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Part 87 |
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Xander woke to the distant sound of a telephone. Halfway in and out of a very normal dream, he was mentally in his
office and taking the call before he was physically in bed and pinned down by a
vampire who gave no sign of releasing him in the near future. “Spike. Phone.” “Angel’s,” Spike explained in a husky, sleep-filled voice. “’Kay.” “Mmm.” “But that means…”
Xander tried some calculations and found himself woefully lacking in a
few basic facts. “Spike, do you know the
date?” “Sleeping.” “Do you know the date?” Spike grumpily admitted defeat; Xander was awake. Highly awake and in an irritatingly sharing
way. He sighed and rolled onto his back. “No.” “Did we miss Christmas?” “Yes.” “We missed Christmas?
And Angel was here? Oh, fuck,
Buffy must be so mad at me.” “No, Xander, Buffy was worried about you, they all were.” “Yeah, but…” “They all offered to come and help out but we said no.” “Yeah, but Buffy…” “Stop it. The problem
with you and Buffy is you. You were
unwell, she was concerned. She doesn’t
hate you for having Angel here. Clear?” “Yeah, but…” “If you stopped feeling…”
Spike’s voice trailed off and he looked at Xander in shock as the truth
struck him. A truth he knew intimately. “What?” Spike rolled
back to Xander and held him; not that Xander objected, but he didn’t understand
what the unquestionable offer of comfort was about. “What, Spike?
If I stopped feeling what?” “Unworthy.” “No, I—” Do. Xander thought about that, awkwardly, not liking it because
it was true, not liking it more because he knew that Spike knew that Xander
knew it was true. “We don’t need Christmas,” Spike told him, deliberately
skipping all the unfortunately painful truth stuff. “We’ll celebrate something else. Just for us.” “But that won’t make up…” “It’s not that long until your birthday, we’ll do something
special for that. Go to Sunnydale and
throw a big party, chuck loads of money around, buy some popularity.” “We could do that,” Xander conceded reluctantly, “but…” “It’s always but with you.
And not the right kind of butt.” “What about something for you?” “Now we’re getting onto the right kind of butt.” “You’ve never told me your birthday. Spike…
I don’t even know your name.” The last sentence was uttered so plaintively that Spike
looked at Xander in surprise. “So what?” “I don’t know your name,” Xander repeated, adding pointless
emphasis to the words. “You’ve never
told me your name.” “You’ve never asked.” “Because I knew you’d never tell me.” “You should’ve asked.” “What then? What’s
your name?” “Spike.” “See?” Spike grinned
despite having his kissing/groping offensive deflected. “When’s your birthday?” “You choose.” “Fucking nuisance.” “How about more fucking and less nuisance?” “We do Christmas then,” Xander persisted. “However late. Do you want something? I know it’s a late something. You want to do Christmas now?” “If it makes you happy.
You after a pressie, is that it?” “Not for me, no. I
have everything I want. You know that,
we’ve had this conversation, the…what do you give the man who has everything.” I gave you William,
Spike thought. “Penicillin?” he suggested aloud. Xander chuckled and valiantly fought off another lustful
attack. “What do you want?” “A good fucking.” “For post-Christmas Christmas?” “A good fucking in a pear tree?” “Spike.” “Get me…” Spike pretended to think hard before turning his
best provocative look on Xander. At that
precise moment, hammering on the door made them both jump. “A stake,” Spike finished darkly. “Spike, I need to speak to you. Now,” came from outside. “He sounds pissed,” Xander observed. “Yeah,” Spike agreed, getting comfortable against Xander and
closing his eyes. “Go and see what he wants,” Xander said, sniggering at
Spike’s behaviour even though he knew he shouldn’t encourage it. The vampire made a discontented little groan before allowing
Xander to prod him toward the edge of the bed. Xander listened but couldn’t make out anything of the
exchange between the two vampires, so instead he thought about getting up. And he thought about staying exactly where he
was and waiting for Spike to come back.
And he thought that it was about time the niggling sensation that he’d
done something wrong where Spike was concerned explained itself or fucked off. He sat up at the knock on the door, pulled up the covers a
little, and called a come in. Angel made
an apologetic entrance. “This has to be bad news,” Xander observed. “No,” Angel contradicted immediately. “Probably good. Good for you.” “You’re going home,” Xander laughed. Angel accepted the laughter in the spirit it was meant and
grinned back. “I have to go.” The laughter subsided into a resigned sigh. “Y’know, I’m sorry?
That you’ve been here and I missed spending any time with you.” “Good God!” Angel frowned.
“Did Xander Harris just admit…” “I’ll deny it if you repeat it.” They shared an undeniably affectionate look before Angel
wandered back to the door, something heavy on his mind going by the tension in
his shoulders. “What?” Xander asked. Angel turned back and studied Xander in silence for a full
minute before saying, simply… “Spike.” “Spike?” “Spike.” Xander took a moment to think about what Angel was or wasn’t
implying, took another to think about Spike.
About himself. “Take him with you,” emerged without further consideration. “Why?” the vampire asked, sitting at the foot of the bed,
eye-level with Xander. “Why?” Xander shrugged. “Things have been tough.
I mean, I don’t know, but I
feel things… Maybe we need a break. Not as in a break break, but just a break.
Time out. He was pretty anxious
with me when I think of it. Down, like
he’d… Yeah, the piano, I think he was
feeling bad about that, but it’s…
Struggling here, Grandpa, feel free to jump in.” “I’ll take him with me.” “Like it’s your idea?” Xander asked hopefully. Angel gave a brief nod. “I feel it right away,” Xander said softly,
“here.” And he put a hand in the centre
of his chest. “Spike going away is
like… It’s like being short of
breath. Bad analogy to use to explain something
to a vampire.” “I understand.” “He’s that essential to me and I can let him go. I don’t understand myself.” “Are you sure you’ll be okay alone?” “Yeah. And I don’t
have to be alone, I can give Pat or—”
Xander looked at Angel as he remembered, wide-eyed with shock. “I quit my job. I can’t believe I did that. I quit my job.” “You did it for Spike.” “Yes, okay, for Spike, then I can believe I did it. Oh, fuck.
I quit my job.” “The partnership wasn’t dissolved, Xander. I think they’re just patiently waiting for
you to go back.” “I can’t. How can I
do that?” “Why can’t you?” “Because… I… Oh, fuck knows.” “What’s wrong?” Spike asked as he entered the room, mug of
coffee in one hand, blood in the other. “I quit my job.” “Yeah, and?” As Xander stared at his lover in wordless exasperation,
Spike put down the mugs and straddled Xander, sitting on his thighs, a definite
proprietary gesture in the presence of his grand-sire. “My job, Spike. The
only thing I’m any good at, keeps me sane…” “Wasn’t working then, was it?” “Spike,” Angel interrupted.
“I want you to come to LA with me.” Spike fell quite still.
Then he looked at Angel, employing his best inscrutable expression. Then back to Xander. Xander nodded. “It’s okay.” With a sharp inhalation and a slow exhalation, Spike linked
his arms around Xander’s neck and leant their brows together. Xander’s hands smoothed over the vampire’s
denim-clad thighs, sparking all kinds of desire that wouldn’t be resolved. “I’ll go,” he murmured, dipping to cover Xander’s mouth with
his own. “Soon,” Angel advised before discreetly leaving the room. A long, long kiss later: “You sure you don’t want me to stay, love? At a rough estimate, there are a few thousand
things we need to talk about.” “You want to talk about them?” “No,” Spike chuckled. “You go, you come back, we do Christmas…” “We do each other.” “We do each other,” Xander agreed, sudden spark of hope
about this clean Spike fucking him
extinguished by that stupid niggle. “I won’t be gone long.” “How do you know?” “He can’t bear me for too long at a time, can he? And he’s had to put up with me for weeks
already.” “You’ll phone me? All
the time?” “And message you.
Better get that wicked mind of yours ticking over, think up some new
stories for us.” Xander smiled at the thought, Spike kissed the smile, and
they spent their last few undisturbed minutes in perfect contentment. … After moving the Merc from the garage and Angel’s car into
its space to save Angel the daylight dodging, Xander brought the packed coolbox
from the kitchen and handed it over to Spike. “That’s it? You’re
ready?” “Yup.” They stared at one another until Xander managed to break
away, and he shook Angel’s hand, this time not wanting to withdraw when the
vampire held on for too long. “Take care, Xander.” “Yeah. And, you two,
look after each other.” Xander returned to hug and kiss Spike, having no words for
him. “Back soon, love.”
Xander nodded, swallowed hard.
“We’re driving separately so don’t worry about the Jag being gone,
right?” Nod. “I’ll ring you the minute I get there.” Another nod.
“Love you, Xan.” Xander held Spike’s face in his hands, took a last long look
before the final kiss. “I love you.” “I love you, Xander.” The two vampires walked away, along the corridor to the
house’s garage access. “And no racing,” came from behind them. Spike smirked and Angel tried not to. … Spike put the blood in the trunk and turned to find Angel
watching him over their car roofs. “Did he mind?” Spike asked. “Mind?” “When you told him you wanted me to go with you.” “Not mind,” Angel replied cagily. “Not as such.” “I know what he’s like,” Spike grinned. “You don’t have to cover for him.” “Well, if you know what he’s like…” Angel let the sentence hang, grateful that Spike’s
assumptions made it unnecessary for the truth to come out about Xander wanting
Spike gone. Spike let out a snicker at
the thought of Xander giving Angel a hard time about the decision, and hit the
garage door control before sliding behind the wheel of the Jag. Xander had already opened the house’s drapes and shutters by
the time the cars rolled out of the garage, and he watched as the vampires
drove away, waving pointlessly, deeply ashamed of the relief he felt. To the kitchen for coffee and toast, determinedly not
thinking about his late piano as he went and only pausing momentarily outside the
music room, then to the study where he sat and wrote letters and post-Christmas
cheques for the girls, enjoying the extravagance. He told them of Spike’s suggestion for his
birthday, hoping that once it was in black and white it would be harder to break
the date and let them down. He verbally
crawled to Buffy, making it as much of a joke as he could but letting the fact
that he regretted ruining her Christmas with Angel come across loud and clear. Spike had placed the papers that Patrick had left on Xander’s
desk, and when Xander eventually found them he read through them several times
before it all sank in. He owned their
house, he owned his car, he was undeservedly, embarrassingly wealthy. And he knew he had to turn this down, or give
it back, or whatever it took to stop feeling compromised and stop his vampires
being so damned suspicious about Patrick all the time. Because, to coin a phrase of Spike’s… “A joke’s a joke, but this is a bloody pantomime.” He picked up the phone and called the Partnership’s number
time after time, thinking of speaking to Patrick or Jake, knowing Rafe would
probably be out somewhere being surveyory at one of their sites, or maybe
Xander could just speak to Cora to catch some gossip, and wasn’t Moira supposed
to be working with them round about now?
He never quite managed to press the last connecting button. Thinking Beth might be easier to talk to he
called the MacDonald’s residence with exactly the same result. He gave up and went for a stroll around the garden, succumbing
to a sudden longing for sunshine, the smell of grass, and the breeze on his
face. He stopped where he and Spike
usually stood to look back at the house and bask in their good fortune. He basked. “We own this,” he said to himself, because until he spoke to
Patrick they did. “We own this.” And he couldn’t help the bubble of laughter that burst from
him. The first strong whack of missing
Spike hit him, but being apart was necessary, he knew that. Space.
They needed space, and they needed it without fear. Xander had no fear this time. They’d take a break, recoup and regroup, and
be stronger for it. Movement caught his attention. He walked toward the wood that bordered the
property, trying to figure out if he’d seen something or just thought he had,
because… He peered through the
trees. Nothing. He was caught mid-disappointment by another
movement and he looked harder, keeping perfectly still. Rustles of undergrowth and twitching of low
branches but still Xander saw nothing.
But he was sure he knew what he guessed he’d possibly seen, and with
growing excitement he rushed back to the house, to the computer, searching to
find out whether wolves were common in this part of the country. Without waiting for answers, he cheerfully
began the first of many e-mails to Spike. … “Hello, Alex.” “Moira, hi, come in, come in.” A second’s awkwardness then Moira flung her arms around
Xander and gave him a hug, the strength of which certainly belied her
size. Xander reciprocated with the
soppiest of smiles on his face. “You horrible, horrible man.
Have you any idea of how worried I’ve been? We’ve all been.” “Yeah. Sorry.” Moira pulled back to study him. “Are you okay?” “I am now.” “Spike okay?” “Spike’s okay,” Xander assured her, smile broadening at the
mere mention of his lover’s name. “Not
here but okay.” “There’s a sack full of Christmas presents in the trunk,
bring them in.” Xander nodded and obediently did as he was told. “We didn’t…” he began. “That doesn’t matter.
Are you opening now or waiting for Spike?” “Waiting for Spike.” They put the plastic sack in the living room and, when Moira
turned down the offer of a drink, sat and regarded one another expectantly. “You start,” Xander eventually said. “Come back to work,” Moira told him without preamble. “I don’t want to begin Broadman’s Creek
without you.” “There are other managers who can…” “But they’re not you,” Moira protested. “I only agreed to take on such a massive
project because I trusted you, Lexy. Pat
did the civilised arm-twisting but it was you I trusted to see it through. You’ll never let me down.” Xander stared at the floor, embarrassed, touched, grateful
and, naturally, guilty for putting Moira in this position. He needed time to think. “How was Christmas?” he asked without looking up Moira gave a sigh and sank back into the corner of the sofa. “Nice. Quiet. We were all a little…fretful about you.” “You get together?” “Just about all the time,” Moira admitted with a
self-conscious laugh, before shrugging.
“We’re a clingy family.” There was a stressful pause.
Then, as one, they started with… “Next Christmas…” “You,” Xander said. “No, you.” “Okay. Next Christmas
we’ll make up for this. Have a really
good one. Loud. Expensive.
Balloons. Kilts.” Moira chuckled. “Get the girls in, all of us together.” Moira beamed at the suggestion, and they moved on to talk
animatedly about the practicalities of one massive party for the immediate and
extended family, who would host it, who would stay where, who would be
condemned to stay sober enough to drive. They moved to the kitchen and Xander made coffee. He turned to find Moira gazing at him with
teary eyes. “What’s wrong?” Moira gave the self-conscious laugh and waved his attention
away. “I’m happy you look so well.
And happy you seem happy.” “I am happy.” “I’ve missed you. I
love you, and I want the family together, and I miss Spike too, and Rafe misses
you and Spike, and Christmas was horrible.” Moira gave in begrudgingly to the tears, letting Xander cuddle
her as she snuffled into his shirt. “I don’t know what to say.
What can I do to make it up to you?” Moira gazed up at him with sad yet hopeful eyes. “Come back to work?” … The following day found Xander sitting in the Merc, parked
at the kerb and staring at the building which housed the Partnership. He sat there for nearly an hour, trying to find the courage
to drive into the garage, park, head up to his office as he’d done hundreds of
times before. It shouldn’t be this difficult. Xander knew that, he knew. This was Patrick and
Jake and Rafe and Moira and Cora and he could go on and on and it wouldn’t get
any easier. He waited another hour.
He recalled shoving Patrick’s offer of help and support back at him and
quitting without the decency of an apology or a thank you for everything. He finally gave up and drove away; Patrick peered down from
the tower and followed the car’s progress until it was out of sight. He strolled to his desk and hit a button on
the intercom. “Jake?” … Which was why Jake turned up at Xander’s at ten the next
morning. Xander was apprehensively
thrilled to see him, never having been out of contact with Jake for so long
since they’d met, worried that he’d screwed up their friendship with the
unintentional rejection. “You’re coming to work,” Jake told him with a wide smile and
an attitude that suggested he’d take no argument. “I don’t know if I’m ready.” “You’re ready.” “Jay…” “Moira’s waiting for you, and you know what asses these
architects are if you keep them waiting.” “I’d…umm…” “Nuh-uh.” “But…” “Keys?” “I don’t…” “You do, you really do.” “This is as bad as trying to win a fight with Spike.” “I’ll take that as a compliment.” “Maybe next week…” Xander offered charily. “Get your coat.” “But…” “Coat.” “But…” “Coat!” Jake practically shouted, using an uncannily
Spike-esque tone. “I’ll…um… I’ll get my
coat.” Xander didn’t move. “Get your coat.” “So, you don’t think…” “Coat!” As Xander pulled on his coat, Jake found the house keys and
jangled his way over to the front door. “I can’t go like this,” Xander made a late protestation. Jake looked him over.
No-style hair, beginnings of a goatee.
One of Spike’s – and therefore tight
– t-shirts, scruffy old jeans, battered High Tops. “You’re great. C’mon,
Lexy, move.” Xander let himself be ushered out and watched as Jake locked
the door, allowed himself to be herded to Jake’s car and into the passenger
seat. His stomach couldn’t decide
whether to roll in apprehension or clench with tension. “I can’t do this,” he admitted, quietly and sincerely. “Yes,” Jake replied in the same tone. “You can.” Out of habit, Xander glanced down to see what Bradley had
left at Cedar House’s gates for his master.
Crossed bones, old and long.
Xander gave an internal shudder when he realised they were human. “Was Pat upset? At
what I said?” “He was upset, but it wasn’t what you said. You were obviously going through a bad time
and he wasn’t allowed to help you. That
upset him.” “I didn’t know what to do.
The quitting was a knee-jerk reaction.
At the time I was so…so troubled, and think I just wanted the phone to
stop ringing, and to do that…” Xander
sighed and sank down into the seat.
“It’s over. Y’know, it’s like my
life has…what do I call them? Sections? Pieces?
Cycles? Stages? That’s how I get through my life, stage by
stage. Neat – well, sometimes neat – little packages of time and events. And occasionally I feel that it’s nothing to
do with me.” Xander saw Jake’s curious
glance and laughed at himself. “Crazy.” “This stage is over?
The one you’ve just been experiencing?” “Hey, don’t humour me.” “I wasn’t.” “Then, yeah, I think I’m moving on to whatever next.” Xander shifted around in his seat to talk
more directly to Jake. “Shall I tell you
what I think really is crazy?” “Sure.” “You must know about this: Pat gave me the house, and the
car. He gave me five-million dollars.” “Yeah, I do know.
That’s why it’s wrapped up with such exquisite legal elegance.” “It’s wrong. I have
to return it.” “Why?” “How can you ask why?
Five-million dollars.” “He’s loaded, that’s small change to him. Look, it matters to Pat that we’re looked
after, that we never want for anything.
He thought you were walking away, and he wanted to make sure you were
secure for the future.” “I’m not his responsibility.” “He doesn’t see it like that. We’re his kids, remember? He’s not going to abandon his kids.” “I’m going to talk to him, I don’t want this.” “I have to be there,” Jake grinned. “I can’t wait to see you try talking him
around on this. In fact, it should be
worth selling tickets.” “Is Rafe in the office?” “No, but I’ll get him there,” Jake promised. “He’ll string me up if I let him miss this.” “You’re not helping.” “I’m not trying to.” “It’s going to be a few reasonable
words, and after I’ve explained how I feel, Patrick will see it’s what I want
and take it all back.” “Reasonable, huh?” “Why does it matter?
To you? If I keep the house?” Jake’s smile switched off.
His hands tightened on the steering wheel. Xander pointedly waited. “Because if the house is yours you’re less likely to go
away,” Jake said grimly. Xander sat quietly and absorbed that for a few minutes. Another glance at Jake and every muscle was
still clenched tight. “But Pat gave me a car to go away in,” he teased gently. No answer, and Xander waited until they were parked in the
garage beneath their building to speak again.
He prevented Jake leaving the car, hand curled around the young man’s
wrist. “What’s this about?”
Jake shrugged uncomfortably. “I’m
not going away. House, car, money, none
of that would stop me if I wanted to go, but I don’t. I’m not.” Jake remained staring resolutely out of the side
window. Xander used the grip on his arm
and rocked him until his body language eased up and he looked around, startling
Xander with the naked emotion on his face. “Flashback,” Jake whispered.
“Hospital. You leaving us. Spike saving your life.” His voice broke and he quickly wrenched the
emotion back. His free hand rested on
Xander’s. “You’re here.” “And I’m staying. Pat
would have to deal more than five mil to pay me off.” Jake seemed appeased by that but not happy; Xander released
his wrist and they left the car, barely talking as they took the elevator up
the their floor, Xander now stifled by nerves. There was a tangible buzz as they stepped into the
Partnership’s reception area. Cora gave
Xander a dignified welcome but her eyes sparkled with happiness, and she
protectively saw off any other well-wishers until Xander had the chance to
settle in. He wandered along to his
office, feeling himself flush with gratitude and belonging when he saw his name
still on the door. That was nothing
compared to the overwhelming sensation he felt when he walked inside and shut
himself in: this was his element, he was in control here, he knew his job, his
place, he was…secure. He belonged. He felt weak with it, strong with it, sure
that he had to be here, and thank God that Moira had made the move, that Jake
had come to get him. Shrugging off his coat, he hung it in the closet, went to
his desk and sat. Familiarity. He was good at familiarity. Smiling, he laid his hands on the desk,
remembering Spike there, on his back, fucked and loving Xander. He breathed it all in and shut his eyes,
concentrating on the familiarity and the inner peace it brought. Soon came the familiar tap at the door, followed by the
familiar scent of Cora’s perfume blended with a large choca-mocha. “You have a few messages, Alex,” she told him briskly, and
he opened his eyes to see a pile of slips in front of him. “But…nobody knows I’m in.” “These would have gone to other partners but that’s not
necessary now you’re here.” “Oh. Right. Okay.” “Read though this…” she placed a file on the desk. “You have a meeting in one hour.” “What? I can’t, I’m
not… Look at me.” Cora did.
Scrutinised. Smiled a beaming
smile. She patted Xander’s forearm and
withdrew.
“Hey, sweetheart. I
just wanted to let you know I’ve gone back to work. I thought you’d be pleased. I’ll call you tonight, let you know how it
goes. I’m…okay. I’m really okay. Love you, Spike, I… Love you.” As he hung up there was another knock at the door and he
called a come in. The familiar face that
went with the familiar file. “I’m a little early, may I…?” “Come in, Chris, I’ll grab the blueprints.” Xander rose and crossed to the print racks, going straight
to Christien’s project. “I’m glad you’re back, Alex.” “Yeah,” Xander agreed without a single qualm. “Me too.” … Late afternoon and Xander was alone, sorting through the
last few messages he had to deal with, when Patrick strolled through the open
doorway. He watched Xander for a few
minutes, unobserved, happy and hurting and carefully constructing a neutral
expression. “Are you back?” he asked. Xander looked up with an apologetic smile. “I seem to be.
Yes. That’s if…” Xander’s voice trailed off, and he stood
awkwardly as Patrick approached. “If I
blew it, Pat, you tell me and I’ll get out of here.” After letting Xander suffer for a full minute, Patrick put
out a hand that Xander practically leapt on, clutching it too hard. “How are you?” “I’m fine now but I was so screwed up when you called and
Spike was bad and I didn’t know what to do and I’m sorry I was so rude to you
and…” “Alex, whoa!” Xander stopped and heaved a deep breath. “Sorry. For
everything.” “I just want to know you’re okay, the rest doesn’t matter.” “It does matter. I
throw your friendship back in your face and that doesn’t matter? It does, and I want you to stop making
excuses for me and treating me far better than I deserve to be treated.” Xander finally released Patrick’s hand and crossed to shut
the door. He turned back to find Patrick
waiting somewhat tensely and wondered if Jake had tipped him off. That’s if Jake had needed to tip him off. The
posture was almost enough to put Xander off what he wanted to say. He’d been with Patrick a long time before he
saw him tense and, now he knew the signs, he recognised that the tension was
invariably about Patrick’s, albeit unintentionally, troublesome Alex. “You want to sit down?” Patrick sat in the meet and greet area, silent as Xander sat
opposite him and tried to formulate the words. “Just say it,” Patrick told him after a protracted wait. Xander stared at him like a rabbit in headlights; Patrick
smiled. “I want you to take the house back. And the car.
And the money, especially the money.” Patrick took his time now, thinking about it, until he slowly
nodded and Xander began to relax. “No.” “But…but you nodded, you agreed.” “I was nodding at what was in my head, and what was in my
head was no.” “I don’t want them.” “Why? I thought you
loved that house. And I know how you
feel about the Mercedes.” “I do, and yes, you know, but this isn’t…appropriate.” “It’s my decision.” “Company assets, company decision. I’m a partner and you didn’t ask me.” “You’d resigned.” “But you hadn’t accepted.” “Not on paper.” “Not at all! I know
you, Pat. You wouldn’t accept it, not
without a fight and you didn’t fight.” “And I won’t fight now.
Take these gifts in the spirit they were given, and don’t let yourself
become neurotic.” “I am not neurotic,” Xander protested, despite agreeing
wholeheartedly with the diagnosis. “Then who is? Who is
afraid that this will give me an unreasonable hold over you? Who thinks the house being yours will trap
you? Spike?” “This is not about Spike.” “Angel.” Too close to the truth. “Leave them out of this.”
Bigger. Picture.
“It’s about me wanting to make my own way, achieve my own objectives,
and know that I did it for myself.” “You are doing it for yourself.” “No, I’m not!” “Your place within the Partnership…” “Feels manufactured.” “That’s ridiculous, you’re necessary to this company and
excellent at your job. You have achieved, Alex, you’ve proved your
worth, and these gifts are a reflection of that. What’s the big deal over a car worth a
hundred-and-thirty thousand when you’ve helped make the company millions?” “I haven’t…” “Yes, you have. And
you know it. Stop jumping through hoops
for Angelus and think this through.” “This isn’t about placating Spike or Angel. It’s about saying no to what I’m convinced I
haven’t earned. When I do earn my house
and that kind of money I’ll know it, I will
know it,” Xander told Patrick adamantly.
“And then I’ll be able to say to myself that I made me a success. I have
to know that I’m not just someone who got lucky.” “Alex…” “Because I did. I
know I did. You handed me fabulous
opportunities. You made my luck. Most of all…with the stuff money can’t buy,”
Xander finished quietly. Patrick drew breath to continue the argument, caught it,
sighed and sat back in his seat, regarding Xander defeatedly. Time out.
Xander fetched them coffee and they drank. Xander watched Patrick’s thinking face and
smiled to himself. Eventually Patrick
was prepared to meet his eyes with a questioning look. “Do this for me,” Xander said, tone soft and manipulative. “You mean undo this
for you.” “If you won’t take them back I really will have to leave.” “Have the car. We’re
going to upgrade the fleet and that’s the only way you’ll keep your
Mercedes. Otherwise it goes back with
the rest.” That gave Xander a pang, and
his definite stance wavered. “Do this
for me,” Patrick smiled. “The car.” “Just the car.” “You’ll take back the house and the money.” Patrick nodded his confirmation. “Say it aloud, I don’t trust the nodding
thing anymore.” “We’ll take back the house and the money,” Patrick
acquiesced. Xander leant across and they shook on it before Patrick
could change his mind again. “It means a lot to me,” Xander told him appreciatively. “I can see that.” “No more favours.” “I’ve given you chances, I haven’t done you favours.” Xander stared at him sceptically. “Well, not that many.” Patrick held his hands up in surrender. “No more favours.” “Unless I ask.” “Unless you ask,” Patrick agreed with a chuckle. “And while we’re on the subject, tell me why you pay me so
much.” “We’re going in circles.
It’s not benevolence, you earn the money.” “I haven’t always, and you’ve been overly generous in the
past.” “Okay, this is how it works,” Patrick patiently
explained. “I find someone I think is
right for the job…” “How?” “Check them out, talk to them. Sometimes it’s about a gut feeling, or
intuition, whatever you want to call it.” “Was I a gut feeling?” Xander asked as he refilled their
mugs. “Yes, you were. When
I find someone who makes the right impression I invest in them. Heavily.
There’s nothing more frustrating than losing a good person to the
competition over a few dollars or company benefits.” He paused to sip his coffee. “I know it’s not about the money for you, but
if that was your primary
consideration, you’d have stayed with the Partnership just for the big bucks,
right?” Xander considered. It
made perfect sense. “Yeah, I would have.” “Good money, good conditions. I try to inspire loyalty rather than buy it,
but I’m not naïve, I know the persuasive nature of the dollar.” “You invested a lot of money in my training. If I’d’ve moved on afterwards you’d have had
to pay that out again for the next guy.” “And I’d be giving another firm a very valuable asset in
you. I would have paid twice, three
times as much to keep you, Alex. Same
goes for Rafe or Jake or any of the other people I’ve found the way I found
you.” “It makes sense.” “You sound surprised.” “I’m relieved. I’d
rather know I’ve been bought than unduly influenced.” Patrick laughed, finished up his coffee, and stood to leave. “Come to dinner. Beth
has missed you.” “I’d like that. Yeah,
I’ve missed her too.” “I’ll get her to give you a call.” Patrick headed for the door. “You want me to let Jake in?” Xander made a show of flexing his fingers. “Sure. He‘s going to
need help with that crick in his neck from listening at keyholes.” Patrick was reaching for the door handle when
Xander caused him to pause. “Pat.” The older man looked back inquisitively. “Thank you,” Xander said, sincerely. “Thank you for coming back,” Patrick reciprocated. Minutes later Jake was in the office, lounging in the seat
that Patrick had just vacated. “How about we go out tonight and celebrate?” “Umm…maybe. Where?” “Bar? No,
clubbing. Clubbing, dance like lunatics,
get high, wake up in “No.” “No?” “No getting high, not again.” “Spike’s not here, Lexy, live a little.” “No,” Xander smiled, glad that he felt so comfortable with
what Spike had asked of him regarding the drugs. Glad that Jake would never have to pay for a
transgression. “Okay. Clubbing,
dance like mannequins, diet root beer, wake up in…” “Sounds great.
Y’know, I only ever need music to get high.” “Yup,” Jake agreed, toeing off his shoes and stretching out
on the sofa, the picture of lazy contentment. “You staying there?” Xander asked with a chuckle as he
returned to his desk and began sorting the hundreds of notes he’d made
throughout the day. “Got you back. Now,
I’m not letting you out of my sight,” Jake sighed, cat that got the cream. “What? Ever?” “Ever.” “Spike is sooo gonna love that.” … The nightmares were to be endured, no choice there. The ones where he cut Spike open and invaded
his body, fingers, hand, arm, pushing into and through his lover’s irreparably
damaged torso. He woke up screaming from
explicit visions where he was in uniform and it was his cock tearing Spike
apart, a Spike forced to be silent by the massive splinter visibly wedged in
his throat, a silent Spike but Xander could hear a dozen Riley Finns laughing
as Xander raped and tortured, and then Spike was nothing more than dust, dust
that clung to his bloodied penis and belly and thighs. When the screaming stopped he could reassure himself that he
would never harm Spike in such a way, he could whisper words of thanks to Angel
for killing the men who had. He would
phone Spike, whatever the hour, talking about anything other than what he
needed to, scared to end the call and sleep in case it all came back, and his
hand was wrist-deep in Spike’s gut once more. He lay in the darkness, staring at the sky through the open
window, continually reassuring himself that Spike was happy and uncontaminated and as
alive as he’d ever be. When morning came the sense of unease didn’t lift, it was
always with him, and he wasn’t sure if that was due to the memories of cutting
into Spike, or something else that had happened during that lost time when he
was…ill. He was simply ill. No reason for Spike to lie about it. At some point during each day Xander sat at the computer,
returned to the same file, stared obsessively at the screen. Photographs of bloody arms, SPIKE carved into
the flesh, thighs decorated by long streaks of brilliant red. Focus and control. It
was about focus and control. Xander knew what he needed. Focus and control.
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Xander glanced at the file.