Collective
Experience:
part two
by Josie_h
Notes
Xander stumbled through the
door late Friday evening, over tired and rather cranky, suit jacket over his
shoulder and tie askew, briefcase and three tubes containing building plans
clamped rather precariously under one arm. He had all but forgotten he had a
guest when he tripped over the large mail delivery that had apparently come
while he was at work.
“Oh for *f@#k* sake!
Spike!!!’
His house guest arrived
seconds later, leaning against the bedroom door jam, bare-chested, top button
of his jeans undone, and appearing relaxed and pleased to see him. Xander took
several seconds to process the centerfold-ready picture his lover presented and
was left with a combination of annoyance at his partner’s good humor, and
pleasure at finding someone who might counter his bad mood. He sighed heavily,
dropped the accoutrements of the day, moved to his vampire and pulled him into
a tight hug that spelt tired adoration.
“Hey sweetheart. ‘Cha been
up to today?”
“Until now? Only been up a
couple ‘a hours.”
Xander groaned his envy at
this statement…
“Writing mostly – logged
on, had a chat to a few folks, uploaded me next chapter, read some… That sort
of thing. Oh and I had to do a bit of money stuff – figured you wouldn’t mind,
I used your land line for a few calls…”
Xander put his head down on
his partner’s shoulder and just held on for a moment, licking and nipping
gently at the base of his neck.
He stilled, answered, “Nahh
‘s fine”, then went back to his ministrations. Spike arched his neck back to
allow more access to the sensitive spot, and at the same time snaked his arm
around his partner’s hips and pulled him closer.
The vampire rocked them
both gently for a moment then gave a lust filled, “C’mon lover let’s you ‘n me
find something more interestin’ to do, than standin’ in the entrance hall.” He
wiggled an eyebrow suggestively, pushed a knee between Xander’s legs and
pressed his hardness against his partner’s hip. He then squeezed the backside
one more time and pulled his tired partner toward the bedroom.
Xander let out a loud
‘umph’ as he was pushed back onto the bed. His shoes and socks were removed
before he struggled determinedly and sat up, protesting that he needed a
shower.
“No”
“What no!?”
“I smell bad… let me shower…
”
“Like you the way you are
luv… c’mon… missed you…”
“C’mon Spike, stinky boy
here.”
“Nah pet, you just smell
like you… all lust and salt, musk and male…” As if to prove a point, he slowly
tugged his partner’s shirt from its tucked position, buried his nose in the
flesh, sniffed loudly then licked around the exposed belly button.
Xander stopped his amorous
partner mid suckle, pushing the tongue from its task, closed his eyes and
determinedly stated, “Spike!… Stop!… sorry… just stop… I need to… just…No...No!!”
Spike reeled back with surprise at the final ‘No’, memories of a certain blonde
many years earlier salting an old wound. In truth, Xander’s demeanor was one of
self disgust not annoyance with his significant other as he pushed away, but
his lover was long gone by the time he reopened his eyes. Oblivious of the
level of hurt incurred, he shrugged off the rest of his clothes and wandered to
find the welcome jet of hot water.
Xander had half expected
company in the shower but as he emerged from the bathroom, rubbing his hair
with a towel, he saw the door to the study pulled almost shut and heard the
furious tapping of computer keys. Deciding that Spike must have resolved to do
some writing, he wandered into the lounge, noting that the fish tank needed
cleaning again; that he really should do some laundry; and that his work gear
was still lying in the entrance hall and needed retrieving. Instead of
following the innate urge to tidy, he grabbed a large cushion from the recliner
and lay nose down on the soft leather of the four-seater to ponder the
‘crappiness’ of his day.
He and his team had spent
months on the tender, a multi-million dollar contract with seventeen key sites
across California, a government project no less, and only days away from signing
when he went away. But a change of the governor’s staff and intervention by
lobbyists over the Christmas-New Year break, had seen the project disintegrate
into a political quagmire of epic proportions. They had finally been told today
that there was “a possibility of re-tendering in a year or so…. after we
re-evaluate the changing needs of all stake holders.” *Right… that makes me feel *so* much
better!* His boss had been careful to
point out that Xander’s team had done nothing wrong per se – indeed was most
complimentary, but it still left Xander feeling flat and upset and uncannily
like Xander the Zeppo of Sunnydale… And yet…
Turning to face the balcony
window, he spotted the flare of a lighter followed by the glow of a cigarette
in the dark. He realised Spike had again been left unattended. *And the award
for the worst host in the world goes to……*
He stood, rewrapped the bath towel to Roman approved toga standard and
headed outside.
Spike was facing away from
him as Xander pulled open the sliding doors. He flicked a glowing butt over the
balcony and continued to stare into the night.
“What.”
It came as a demand not a
question.
“Just came out to spend
some..”
“No.” This time the answer
was an emotion filled growl.
Spike still had not turned
to face him, and Xander felt a sinking sense of real fear and rejection as he
stared at his partner’s tense shoulders and white knuckled grip of the balcony
rail.
“Spike, wha...” He was cut
off by a hand thumping the rail hard.
“You said no, so that’s
it…. I wasn’t even… You *know* I
wouldn’t! Never have… Couldn’t …ever... Even when I didn’t… But you said no...
so… ” There was a pause and heavy sigh into the night. The voice dropped to
almost a whisper, “Always a bad man… just thought… knew it was too good… but
for a few days… thought for a moment… but always the bad man…” the words
trailed off.
Xander suddenly realized
the gravity of the issue, and was acutely aware of his role in the present
*and* the history – his hatred of the blonde vocalized even after they were
reluctant partners in ‘Buffy’s wake’; the condemnation that endured after the
soul; all recalled and distilled by his simple ‘no’ this evening. That ‘no’
borne of fatigue and frustration had nothing to do with Spike or the past, yet
was a direct hit of depth charge proportions to the vampire’s hope for their
blossoming relationship. That single, simplest of words had rekindled memories
of the harshness and insanity of the chipped years, the sadness, the hunger and
errors borne of desperation.
“Oh…God… Spike! Sweetheart…
I am *so* sorry… I didn’t…”
“You don’t get to do that…”
the voice was flat, low and without emotion.
“Do what??? Spike I was
just tired – tired and pissed off… but not with you …. Not with you! Do you understand…
Come on Spike…. Please understand?!” Xander walked up behind his partner and
pulled him into a spooned hug, but the vampire’s head remained down and there
was no effort to show love in return. The self loathing was running far too
close to the surface to contemplate letting anyone else ‘in’.
“No.” Spike remained firmly
facing away from his friend and pushed out of the embrace to flee to the other
side of the small balcony.
Xander was at a loss, the
women he had dated were always so articulate when it came to any of his errors,
and defined their needs very specifically as to how he was to ‘fix things’. Yet
now he was faced with a male vampire, golden eyes shedding blood tinged tears,
as taciturn as his broody sire, and currently refusing to look at him.
He did the only thing he
could think of and walked into the study, noted the laptop on screen saver and
hit the space bar. A document opened,
“No one to tell
No one to tell
Century and a half
Not a fast study
E’en now
Hurt the boy
Broken, defective, ce moi
Teacup with no handle
Repugnant, despicable,
contemptible
Was it always thus?
Demon eyes drip blood
Silent markers on marble
cheeks
Eternal hatred
Damned to solitude
The soul bleeds
The soul bleeds”
There was no rhyming, no
pentameter, no rhythmic imperative… just the overwhelming evidence of
pain.
Realization hit hard. Spike
was in Sacramento *because* of Xander. Yet had been left on his own all day,
every day, and borne it without complaint. Whenever his host was present Spike
had been attentive and loving, and yet Xander had repaid that by rejecting him
in the cruelest possible way… reminding him of the event that drove him to
regain his soul in the first place.
*Oh My God… Omygod!* Xander flew outside in time to see the swish
of a duster as it disappeared over the third story balcony, though heard no
sound as the vampire landed and sped away.
He had hoped for a quiet
‘makeup’ snuggle with his undead partner but seemed to have badly miscalculated
Spike’s level of hurt. He contemplated searching for the vampire, quickly
deciding that there was little merit in trying. One thing vampires excelled at
was disappearing into the night…
Xander watched his way
through two of the three Lord of the Rings extended versions in his collection
before falling into a dissatisfied sleep, balcony door still wide open to let
in any errant partners.
He was woken around
daybreak with the warble of various birds; the pain in his back from a number
of misplaced cushions on the couch; and an overall feeling of cold.
He pushed up and went to
the bedroom with the vague hope that he would find his friend in bed asleep,
but Spike had not returned…
Saturday was supposed to be
about lying in with his guest; about fooling around and snoozing afterwards;
about pondering what they might do that night. Instead Xander was left with a
sense of dread. This wasn’t like losing a puppy, one couldn’t put an ad in the
local drug store window or on the back of a milk carton ‘Lost one vampire –
answers to the name ‘Spike’’!
He checked the underground
garage of the apartment twice, then stared into and called repeatedly down a
sewer entrance in the next street, all to no avail.
By nightfall he was frantic,
alone and beginning to grieve for the friend he was convinced had gone for
good. He could do nothing. The sheer powerlessness and the not knowing too
reminiscent of other times… Times of war and loss and grieving… and the
Sunnydale Xander.
He jumped online on his own
computer, hoping in vain that Spike might have somehow sent a message… then
logged off again almost immediately, frustrated by his own stupidity. He rang a
work colleague at 8pm, hoping that the distraction of a club or at least a beer
and a movie might be on offer. The answering machine chirped a promised call
back and hoped he had a good night. *If only that could be true.*
He wasn’t stupid enough to
go wandering to look for his friend in the gloom of the evening, too many years
on a hellmouth left him with a self preserving avoidance of such activities,
though he was sorely tempted to do just that. Instead he poured a full glass of
the JD that had been purchased specifically for his missing friend, forewent
the ice, and sat in front of the absentee’s computer for the third time that
day.
There was mail in the inbox
this time, and Xander opened it.
“FB for “Dark Princess” Dearest NP Thank you for writing again! I observe that when tears drop onto a keyboard, they inevitably end up on the letter 'n' and spread from there..... Your story is poignant, evocative, and speaks of an acute loss that only those who have felt the same might dare to express. Through your impeccable characterizations you draw a picture of angst all the better for its 'societally expected' formalities (or lack thereof), and the absence of resolution that accompanies the death of a beloved... the exquisitely understated pain and grief in this piece juxtaposed to the mundane discussion of what to do with her collection of dolls…all so *very close to home*.....
Thank you for allowing tears to flow... to strike such a cord is to heal a little more.....
Your devoted reader
Max”
Xander sat staring at the
screen until he realised that he too was splashing large salty droplets onto
the letter ‘n’.
He flung himself onto the
couch and began to weep in earnest.
Sometime around 3am, he
woke enough to grab a much needed glass of water, divest himself of clothes and
bury his person miserably under the covers of the bed that until his error had
been filled with a wriggling vampire who in sleep had alternated between
starfish and limpet, either of which would have been unbelievably welcome now.
He grabbed a pillow hugged it tight and fell back into an uneasy slumber.
Rising again around seven
Xander pulled on a t-shirt, sweat pants and headed out to buy a paper and
hopefully find a bakery open. Depression called for donuts.
Opening the door resulted
in a very drunk, very injured vampire collapsing onto the entrance hall floor.
“Oh sweetheart!! Oh thank
god! Oh Spike”
He dropped to the ground,
cradled the beloved, now blood covered, head in his lap and pondered what to do
next.