first date: I only hold hands.” “’Kay.” Xander reached out,
took his hand, led him to the front door.
Spike didn't join them. “One
second,” Xander told Jake. “I’ll be in the car.” Xander returned to Spike, taking his face in his hands and kissing
him. He looked deep into Spike's eyes,
totally serious now, allowing the knowledge of Spike's imminent departure space
to breathe. “I love you.” “I love you too, Xander. I
always do, I always will.” Another kiss,
gentle and so sad. “Don't keep Jake
waiting.” “No. Okay.” Xander started to go then returned, embracing Spike for a final
time. “You’ll come back?” “I… Xander…” “Even…even if it’s just to say goodbye?” Spike leant forward, touching their brows, closing his eyes against Xander’s distress. “Even if it’s just to say goodbye.” … Several hours later, Xander and Jake returned with a trunk and
rear seat packed full of chattels and decorating materials. They sat in silence for a few minutes while
Xander stared at his home and tried to find the courage to go inside. “Spike gone?” Jake asked quietly. “Yeah.” “For long?” Xander hesitated. “Maybe for long. Maybe for
good.” “We’ve had this conversation before.” Xander smiled sadly. “Right.” He popped the door
lock. “I’ll get the paint and stuff into
the garage, you take the kitchen.” Jake used Xander’s keys to open the front door then, after
disabling the alarm, returned and pulled the microwave from the back seat, precariously
balancing the kettle and toaster boxes on top.
Once in the kitchen he stopped and looked around. Felt.
He could feel Spike’s essence gradually dissipating but there was still
enough to tap into the emotions he’d been experiencing prior to his departure:
anger, frustration, fear – plenty of fear – and upset. Closing his eyes, Jake could see Spike taking
a last look at his home, whispering farewells to his absent lover, leaving in
tears. Shuddering and shaking the
sensations off, Jake crossed to the fridge to fetch a couple of beers, stopped
in his tracks by the damage to the door; he lightly touched the punch marks in
the steel before clenching his fist and fitting it into the most pronounced
indentation. Another shudder and then a
start as his cell phone rang. “Pádraig,” he acknowledged immediately as he answered. “It’s pretty much as we thought. … I’ll try to stay until I know he’s coping, but I can’t exactly cling to the doorframe by my fingernails if he wants me out. … He’ll want to be alone, you know that, it’s just how he is. … But he’s going to need you for the emotional repair work. … Because he always does. … Yeah, okay, I know. … I know. I’ll give him – I d’know, something. Just you make sure to keep Beth off my back. … I’ve got an idea, let me…” Jake glanced at the doorway as Xander came into the room. “Hold on.” He tossed the phone at Xander. “Here, speak to Father Hen.” “Hey, Pat. …
What’s he been saying?” As Xander talked, Jake left the kitchen and headed for the stairs,
running up and going straight to Spike’s studio. He knew what he wanted to do, the effect he
wanted to achieve, but whether to go for subtle, or something a little more
obvious? “Obvious,” he told himself, wavered, dithered, hated playing
around with this when it was not long but still too soon and he was terrified
he would be the one to screw everything up.
“Obvious.” He held his hand over the centre of Spike’s desk and focused, mind
zeroing in on the object he wanted. “C’mon, Paddy, give it up,” he muttered under his breath, smiling
at the ensuing gleam of electric-blue energy beneath his palm. Task completed, Jake snatched his hand away
and, after a quick glance at the result, he was on his way back to Xander,
pausing at the top of the stairs as he shuddered again and again, knowing he’d
be twitchy all night now. “Jay?” came loudly from the kitchen and he jumped violently. “Coffee or beer?” “Uh…beer,” he called back, succumbing to sudden laughter and going
with it, letting the tension out. “Not
great at covert operations,” he admitted to himself. But hopefully Xander would be happier later for his efforts. And it was Xander that mattered. … They sat outside with their drinks, making the most of a late hour
of sunshine, unexpected after the cloudy greyness of the day. “What now?” Jake asked. Xander turned on the bench and stared at the rear of the house. “Glass, I guess.” “They’ll have to dismantle part of the conservatory to get it in,
you know that?” Xander nodded. “I did think about having that wall redesigned, using smaller
panes so they could come through the house.” “Making provisions?” Xander
looked a question. “In case this becomes
a regular occurrence.” “Spike won’t do it again,” Xander insisted. “Don’t give me that look, he won’t.” “It must have been pretty scary.” “I think… I think I wound
him up to it. I think it was my
fault. That’s scary.” He warily looked to Jake for the expected
response; it didn’t come. Jake stared
down the garden and distractedly tapped his foot, drummed his fingers on the
bench arm. “Say it.” “Uh-uh.” “Shall I? ‘Cause I can
guess what you’re thinking.” “No, you can’t.” “Tell me then.” “Not thinking about your bizarre relationship. Not thinking about your whacko
boyfriend. Not thinking about you
irrationally taking the blame for him being off the planet.” “What are you thinking about then?” Xander smiled. Jake shrugged. “You think I should cut him loose?” “No. That’s the last thing
I want.” “What are you thinking about?” The fidgeting stopped for a moment. “Going out. Getting
laid. Or drunk. Or both.” “Sounds like a plan.” “Coming along for the getting drunk?” “I want to be here. Spike
might call and I should be here.” Xander
saw Jake’s uncertainty. “You go. Don’t worry about me. I’m…surprisingly okay.” “But is the act going to fall to pieces the minute I leave?” “Maybe,” Xander said after a moment’s thought. “And if that’s going to happen you have to
let me get on with it. Go. Get laid, get drunk, forget about me, huh?” “Yeah, but…” “But nothing. Go.” Another hesitation. “Go!” Of course, five minutes after Jake had gone Xander was wishing
he’d stayed. Staring at the telephone
didn’t appear to be having the desired effect, there wasn’t even the sense that
it was going to ring anytime soon. Once
or twice, Xander reached for the handset, picking up, putting down, up, down,
always reminding himself to give Spike a little space, that he’d call soon
enough. And he’d come back this
time. Even if it were just to say
goodbye. So why did a little voice in the back of Xander’s head keep saying
that he’d never see him again? The same
little voice that insisted on reminding Xander of Spike’s discontent,
proclaiming in strident tones the folly of expecting a vampire – a demon – to embrace domesticity and be
happy with a partner who couldn’t even participate in a sufficiently bloody
fuck when necessary. It didn’t feel as if the comforting fug of denial could last much
longer, and Xander thought maybe it would be better to be asleep, drugged and
out of it as his world crumbled apart yet again. Work tomorrow, so he could pretend it was
simply an early night because he was so tired.
That part was true, he felt absolutely exhausted. He’d probably look back on this week and
wonder how he’d managed to get through it, sound in body and mind. If he had.
No doubt he’d find out more about his mental state in the next few days. Back into another bout of wishing Jake had stayed and there was a
knock at the door. Xander knew instantly
that it was Patrick and headed for the hall at speed. He bustled Patrick in and through to the
kitchen, automatically switching on the kettle and searching through bags of
shopping for coffee and sugar. “I’m glad you’re here. I
wanted to ask you about the back wall in the living room. The design.
You remember how to be an architect?” Patrick chuckled. “Just about. You should
have Moira take a look, she’s better than me.” “But you’re here.” Xander
paused uncomfortably. “I don’t know what
you know. What Jake’s told you.” “I know you need a good glazier.” Xander nodded. “I know you need a good friend.” Xander crumpled against the counter, leaning his head in his hands. He felt a gentle stroke to his back and concentrated hard on it, trying to block out too many destructive thoughts. “So… Spike’s gone. Think you’ll be okay?” “No. Yeah. Wounded in action but I’ll live. Like Jay says, he comes, he goes, he comes and he goes.” “This isn’t right.” “Don’t criticise him,” Xander warned, “and don’t judge him, he has so many problems and I won’t listen to anybody…” “That isn’t what I meant.” Xander straightened up and studied his friend curiously. “You… Why do you feel like you’re letting us down? You do, don’t you?” Patrick gave a slow, sad smile. “I guess I’ve always been the one who had to find the answers. I can’t stop doing it. I want to help make things right for you.” “We’re not your responsibility.” “Yes, you are. Or do you understand nothing about friendship at all?” “Yeah, I do, but I don’t want you worrying about me. And I think it’s too late for either of us to do anything about Spike.” “It isn’t over. You and Spike.” “I don’t know. This time was different.” “It isn’t over,” Patrick insisted, as resolutely as Jake had. Xander smiled. “You know that?” “You know that. Just the fact that you can say it might be finished tells me you don’t believe it. If you believed it you’d be denying it with every breath.” About to argue the point, Xander thought twice and let it go. He made coffee, hopped onto the counter and sat back to watch Patrick’s scrunched ‘thinking’ face. The silence was long and comfortable, drawing on and on until Patrick turned to Xander with subdued excitement. “I have an idea.” Xander waited. “And this idea would be?” Xander waited some more. “An investment for the Partnership.” “Did you forget what you were supposed to be thinking about?” “Spike spends too much time alone in this house.” “He feels safe here.” “Sometimes too much safe is a bad thing. Especially if it has to be manufactured. How can he get better if he knows he has to be kept safe? That implies there is something he needs to be protected from and that in itself will make him feel less secure, not more.” “Where are you going with this?” “There are some units left in the mall beneath your old apartment. We’ll take one, turn it into a gallery. Something exclusive, open for a few hours each afternoon or evening. It could be Spike’s.” “You’re joking, right?” “Studio out the back, sittings, whatever he wants. Somewhere he’s already familiar with, and his own space, own place.” “You’re not joking,” Xander said, offering a fine display of stunned. “Beth would help.” “Yeah. She’s already pimping for him.” Patrick raised an eyebrow. “Artistically speaking,” Xander elucidated. “If it’s the Partnership’s financial responsibility he can have a great time wasting our money, and re-learn independence, develop some self-confidence at the same time.” “He is independent.” “No, Alex. He flits between you and Angel, his two protectors, and every moment he’s out of the sight of one or the other of you he’s in a state of mild panic.” “How do you know that?” “You don’t?” Pause. “I do,” Xander admitted. “But a gallery?” “Forget this now, let me handle it.” “Pat…” “You’re as bad as him.” “I am?” “Afraid to take a chance. C’mon, Alex,” Patrick enthused, “let’s give it a shot, we have nothing to lose.” “You don’t know how fragile he is.” “I do,” Patrick contradicted, kindly now. He sat alongside Xander on the counter. “I do know, and it’s not just him.” A hand on Xander’s forearm and an affectionate squeeze. “Look at you. You’re exhausted. I don’t know what’s been happening this week but I know you well enough to realise it was bad. It’s admirable that you’ve managed to cope for so long by yourself, but please…please, Alex, let me try this for Spike. For you. Let me help you.” Patrick moved a little closer, took hold of Xander and tipped him. Xander allowed himself to settle against Patrick, aware of the comfort of a warm arm around his shoulders, unaware of the energy that seeped into him from the same source. “What if he doesn’t want to know? He can be like that, it doesn’t matter how much care or thought you put into something…” “If nothing else it will give Beth something new to play with.” Xander thought, realised, smiled. “If Beth’s playing, Spike will want to play too. He won’t be able to resist it. He can’t resist her.” “He needs the distraction. He needs something he can be in control of.” “So…?” “Like I said, let me take it from here.” “I won’t tell him. Not
yet.” “Okay.” “A gallery,” Xander repeated quietly to himself. “C’mon, show me around.
Let’s see if we can get this place Spike-proof.” As Xander took measurements and made notes in the living room,
Patrick wandered back to the kitchen. A
memory: Xander, five-odd years previously, dragging him and Beth along to help
him pick out a refrigerator, buzzing with excitement over this mundane purchase
for his new apartment. The damage to
this inanimate object was quite disconcerting – Patrick knew how much it must
have upset Xander to see it. Almost
without thinking, and pretty much as Jake had earlier, he pressed a fist into
the worst indentation. Unlike earlier,
the door was instantly enveloped in a blue glow and began to smooth out,
pushing his fist away as the dents unbuckled.
A few more seconds and Patrick was running both hands over the
unblemished metal with evident approval. … Patrick stayed a little over an hour. The moment he was gone, Xander’s spirits,
unnaturally buoyed in his presence, began to sink again. “A gallery,” he said under his breath as he took coffee mugs to
the kitchen. Xander noticed and stared
at the fridge; he placed the mugs on the adjacent counter before dragging his
fingertips over the surface of the door.
He wondered how Spike had managed to remove the dents so flawlessly
before he went. “A gallery,” he said as he set the alarm. “A gallery,” as he turned off the lights and
headed up to bed. The sudden black
pushed thoughts of the gallery aside.
Something else to worry about: if Spike would ever be able to cope with
darkness again. There was the familiar
ache in his chest, the one that reflected his need to take care of the vampire,
to protect and cosset him. Wrong
apparently, but how was he supposed to let go of feelings that had been growing
in strength since the moment he’d first set eyes on Spike in that alley? The ache rapidly grew into a big bang of pain that signalled the
beginning of reality creeping in. Xander
went to the bathroom to take a measure of his sleeping draught, started toward
his bedroom then stalled. He was drawn
to the studio, almost as strongly as he was when Spike was there and Xander
couldn’t drag himself away from his lover’s presence, and as he walked into the
room he felt a charge go through him, as if he’d touched a bare, live
wire. It was there and it was gone. Xander knew it and lost it. He walked to the easel; Spike had been
working on a portrait of the two of them together and Xander stood and stared
at it. To the desk. And his brow
furrowed. Un-furrowed. A breathy, emotional laugh broke out of
Xander when he saw what lay in the centre of the virtually empty desk. He hurried over and picked up Spike’s
fountain pen. This pen went everywhere
with Spike, there was no way that he’d mistakenly leave it behind. Xander knew it was intentional, a message:
Spike was coming back. Coming home. The pain eased. Xander took the pen to bed with him, tucking it under his pillow
and knowing, knowing, that Spike was
coming home. He closed his eyes and thought back nine months, to Spike’s first
trip to LA of the year. ‘Think of the
positives,’ Spike had said. When Xander
couldn’t think of any he’d been told, ‘The lights. At night you’ll be able to switch off all the
lights and enjoy the darkness.’ Xander
had pointed out that this was a very minor plus in the scheme of things. ‘You can turn the blanket off. Be nice and cool. Leave the shutters and curtains open, enjoy
the light of morning, that’d be a novelty.’ So, lights off, blanket off, drapes and shutters open. Minor pluses. His hand slid under the pillow and his fingertips touched the
pen. Spike would come back because this
was his home. Big plus. All Xander wanted. Almost all.
He stretched, he yawned, he settled.
He smiled. Spike would come back
because this was his home. Yes. Spike would come back because this was his
home. … Just before three in the morning the front door was quietly opened
and Spike slipped inside. He disabled
the alarm, wished he could turn the lights on but didn’t want to risk
disturbing Xander. He crept silently up
the stairs, demon to the fore to fully exploit his night vision, to their
bedroom, to the foot of their bed. Spike
remained like a statue, needing to see Xander at peace, watching his chest rise
and fall with slow, even breaths. He
needed to hear the steady drumming of that strong heart. The urge was almost overpowering to lay down
beside this treasured man and lay his head on that chest, as close to that
heart as he could manage. But he had proved
himself to be a danger to the breaths and the beat. A danger, and he had no right to be here. Now he had seen Xander, reassured himself, he would be able to get to LA and stay there, not get to the city limits, hear Love Song for a Vampire on the Jag’s radio which was, to his shame, still tuned to one of Xander’s crap oldies stations, and have to turn around immediately and come home. Xander began to stir in his sleep. Spike recognised the pattern. He could never stand back and watch Xander sleep without Xander somehow knowing. The human would not wake yet, but he would grow restless, eventually throwing an arm over Spike’s side of the bed in an attempt to locate the source of his disturbance. More often than not, Spike would join Xander, letting himself be found and cuddled as Xander slipped back into deeper sleep, but right now… Spike moved to Xander’s side, dropping the lightest of kisses on his mouth, smiling at Xander’s unconscious smile. “I love you, Xander,” he mouthed. “Be safe.” He left as silently as he’d arrived. Xander rolled in bed, grabbing out at his absent partner, half waking when he found nothing but empty bed. He pulled Spike’s pillow into his arms, buried his face in it and inhaled the comforting scent. Mumbled. “Sweetheart. Love you too.”
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