Blood on a Sundial: 10 ~ 17
by Maz

10. Life and Honour

"I have no idea," Buffy said, glumly. She was slouched in her chair, elbows resting on the table, her chin in her cupped hands. Without moving her head, she raised her eyes to look at Willow. "I haven't seen him since last night," she added. "He split, just after we dropped Xander off." Willow's face scrunched in a silent question and Buffy sighed. "I went by his place this morning, but he wasn't there."

Xander looked around the library, thinking there were better places to spend a lunch break. But Giles was at some sort of emergency teachers' meeting and they were waiting for him, to report on the aftermath of the Sunset Club. Considering the fact that they had saved about 15 lives the night before, Buffy was remarkably depressed. He wandered towards the desk, where his bag lay, just in case there was a chocolate bar that he had somehow overlooked, when a thought struck him. He swung around. "Hang on, he wasn't in? How do you know he wasn't in? Did you knock the door down?"

In other circumstances Buffy's guilty expression would have made him smile, but in her current mood, she'd think he was laughing at her. She shrugged "Err." She shoved a hand in her pocket. "He gave me a key," she explained. "He said it was for emergencies. In case I ever needed a place to hide out."

Xander threw up his hands in mock exasperation. "Man! Do you know how many times I've used that line? Give a girl a place to feel safe, lull her into a false sense of security, and..." In retrospect he was grateful that the sound of the door opening as Giles returned, saved him from having to finish that sentence. It didn't seem to be working very well, anyway.

Giles paused in the middle of the room taking in Buffy's woebegone expression, Willow's sympathetic concern and Xander's embarrassment. "Well, it's good to see that everything's normal here," he said, with a faint smile. He went over and took the seat opposite Buffy. "You obviously got them all out?"

"Yes. Got them out. Got them to ER. Left Spike and his gang locked in the club. Walked Xander home. Did an extra patrol. Found nothing."

Giles smiled. "Alright. Tell me what happened this morning. What did you find?" He cocked an eyebrow, questioningly. "I presume you went back to the scene? Is Spike dust?"

Buffy shrugged indifferently. Giles turned to Willow. "Angel's disappeared," she explained. "Buffy was just telling us."

Giles face and voice both softened. "But he's done that before, Buffy. It's surely not something to get worried about. He'll come back." He got up and disappeared into his office. There was the sound of mugs and teaspoons and a kettle being switched on. A few minutes later he returned with a tray which he placed on the table. "Come on, all of you. Sit down and have some tea." Xander dragged a chair up to the table and reached for a mug.

Once they were all settled and even Buffy had slouched back in her chair, tea held tightly in both hands, he started again. "Why don't you begin at the beginning and tell me what happened last night," he suggested.

With Buffy uncommunicative and Willow not yet having heard the whole thing, Xander took the story telling upon himself. He explained how they got to the club and discovered too late that they were locked in. How Buffy confronted Ford and they learnt the reasoning behind his crazy plan, and how the other members of the club just wouldn't listen to anything they said. He described Spike's arrival, flanked by a whole nest of minions, like some avenging angel. That description earned him a raised eyebrow and a faint smirk from Giles. Xander felt himself blushing and took a breath to regain his composure. "All I can say, Giles, is it's just as well we had your backup plan because there were so many of them, they overwhelmed us easily. Spike knocked me over and I think I was out for a moment. They knocked Buffy out, too. By the time I got to her she was coming round though. That's when I phoned you. And she got Spike to talk to you. And what ever you said, it worked. He made them all stop, and let the crazy people go. We all got out as fast as we could. And the rest is history, as they say."

Finally Buffy looked up. "We didn't all get out." She said. "We forgot Ford."

"Oh, Buffy," said Giles, sympathetically. "I'm so sorry. Did you find him this morning?"

Buffy shuddered. "Yes I found him. I wish I hadn't." Her face screwed up with distress. "They had fun, Giles. They had fun. And what was left... It was not pretty. I've seen things. But that..." She trailed off, staring blankly down at her tea. Then she looked up. "But Spike kept his promise. We'll have to keep an eye on Ford's body, because he'll not be resting long." She placed her mug carefully down on the table in front of her. "Why would he be so vicious?" she asked. "Just because yet another of his plans didn't work? You'd think he'd be used to that by now."

Giles took off his glasses and polished them thoughtfully. "It could be," he said cautiously. "He had been promised both you and Angel." Xander thought Giles looked uncomfortable, but the others didn't seem to notice anything odd. Giles hooked his glasses back over his ears and settled them on his nose. "What else did you find? Do I infer that Spike was no longer there?"

"No. He wasn't. There were a dozen piles of dust, but no sign of any actual vampires."

Willow perked up. "Do you think maybe Angel went back and dusted them all?" she suggested. "I mean, if the door was still intact, they couldn't have got out."

Buffy shrugged again. "I called the police from the call box by the cinema. And hung around until they arrived. They took the body away. Do you think I should call on his parents. Except... they're probably not in Sunnydale. Willow could you..."

"Sure Buffy. I'll get right on it." She moved over to the computer and switched it on.

Buffy slouched back again, despondent. "How could we just leave him there?" She asked of no one.

Xander remembered the expression on Spike's face, as he took the phone from Xander's hand. He'd already guessed the source of their bargaining power. The desperation in his voice, as he tried to reassure his girlfriend, had totally undermined any hope of playing the tough guy and bluffing his way out. Xander had been mesmerised, fascinated, to see such human reactions in a soulless demon. He had totally forgotten about Ford. "We concentrated on the people down on the floor of the club," he said. "Ford was off to the side. It was dark over there. I guess..." He couldn't think of any excuse that didn't sound totally lame.

****

Xander hugged his coat tightly around himself, even though the night was not cold. Buffy lay a bouquet of roses on Ford's grave. "I don't know what I'm supposed to say," she observed as she stepped back.

Giles put an arm around her shoulders. "You needn't say anything."

Glancing up, she relaxed into his embrace for a moment, before stepping away. She crossed to Xander and leant against his shoulder, thoughtfully "It'd be simpler if I could just hate him. I think he wanted me to. I think it made it easier for him to be the villain of the piece. Really he was just scared."

Xander grunted. "I guess."

She gave him a nudge with her elbow. "Nothing's ever simple anymore, is it? I'm constantly trying to work it out. Who to love or hate. Who to trust. It's just, like, the more I know, the more confused I get."

Giles smiled faintly, encompassing them both. "I believe that's called growing up."

Buffy pouted. "I'd like to stop then, okay?" She turned serious again. "Does it ever get easy?"

The grave at their feet began to move and a hand reached up out of the ground. Suddenly Ford was there, lunging towards them. Buffy stepped into his attack and plunged her stake into his heart with no more effort than if she was crushing a bug underfoot. The dust gradually settled on the newly disturbed earth.

Giles answered her question as if the incident had never happened. "You mean life?"

"Yeah." Buffy nodded. "Does it get easy?"

"What do you want me to say?" Giles asked.

Buffy looked across at Xander, probably seeing her own expression mirrored in his. She looked up at Giles. "Lie to us."

As they turned away, towards the gates, Giles began, "Yes, it's terribly simple. The good guys are always stalwart and true, the bad guys are easily distinguished by their pointy horns or black hats, and, uh, we always defeat them and save the day. No one ever dies, and everybody lives happily ever after."

Xander stayed where he was for a moment gazing down at the now empty grave. He heard Buffy reply, "Liar." Already her voice held a lighter note. Xander thought about Ford's desperation in the face of death, his determination to win, to somehow stay alive, no matter what the cost. He thought about Spike's desperation when faced with a threat to his girlfriend, so he gave away a sure victory over his two arch enemies. Yet, in his own twisted way, he'd kept his word to Ford. Something in Xander acknowledged that and even approved. He wondered if all that undead life had really been snuffed out by Angel and left as a pile of dust on the floor. He thought about Jesse. Then he shook himself, shoved his hands in his pockets and hurried to catch up with the others.

They were nearing the gates of the cemetery when Angel detached himself from the shadows and moved to intercept them. His posture was more hunched and miserable than usual. He didn't say anything, just stood there, eyes locked on Giles. Giles actually looked uncomfortable. If it had been anybody else, Xander would have said he fidgeted.

Buffy hurried forward and laid a hand on Angel's arm. "Where've you been? I've been so worried. Are you okay?"

Angel tore his eyes away from Giles and looked down at her. His mouth curved in a slight smile and he nodded. Then he shook his head. "Not really," he said. He turned back to Giles. "You killed her. You dusted Dru, didn't you?"

Xander watched as Giles' back stiffened and he reared his head defensively. Buffy turned to look at her Watcher in amazement. "But we gave our word," she protested. "I gave my word. You wouldn't...?"

"I didn't give my word," Giles' voice was harsh. "And even if I had. She was a vampire. Eventually she would have recovered her strength. And then all her future kills would have been on my hands. I couldn't allow that."

Xander was amazed to realise that the foremost emotion in his heart was a sense of betrayal. He'd always believed, in some formless, unquestioning way, that he and Giles shared a common understanding of what was right, a sense of values. Abruptly he was adrift in a world, where honour apparently had no place. Betrayal swiftly turned to anger. "We gave our word, Giles. We!"

Giles interrupted. "For God's sake Xander! Grow up! She was a vampire. A compulsive thief of blood, a thief of life..."

But for once Xander didn't feel like deferring. It wasn't like Giles was his watcher. "No, Giles. It does matter. I don't care if all vampires are undead kleptomaniacs. I don't care if you did the sensible thing. It was wrong!" He realised he was shivering. He swung round on Angel. "Is Spike dead?" Angel shook his head. "Did you let him out?"

Angel shrugged, then nodded. "Yes I did."

Xander turned back to Giles and caught the expression of shock in his face. "But why?" Giles asked. "Why would you do that?"

Angel's face was unreadable. "Dru was my childe," he said, before he spun on his heel and walked away, through the gate and out of sight.

Buffy stood for a second looking from Xander's angry face to Giles shocked one, then she took off after Angel, at a run. Xander watched her go. He turned back to Giles and shook his head regretfully. "I'll see you tomorrow, Giles." He turned away to make his way home in the dark, alone.

11. Fooling around with cars

The welcome to Sunnydale sign crashed flat under the wheels and the vehicle skidded to a halt, hard up against the curb. 'Right!' He thought, punching the air and incidentally denting the roof of the car. The satisfaction might be childish, but it never got old. The car was a write-off. It had been fun, but he had his own car stashed away safe at a warehouse on the edge of town. This one meant nothing.

Back in L.A., when sobriety eventually hit, like the proverbial ten ton truck, the loss and sorrow had swamped him again, for a while. But he was the big bad and nothing was going to keep him down for long - not the loss of his sire, not the desertion of his grandsire, again, not despair, not 120 miles, not anything. Plus, there was his whole new purpose to consider.

In that musty motel room, he gathered his armour - Levi's, Docs, duster, half-full bottle of Jack Daniel's - and headed out in search of revenge. Once on the city streets, weaving between the early evening crowds, he only had one thought: 'no fucking car'. It was a rough neighbourhood Angel had dumped him in and he pushed his way through the tide of the great unwashed, searching the streets and alleys for a suitable ride. Most of the vehicles were rust-trap wrecks or flash-boy prick substitutes, painted in such poor taste that there was no way he would be seen in any of them.

Something caught his eye and he paused, cocking his head as he gazed across the road at a couple of young lads hanging around next to a sleek, black late model Thunderbird, with no painted flames running down the wings. They looked to be on guard duty, keeping a wary eye on a gang hanging around on the corner a few hundred yards along the street. Spike dodged through the traffic to cross near them. Once back on the side-walk he slowed his pace to a casual amble and wandered up to them. He caught the eye of the older looking of the two and nodded his head in greeting. "Nice wheels. They yours?" As if. The guy who owned this beauty didn't wear a scuffed leather jacket and faded old jeans.

The boy frowned in annoyance, possibly debating if he could carry off the lie, possibly wondering if Spike was going to cause trouble. Then his face relaxed. It wasn't the first time Spike's lack of height and bulk proved useful and it wouldn't be the last. "Nah, man. This is Jimmy DeNozo's car. So you'd better not touch it, or he won't be happy."

Spike shrugged in apparent acceptance. "Don't know who Jimmy DeNozo is." He shared a glance between them and added, with a conspiratorial smile, "but I guess I don't want to, huh?"

The boy laughed. "Oh, he's okay," he said. "As long as you don't get on his bad side." He turned to look at the door of the building next to them. "He'll be back soon. Just doing some business. He won't mind you looking. As long as you don't touch."

Spike nodded and edged forwards, bending over to admire the chrome hub caps and peering in through the side window. The paintwork gleamed and the interior was customised leather. Jimmy was a man of taste. "Manual transmission," he noted, admiringly. "Very nice."

The other guard pup wandered over, attracted by the diversion and wanting a little reflected glory from his association with the object of Spike's admiration. He was ostentatiously tossing a set of car keys up in the air and catching them again.

Leather jacket grimaced in a pantomime of disapproval. "I guess," he said. "I don't much like a stick drive, myself. But Jimmy swears you can get more performance, if you know what you're doing."

Almost there. Spike turned and smiled his understanding. "Yeah. But he's right. Automatics are okay..." He shrugged again. "I suppose it's what you're used to. They're not common where I come from."

The second boy, barely fifteen by the look of him, came closer. "You talk funny," he observed. "Where you from?"

They were right next to him now and he lifted his arms as if he was going to shrug yet again. Before they knew what was happening he had cupped a hand around each of their heads and crashed them together. "England," he said, grabbing the keys from the boy's hand as he went down.

Spike glanced around the street and up towards the door of the building. No sounds of alarm, no one pausing to investigate, just the steady stream of cars driving past. The gang on the corner didn't seem to have noticed anything, either - too busy posing and showing off their street cred. Spike opened the off-side door and piled the two unconscious bodies in the passenger seat, one top of the other, wandered around to the driver's side and got in. As he started the engine he was already planning his route out of the city and remembering a quiet spot on the highway where he could stop for a meal and leave the litter behind.

12. The importance of planning

Watching the watcher, Spike decided to be careful. The man obviously suspected there was something dangerous about. He'd never been reckless, but now he was acting more like a timid mouse than a fighter of evil. He only ever left his house in daylight and even then he'd cross the road rather than walk along the shady side of the street, or even through the shadows cast by a tree. Lurking under cover of the alleys, Spike watched him - separated by a mere twenty yards, which might as well be the distance to the moon.

It was beginning to grate on Spike's nerves. It wasn't that he was impatient. That was never his flaw. The problem was, he got so bored by the slow game, quite happy to spend days plotting and planning, once the plan was set, he wanted it done. When he got bored he tended to improvise, which had led to some of his greatest successes, like holding Angelus to ransom, as well as some of his more ignominious disasters, like parent teacher night or holding Angelus to ransom.

Eventually the man would let his guard down. And Spike's burning need to rend and tear was not going away any time soon. He drew back further into the shadows and a smile spread slowly across his face. On the other hand, why wait? Spinning on his heel, he headed back to Willy's and the trapdoor leading to the sewers. There just had to be a way into the school, somewhere.

*****

The library was a place of safety and comfort - a place of certainty, even in the face of the uncertainties they discussed there all the time. But Xander had been avoiding it for the past two days, still uncomfortable with his feelings about that last conversation with Giles. He'd done a lot of thinking, skulking alone around the school, lying on his bed in the evenings, and aloneness had bought honesty in its wake. Eventually he'd faced a truth about himself - he loved that sense of belonging to an inner circle and by staying away, he was hurting no one but himself.

So here he was hesitating at the doors, having followed Willow and Buffy at a distance, as they left their class after last period. The girls had been in the extra literature class. He had been in woodwork, where he'd lost himself for a while in the smooth turning of the lathe and the satisfaction of watching the curls of wood separate from the main block, as he fashioned a fruit bowl which his mother would appreciate for five minutes and would then put aside. As so often happened, his mind had spiralled around the memories of Jesse, like the wood turning in its clamps. Jesse, who was such an integral part of his life, that he never thought about him. Until he was gone. Now it seemed like he thought about him all the time.

Lost in the concentration on craft, his hands doing the thinking as the wood took form beneath the blade, he remembered the night after Ampata died and how he had arrogantly assumed that no one else remembered Jesse. Which led to thoughts of love and loss, which somehow led to thoughts of Angel and Dru and eventually to Spike. The idea that he would ever see the terror of threatened loss in the face of a demon, would have been unthinkable only days ago. The idea that Xander himself would ever actually agree with Angel, about anything, was just as weird. But as he carefully angled the blade to bite a little deeper, he found himself suffering from a sense of sympathy for both Angel and Spike. Yes, Angel was a pain and Spike was evil, and Dru was just scary, but she was their family and in their ways they obviously loved her and mourned her loss.

And by some lights, what Giles had done was right. Surely it had to be right to destroy any vampire? Did it matter that they'd said they wouldn't? Xander reached for a different chisel as he considered that. Except Buffy didn't do it, when she rescued Xander and Angel from Spike's warehouse. And Spike didn't turn Xander, although he could have, when he had him prisoner. But he had turned Ford, as he had promised to do. It was beyond weird that Xander respected the actions of a vampire and felt betrayed by Giles' resort to expedience.

When the bell rang, Xander halted the lathe and removed the half formed bowl, putting it carefully aside. Giles was a watcher. Trained to train the slayer. Trained to fight the vampires. In killing Dru he did his duty. And wasn't Xander's disapproval stupid? Giles couldn't let a powerful vampire like Dru continue to exist. It would be a contradiction of everything he believed in. As Xander quickly swept the wood shavings into an almost tidy pile and headed out in search of forgiveness, another thought crowded in to find its resolution. Going back to the library was a purely selfish act. It might be the right thing to do, but it wasn't noble. He was drawn back by an addiction to being at the hub of something, by a fear that something would rise and he not be there to help prevent it and by the sheer need to regain the normality of his abnormal life. He could call it weak. He could call it stupid. He could admit it was a flaw. But he had to recognise that it was not because of some honourable desire to save the world. What it was, was simply that in the library he felt important. He loved the ego rush of knowing things the rest of the town didn't even begin to comprehend. It wasn't as simple as that, of course, but there was enough of that selfish impulse to make him see that the world was more complex than he'd expected. And maybe that was true of Giles too.

*****

Books had always been a constant in Willow's life - books for study, as a source of knowledge, books for birthday presents every year, which her mother would sometimes actually spend time with her discussing, books with their rich, mouldy smell and their wealth of ideas that captured the stray thoughts and channelled them in new directions. That was why the library was such a welcoming place - it was where the books lived.

Ever since she started school, the library was the place she went to find peace. The fact that it wasn't particularly popular with most of the other kids was a bonus, in the past. But since Buffy came to town and her world turned upside down, the library had a new reason to be a favourite place, a new attraction - Willow had never had a girl friend before. Xander and Jesse had been her companions in loserdom. But Buffy... she was beautiful and glamorous and strong, and she hung out in the library. It was like all Willow's best things come together. And the fact that now Xander also hung out there... Well could it get any better? Just walking in the doors put a bounce in her step. Her place of private retreat had become new and warm and full of companionship. Buffy was the best of best friends. She opened up new worlds of experience. She may not be a big book person herself, but it wasn't like she was stupid. Buffy did other things. And she did them from the library. Willow's solitary refuge was now the nerve centre of a major operation. It was thrilling and Willow felt proud she could share her personal space with Buffy and Giles, and join them in the fight against evil.

As she pushed open the doors, the warm, musty atmosphere washed over her and she revelled in its calming influence. Giles looked up and smiled and Willow basked in the welcome. If she was honest, Giles approval was almost as important to her as Buffy's friendship. Most teachers approved of her, but Giles... he saw her. To him, she mattered as a person. She wasn't just good grades and a dutiful demeanour. She was Willow. Someone real.

The sound of the door opening again made her look around and there was Xander. The familiar rush of affection and physical heat flooded through her at the sight of him. Her Xander. Handsome, strong, a bit of a dork, but hers. He'd always been hers. The problem was, how to make him see that. Buffy understood, she even tried to help, but it wasn't working. Xander, big dork-man that he was, seemed determined to miss the obvious. Maybe he really didn't see? It was so clear to Willow, but Xander remained stubbornly blind. As she turned back to Giles she decided to ask Buffy, again, what she was doing wrong.

*****

Giles looked up when Buffy and Willow entered the library and as he caught Buffy's eyes he felt the strange blaze of pride that always took him by surprise, at the sight of her. He smiled. "Hello, you two. Thank you for coming." And there was Xander, trailing along behind them, as always - hesitating at the doors, before pushing them open. Did he always doubt his welcome, Giles wondered, as he took off his glasses and walked over to the table?

There was something about Xander that irritated - a tentativeness of demeanour, that he covered with ill-conceived jokes which made Giles want to smack him. That was Xander - most of the time, an irritating presence Giles accepted as an extension of Buffy and Willow and which he couldn't avoid. He'd even developed an exasperated fondness for the boy. But just occasionally Xander would come out with some throwaway line that illuminated whatever problem or puzzle they were facing in such a way, and with such startling clarity, that Giles' pride was pricked. At first he'd assumed it was an accident, but after the third or fourth occasion, he began to take note. And as he watched, Giles' irritation grew. How could Xander be capable of such original insights, such lateral intelligence, and yet be so obviously, an academic under-achiever? How could he come out so carelessly with the solution to problems? It was as if he didn't have to think about it, at all. So Giles started to watch the boy. He wasn't a high flyer. Not like Willow. He wasn't a natural leader, like Buffy. He had no air of command, no decisiveness, yet sometimes he found answers that eluded Giles' brain, honed by years of study. It was perplexing. It was annoying.

Giles was honest enough to recognise that it was his own pride that took offence. Academia had always come easily to Giles. By the time he was 16 he could read and write five languages. By the time he graduated from Oxford he could speak, if not read, another four and had a thorough knowledge of the arcane. So how was it that an untutored boy could see solutions where Giles trained mind found only problems?

Giles sighed. Pride. Or more precisely, academic pride. That was his fault, and he knew it. Intellectual arrogance based firmly on a foundation of book learning. Xander didn't have it. So Giles resented Xander's flashes of inspiration. They undermined his comfortable expectations and his values. And that just annoyed him more. He knew he was hard on the boy, but there was something about Xander that got under his skin.

He turned back to the group gathered before him and began to tell them about his fears that Spike was back in town.

*****

Extra English was a drag, although her Mom had been pleased that Buffy had been selected to take the class, so at least it made up for the fact that she was flunking history. Not that her Mom knew that, exactly. Heading for the library, Buffy leant half an ear to Willow's bemoaning the blindness of men, and Xander in particular, but her mind was concentrated on the problem of reconciling Giles and Angel. The scene in the graveyard the other night, and later when she caught up with Angel and he told her he'd taken Spike to L.A., had been difficult. Giles was not feeling very friendly towards Angel at the moment. And she needed them to like each other. It was not that she wasn't sympathetic to Angel's decision, but when it came right down to it, Giles was right. Drusilla was a vampire and Giles had a duty, just as she did, to wipe vampires off the face of the Earth. She smiled at her own extravagance, but that didn't make it any less true. Why couldn't Angel see that?

When she followed him that night, he came as close to snapping at her as he ever had. All he would say was that Drusilla was his child. Buffy was just glad that, for whatever reason - probably the need to cover their escape - she hadn't killed Dru herself, when she had the chance. As they walked past their lockers, outside the craft room, she decided she needed to find out more about what vampire families were. It was stupid being jealous of a woman who was not only dead, but also dust. So another illicit foray into Giles private collection, was definitely in order. She turned to Willow to make the suggestion, but was brought up short by the realisation that Willow was still bemoaning Xander's blindness. Okay, she could hold that thought. She'd suggest it later. For now, they'd best see what Giles had to say about why he'd called a meeting.

*****

Xander braced his shoulders and his courage and pushed open the library doors. The first thing he saw was Willow's smile and he felt his own face relax as he smiled back. "Hey, guys," he said, cheerfully. He nodded to Giles. "So, what's going down? Anything big? Do I need to hide?"

Buffy laughed. "Xander," she teased. "As if I'd let anything hurt you." Her face fell and she turned to her watcher. "There isn't anything, is there Giles? You haven't unearthed an ancient prophesy, or something, have you?"

Giles reached into his pocket and pulled out his handkerchief. He began to polish his glasses, but it was obviously an automatic action, to give him time to gather his thoughts. "No," he said. "No prophecy. Something more mundane and hopefully easier to deal with." He glanced from face to face. "I think I saw Spike this morning."

Xander looked at Buffy and Willow and saw the shock in their eyes. Surely, he thought, they must have expected that? He turned back to Giles. "Was he watching you?" He asked.

Giles shoulders slumped slightly. "Yes. I think he was. I suspect he's looking for revenge." He picked up a small book from the table. "I've been doing some reading. It seems Spike was with Drusilla for over a hundred years. I didn't think such devotion was possible in a vampire, but it appears that as well as being his Sire, he cared for her. I would say, almost like a human would care for their spouse, if such a concept were not virtually impossible to believe."

Xander frowned. "Why would it be impossible to believe?" He asked. "Can't vampires love? I mean, they were human once, weren't they?"

"No, Xander. I've told you before, vampires are not human. They are nothing like human, except in form. The soul leaves and the demon inhabits the empty shell. They may carry the memories of the human they have killed, but that is all." He sounded impatient, so Xander decided to just shut up. He had an apology to deliver, so it was best not to make it more difficult than it already was.

Buffy headed over to the book cage and began hunting through the weapons cabinet. She pulled out a crossbow and turned back to face them. "Where did you see him, Giles?"

"He was in the alley next to the cinema. I was across the street. He couldn't reach me because the sun was out. But I think it's significant that he was out and about, in the daytime."

Buffy nodded. "Okay, I'll start there and work my way around to Willy's. See if he's seen anything. Willow, could you go online? Pull up the map of the tunnels and see if there's an exit in that alley. Xander, uhm..."

Xander smiled. "Don't worry, Buff, you go. I'm sure Giles can find something for me to do." She nodded and headed out. Willow was already at the computer, logging in. Xander turned back to Giles. "Uhm... Giles, could I talk to you, please?" He looked across at Willow, already engrossed. "Er... In private?" he added.

Giles raised his brows and stared at him, as if debating what Xander might have to say that needed privacy, but then he sighed and nodded. "Alright. Shall we...?" He waved one arm vaguely, indicating the door and together they walked out, the way Buffy had just left. Willow didn't look up.

Once safely in the corridor Xander drew a deep breath and turned to face Giles. "Listen, Giles. I know I was a bit harsh the other night." He paused for a moment at Giles expression of surprise, before gathering his courage and continuing, "I just wanted to say, I was sorry. I was wrong. What you did. Well, it shocked me. But I guess, it was the right thing to do."

Giles expression melted into softer lines and his smile was one of real warmth. "Xander," he said. "You constantly surprise me." He shook his head, but it wasn't in disagreement. "Thank you. That can't have been easy to say and I admire you for having the strength of purpose to say it."

Xander grinned in relief. "So there's hope for me yet?" He suggested.

Giles laughed and placed a hand on his shoulder. "I think you are growing up, my boy. I think there is every hope for you."

*****

Spike slipped out of the basement access, after watching Buffy pass, and looked around. The library would be down there and it seemed like everyone had left for the day. All the better, because he'd bet the Slayer's gang was still safely ensconced, doing whatever slayer groupies did, while the Slayer was off hunting down innocent demons.

He edged forwards, pausing at the corner to take a quick gander. Better and better, his prey was playing right into his hands. He watched as Xander and the Watcher talked. Was the boy leaving? No, it was like they'd come out here to have some private conversation. They were a mere fifteen feet away. Spike could almost taste the watcher's blood.

Bursting into action, he sped around the corner and crashed into Xander, knocking him across the corridor and into the wall. He was out for the count, so Spike spun around to confront the watcher, whose expression was suddenly hard.

Spike paused to savour the moment. "Not expecting me?" He asked with a sneer. " Or is that where your slayer's gone? To find me? Sending a girl out to deal with a personal problem? Not gonna happen, mate. I've come for you."

He sprang forward, grabbing Giles by the neck and shoving him back against the wall, hands at his neck. Giles was scrabbling at him, pushing at his chest, trying to get free, but Spike's hold was stronger than any human. The watcher seemed to realise that, because he dropped his arms to his sides and Spike took advantage, to get a better grip, lifting the Watcher's feet clear of the floor. "You killed my Dru, you bastard. You don't know, yet, what pain is, but you will."

Giles began to struggle again and Spike pulled back one arm to deliver the knockout blow that would allow him to take the man and leave. His car was just a block away, waiting with his plans for retribution.

He had a moment to register a change in the watcher's eyes, then Giles pulled his hand free of his jacket pocket, flipped open the lid of the bottle he held and splattered the contents all over Spike's wrist.

Spike screamed, more in shock than anything else, as his hand exploded in pain and started to smoke. He pulled back and Giles held up the little bottle, displaying a black cross on the label. "Holy water," he gasped. "And I've got more." Even as he bent slightly, with the effort of drawing breath into his lungs, he was digging another flip topped jar out of his other pocket.

Spike took a step backwards, snarling and Giles lifted his arm, thumb already prising the lid free. "Don't try it, Spike," he threatened between gasps. "Stay back."

Warily Spike took another step backwards and his boot nudged something soft. Something that moaned softly. He kicked back and his heel caught the thing behind him. There was of the sound of a head hitting the wall and the moaning stopped, utterly. The watcher was still trying to catch his breath and Spike held his eyes with his own, forcing him not to look down at the body at Spike's feet. Then Spike turned, grabbed Xander's arm, hoisted him up and over his shoulder and ran.

Behind him he heard a yell of outrage, and the sound of feet starting to follow at a stumbling run. But a middle-aged man was no match for vampire speed and Spike was through the basement door and down the stairs before the Watcher had even reached the turn in the corridor.

He hitched the boy's dead weight into a more comfortable position on his shoulder and quietly let himself out of the school basement, into the tunnels.

13. Kidnapped

Consciousness came in increments -- an awareness of existence, a knowledge that there was a world, a headache to kill all previously known headaches, aches and pains that were not being helped by the jolting that the universe was subjecting him to and finally a realisation, which brought mild panic in its wake, that he couldn't move his hands. Interestingly, the awareness of who he was came last of all.

Xander opened his eyes. His head felt loose on his neck and he squinted against the pressure of the dim, dirty looking light, muted as it was by the paint on the Windows. Windows...? Through the smeared black paint he could see other cars, some trucks, the occasional building. He groaned and leaned back into the seat, experimenting with stretching his back and leg muscles, which protested the attempt. He appeared to be tied down by a rope around his waist and another around his chest. There was no seatbelt per se, but the ropes did a fine job of keeping him in place. There was also a rug over his lap, which should have been comforting, but somehow... wasn't, and under it his wrists were tied together, something wider than rope keeping them secured firmly to his thighs.

The car sounded like it was going fast along a good road and he rolled his head against the rest to look the other way - and there was Spike. He closed his eyes, not yet willing to face this particular truth. Vague memories of Giles and the corridor outside the library surfaced - he'd been standing talking, apologising... but after that, there was nothing.

Spike's voice interrupted his confused attempt to locate more coherent memories. "You awake then?" he asked casually. "Beginning to think I'd hit you too hard, you've been so quiet."

Opening his eyes again, Xander realised that there was no putting this off. He was with Spike. In a car. Spike, himself, looked comfortable and relaxed, cigarette in one hand, the other on the wheel, like he didn't have a care in the world. Xander forced the pain in his head to the back of his mind and a stray memory of some TV programme sidled into his consciousness - something about getting the kidnapper to talk, making them see you as a real person. Would that work, when the kidnapper wasn't a real person? "Where are we?" he asked. "And why are you driving so fast?" Another thought struck him. "Why are you driving at all?"

Spike smiled faintly. "It's what you do on the highway."

"Highway?" That didn't make any sort of sense. "We're what? Where?" he stuttered. "Are we leaving Sunnydale?"

"Already left." There was a definite note of satisfaction in that voice.

But it didn't do Xander any good. "What? Why? Where are we going?"

"Away." Spike turned back to look at the road, just in time to veer around, and pass, a large white truck with a picture of happy smiling children on the side.

Xander closed his eyes for a moment, seeking the relief of ignorance. Not really a viable option any more. But his questions were getting him nowhere, except for making his headache worse. He peered at Spike from under half closed eyelids and decided to try a different line. "Why have you tied me up?"

Spike's expression clearly announced his opinion that Xander was crazy, and maybe he was. "Because you'd try and escape, if I didn't," he explained, in a voice reserved for the really terminally stupid. "And I don't want to waste time chasing after you."

Xander absorbed that comment. "This is crazy," he asserted. "And why the hell do you keep kidnapping me?"

Spike shrugged. "Fuck knows, mate. I was going for the watcher."

"So this is just me and my terrible luck, again?" Why didn't that sound as crazy as it should? Something in Xander sank under a sense of the awful inevitability of this moment.

Spike turned to glance at him, his brows raised in enquiry. "You'd 'ave preferred I got the watcher, after all?" He sounded... honestly interested in the answer.

"No! Yes... No... I mean... I'd prefer you didn't get either of us." He took a deep breath and started again. "You do know that Buffy's going to hunt you down, if you kill me? I might be dead, but I'll get my satisfaction where I can. And right now that's with the picture of you, dust and her with a stake in her hands."

Spike spent a moment apparently considering that prospect. Then he nodded to himself. "What if I don't?" he asked.

"Huh?" That didn't compute. "Don't what?"

"What if I don't kill you?" Spike asked again, a note of exasperation entering his voice.

It was like the breath was wrenched forcibly from his lungs - hope like a great... something...? To hell with metaphor. "That would be good." Xander agreed eagerly. "I like that. In a 'much better than death' way." Then sanity reasserted itself, like the unwelcome relative at the party. "But I've got to ask this... just so I know where I sit, although I'm sure I'll regret it... but... why wouldn't you? Isn't that what you do?"

Spike shrugged. "Usually," he agreed.

Xander stared at the vampire, totally perplexed. Spike was usually more communicative than this. And didn't it say something about his life, that he knew that. Time to try something else. "Where are we?" he asked, with as much calm as he could muster. Spike just looked at him. "Where are we going? And are we nearly there?"

"No!" Spike snapped. "Listen, mate. This isn't some comfortable Sunday drive in the country. I'm abducting you. Don't you get that?"

Okay. Mistake. Must try harder not to annoy the kidnapping vampire. Taking a deep breath, Xander tried again. "Will you at least tell me where we are?"

Spike's voice shifted back to friendly, as easy as pie. "Just passed Gorman. South of Bakersfield."

Bakersfield? That couldn't be right. Bakersfield was miles from Sunnydale. Xander blinked, taking the time to gather his wits. "Huh?"

"You going deaf, mate? Bakersfield. You know - town in the valley, home of Burning Image."

"Huh?" His wits had obviously taken a vacation.

"Forget it." Spike said. At least he didn't sound mad, this time. "They weren't anything to write home about."

Xander took another breath and waited to see if the world would make sense, anytime soon. Nothing happened, so he decided all he could do was persist. Trying for calm, he asked, "Why are we going to Bakersfield?"

Spike smiled at him and suddenly Xander knew he was being played with. "We're not. You asked where we are and I told you."

The headache was coming back and it was bringing it's friends. But getting information was important. "Okay," he agreed, slowly. "So where are we going?"

"New York."

"Huh?" That was unexpected. And a bit of a shock. "Why?"

"I like the place. Killed a slayer there. Had some good times."

New York? That was days of driving. And it wasn't north of Sunnydale. At least, not last time he'd checked. "Umm... Spike... I know my geography isn't what it should be, but Bakersfield isn't on the way to New York."

"No, pet. I know." His voice was a study in nonchalance. "Do you like raspberries?"

"Raspberries?" Were they playing non sequitur tennis?

"Dru liked raspberries. The only human food she'd eat - said they tasted like fear, all sharp and sweet." He smiled into the distance, beyond the paint smeared windscreen. "Made her lips all red..."

There was nothing to do but give up on sanity and humour the crazy vampire. At least until the headache cleared. "Yes, I like raspberries."

Spike's smile turned smug. "Knew you would, pet."

Giving up, Xander closed his eyes and tried to relax. He stopped straining against his bonds, let his body go limp and concentrated on his breathing. Doing his best to ignore the crazy man driving the car, he pinned his faith on a quick rescue.

*****

After what felt like an hour, but was probably just fifteen minutes, Xander opened his eyes again. He felt better. His head was clearer and although he still had no idea how he'd got here, he thought he was ready to face where ever 'here' was and maybe try for a plan. Through a scratched hole in the paint, a road sign caught his eye. "Err... Spike... That was the Road to Bakersfield we just passed."

"Yeah, I know." Spike nodded. "But we're not going to Bakersfield. We're going to Reno."

Okay, so maybe being ready to face the situation was a bit optimistic. "I thought you said we were going to New York."

"I did. We are. But we're going to Reno on the way."

"Hang on. Bakersfield isn't on the way to Reno, either."

"Know that, pet. 'S why we're not going to Bakersfield." Spike glanced at him, one eyebrow raised, and apparently decided to take pity. "We left, going south, so that if they got sight of the car, they'd assume I'm heading for L.A.. Instead, I turn north." He sounded proud of himself and Xander began to lose the hope of rapid rescue, he'd been clinging to.

Instead of dwelling on that, he took his time appreciating the first sensible thing Spike had said since he woke up. "Are you going to let me go?" he asked.

Spike shook his head. "No."

"So I come back to the original question: if you're not going to let me go, and you're not going to kill me, why did you kidnap me?"

Spike pulled a cigarette out of the packet on the dash and lit it, before he answered. "Didn't say I wasn't going to kill you."

"Yes you did. You said you weren't going to kill me."

Spike blew a cloud of smoke at the windscreen and a slow grin spread across his face. "No, I said I didn't know if I was going to kill you."

In spite of everything, Xander felt his own lips twitch. It was crazy. He'd been kidnapped. By a vampire. And the vampire was making fun of him. He took a deep breath. "And I ask again: why me?"

"The Watcher had holy water."

That was probably not a non sequitur. "So?"

"So you were on the floor behind me, unconscious, and he was across the corridor with holy water to hand."

"So I was just convenient?"

Spike sounded almost regretful. "Could say that, pet."

"Great!" Xander sighed. "So are you going to let me go?"

"No, not yet. I've got plans."

That was worrying. "What do you want from me?"

There was a smirk. It definitely had smirk-like qualities. "What are you offering?"

" Err..." Xander tried to think of something. And came up blank. "I don't know."

Spike laughed out loud. "You're just trying to save your life."

"Well, yes!"

His voice took on a sympathetic note. "Not much of a life, mate. Why would you care so much?" He glanced over at Xander and the sympathy turned seductive. "I can offer you unlife. Believe me, it's a much better deal."

Xander shivered. "I like my life," he said, with emphasis. "You may not think it's worth much. But I like it. And even if it's not worth much... Even if it's only worth... A..." Desperately, he tried to think of something that was worth something, anything. "A penny..." he said, triumphantly. "A penny saved..."

"Is a penny lying worthless in the drawer." Spike interrupted with a grin.

"No! Is a penny gained - as in building up wealth and... and happiness and... And my life is worth a lot more than a penny."

Spike's amusement was clear in his voice. "Look after the pennies and the pounds will look after themselves, you reckon?"

"Yes. Something like that." Xander snapped. "Just... No! That's it! I can't cope with this. My head aches and I'm uncomfortable. And I've been kidnapped. Again. And..." He trailed off and Spike, for once, didn't push it. Silence reigned.

*****

An hour later, Xander was getting hungry. Shaking his head at his own stupidity in even asking, he turned to Spike. "I don't suppose you'd packed any food for me?"

Spike looked across at him. He seemed pleased? That Xander was talking again. He shook his head. "Nah. Wasn't expecting to be hightailing it out of town. Thought I'd have the Watcher with me. And that just needed a trip out to the woods for a bit. Nice quiet place with no people. I wasn't interested in feeding him."

"Please" Xander pleaded. "Enough. I don't want to know what you were going to do to Giles. I don't want to know what you're going to do to me - if you even know yourself - unless it is to get me some food. I am going to concentrate on little things. Can we do that? Food? I haven't eaten since lunch."

Spike scratched his forehead, thoughtfully. "You are high maintenance, aren't you, pet?"

"High maintenance? I'm human. We get hungry. It's natural. Don't you... No, forget I started to ask."

Spike shot him a look and grinned. "Every day's, nice. Every other day's, okay. Leave it more than three or four days, and it gets uncomfortable."

"I didn't need to know that." He glared at Spike. "Why are you being so friendly?"

Spike looked like he had to think about it. "Well we're stuck here, together. Don't see the point in making it unpleasant."

"It is unpleasant. I'm tied up."

"Yeah, I know. But I'm being friendly. It could be worse."

Xander slumped back in his seat and decided to stop humouring the crazy vampire by talking to him. He closed his eyes and tried to ignore the growling in his stomach. A small voice in the back of his head pointed out that if he was really scared, food would be the last thing on his mind. He ignored that and concentrated on plotting his escape. He was aware of sidelong glances from Spike, but he ignored them too. He was getting good at ignoring things.

His eyes opened with a snap, as the car veered to the right and they left the highway. "Are we there yet?"

Spike growled. "No. But there's a rest stop place here. If it'll make your body stop with those bloody disturbing, organic noises, I'll get you food."

Xander perked up and began to think about stopping near people and how he could get help, without putting lives in danger. Somewhere along the way, without him noticing, the sun had set. Maybe he's been asleep. The world outside was dark, but there were lights up ahead. The car slowed, slightly, as it turned into the rest stop parking lot, but Spike drove past the area reserved for families and pulled up between two huge trucks, out of sight of the shops and restaurants. He opened his door and climbed out. Xander waited for the ropes to be untied, but Spike just slammed the door shut and started to walk away.

"Hey!" Xander yelled. Spike looked round. "What about me?"

Spike came back, opened Xander's door and leant his forearm on the roof as he looked in at Xander. "You stay here. I'll get you some food."

"But... I need to pee," Xander said, with a flash of inspiration.

Spike's eyebrow was raised, sceptically. "You wait here." He repeated, before slamming the door again and walking off towards the glow of neon lights.

With another example of inevitable bad timing, Xander realised that once the thought of having a pee had occurred to him, his body decided to agree with his mouth. He looked down at the rug covering his legs. Shuffling his feet, he managed to get one heel over the trailing edge. He caught the cloth between his feet and began tugging it slowly down. When it cleared his thighs he saw that the thing holding him still was a long leather belt, wrapped around his forearms and legs in a figure of eight, which he couldn't pull out of, without first getting rid of the rope at his wrists. He tried twisting his hands, but the knots were too good to slip. There was no way he was going to get free on his own. He looked around. There was no one in sight.

Xander flexed his body and felt some give in the ropes around his waist and chest. The knots securing them were well out of reach, right across the bench seat on the driver's side. Spike must have been sitting on them. That's why they were looser, now that he was gone. Xander wriggled some more, trying to edge his way across to the wheel, so he could hit the car horn with his head. Maybe someone would come and get him free before Spike got back. He paused. Getting him loose would take time. Spike had only gone to get food. It wasn't like he needed to use the facilities. If Xander attracted help, he might as well be signing the Good Samaritan's death warrant. He leaned back and closed his eyes in defeated recognition of the double, triple, bind he was in. Any escape would have to be solo. For some reason Spike didn't seem to be planning to kill him. But Xander wasn't stupid enough to believe he would show such restraint towards everyone who crossed his path.

With a sigh of frustration, Xander slumped back in his seat and concentrated on controlling the growing pressure in his bladder.

*****

That was how Spike found him, when he returned. "'Lo, pet." He said cheerfully. "Here, got you a burger and some fries."

"Spike."

"Yeah? "

"I really do need to pee. And unless you want me to do it all over your leather upholstery, I really need to get out of here."

Spike's face screwed up in an expression of distaste and he dumped the stuff in his hand on the roof of the car. Crouching down he undid the knots, then he came around to the passenger side door and opened it. Bending down he picked Xander up bodily and lifted him out of the car, placing his feet on the ground. The belt meant Xander was now bent over and even Spike could see that wasn't going to work, so he undid the buckle, freeing Xander's arms. With a groan Xander stood upright, staggered slightly and leant back against the car until he found his balance. Mutely he held out his arms, offering his wrists to be untied.

"No, that's enough mate. You can manage your fly with bound wrists. Come on." Grabbing Xander's shoulder he led him away from the car and further into the shadows, stopping by the back of the truck and turning Xander around so he faced the rear wheels. "There," he said. "Go on."

Xander glanced around, then at Spike. "Umm... Can you, maybe, not watch?" he asked.

Spike grinned. "Performance anxiety, is it?" But he didn't seem annoyed. "Okay. I'll turn around. Just be quick, yeah?"

Xander struggled to undo his jeans and fumbled himself free. The sheer physical relief was wonderful and he groaned as his body relaxed. When he finished he did his best to put himself away and once he felt comfortable again, as comfortable as it was possible to be with bound wrists and a vampire at his shoulder, he turned back to Spike and nodded.

Back in the car, Spike retied the ropes and wrapped the belt around his legs, but left his arms free. Then he passed Xander the bag and a big shake with a straw. "Eat up. We've a way to go before sunrise." He paused to consider. "Not going to make Reno." He frowned. "Shame. Still, I know a place just outside Sacramento. We'll stop there. Okay?"

Xander wondered why Spike bothered to ask, he was too busy eating to answer anyway.

They were back on the highway before he'd even started on his fries.

14. History Lessons

The room was almost big enough for the two cheap lounge chairs it held, in addition to the bed and the rest of the usual furniture. It was also clean, if a bit old and worn. Spike had pulled the blinds closed as soon as they got in and hadn't turned on the main light, so it was only by the small amount of diffuse sunlight that got around them that Xander could see anything, from his vantage point tied to one of the chairs three feet from the foot of the bed. He was feeling very wary.

When they'd arrived in Sacramento a few hours before dawn, Spike seemed to know exactly where he was going - a nondescript motel somewhere to the west of the city. He'd left Xander in the car when he went to check in and then drove right up to the door of the room they now occupied. There hadn't been a chance for Xander to run, even if he'd known where he could run to - with no money, even if he got free, the means of successful escape defeated him. It was only later that he thought about how Giles would probably accept the charges of a collect call, if he could only get away. And Giles' telephone number was one of only three or four he had memorised. But for now, there was no chance - he'd been marched in and immediately tied up again.

It wasn't uncomfortable, exactly, but his arms were held fast to the wooden armrests, more rope wrapped around his shins and each front leg of the chair and finally there were the multiple turns around his waist which kept him fast in the seat. He fixed his eyes on his captor. "Why am I is still alive?" Okay, maybe not the most sensible question, but Xander wanted to keep Spike talking.

Spike was sprawled on his back on the bed, a bottle of bourbon clutched in one hand. "Because you're my bargaining chip," he said easily. "Your Scoobies will never sacrifice you."

That made the sort of sense, that didn't. "But you've got away. scot free. Why do you still need me?" The small voice in the back of Xander's head was screaming at him to shut up and stop tempting the vampire. But for some reason he persisted in ignoring it. It was partly what Giles would call 'sheer bloody-mindedness' and partly a simple desire to know where he stood. He needed to understand what his chances were. Plus - distracting the vampire from the bottle of high proof alcohol. Xander had enough experience with unpredictable drunk humans to know that he really didn't want to face an unpredictable drunk vampire. And Spike had been drinking steadily for the last hour.

"What makes you think I'm not going back?" Spike laughed and it wasn't a pleasant sound. "Your Watcher killed my Dru. Think I'll just forgive and forget?"

Oh. "But last night... On the road... you were..."

"I was what? I was nice?" Spike sneered. "I was being friendly? I was making your abduction pleasant?"

"Er... no, not pleasant. But you were friendly. Sort of. I mean... you didn't kill me and you brought me food."

"Sure, pet. Need you healthy, don't I? And last night, I needed you docile. I was nice and we got to Sacramento with no fuss. But if you think for one minute that you are anything but a walking bag of blood to me, then you're more deluded than I thought."

For the first time, Xander felt real fear. How could he have forgotten? God! Had he been deluded? Or could he blame concussion? If he'd had the freedom to move, he'd have kicked himself. Just because in the privacy of his own head, he'd seen something in the two vampires in his life (and stop and marvel at that concept) that spoke to him, as Giles' behaviour didn't, he'd forgotten exactly what they were. What Spike was.

He was being held prisoner by a vampire. An evil, bloodsucking fiend. And no number of burgers and no amount of apparently friendly teasing would change that. It was a wonder he was still alive. Okay. Think Xander. Think hard and for once in your life, think smart.

Keeping Spike talking seemed like a good idea. He'd already drunk most of a bottle and although he wasn't acting drunk, exactly, his movements had become a bit wider and looser.

Xander shifted, as much as his bonds would allow, and tried to think of a safe topic for conversation. "Actually, I was thinking more about how you said you were going to New York."

"So we are. Doesn't mean I'm planning on staying there forever. Got something to do. But after that, we're going back to Sunnydale and I'm going to find myself a Watcher." He lifted the bottle to his chin and tipped it to drink. A dribble of liquid escaped from the side of his mouth and tricked down his cheek to disappear into his hair.

Xander didn't miss Spike's use of the word 'we' and, in spite of his current predicament, he took some comfort from the idea that Spike wasn't planning on using him as a handy food source as he crossed the country.

"But we're not going straight to New York? Can I ask where we are going first, then? And why?" That felt like a much safer question than anything to do with his own life expectancy. A sudden thought that Spike might be planning to turn him, so he'd help with hunting Giles down, sent a bolt of panic through him. Spike had teased him with that idea weeks ago, last time he had Xander prisoner.

Spike lifted his head from the pillow and peered down the length of his body at Xander. "Calm down, pet. We're going to Reno," he said. "Got to see a shaman."

"Oh. Okay. And you need me with you, why?"

"Well, can't very well sort you out, if you're not there."

The panicky sense of dread turned into something far more solid, and far more scary. "Sort me out?"

Spike levered himself up on one elbow and rested his head on one hand, the neck of the bottle gripped loosely in the other and propped against his thigh. "Yeah. Don't want to have to keep you tied up all the time. Cramps my style. We're going to get you fixed up with something to solve that little problem."

"Uh hu?" For a moment, language failed him. "What problem?" he eventually managed, and he could hear the desperation in his own voice as his imagination took him places he'd never wanted to go.

"Yeah. Going to see a shaman. Big guy with the magic. He's got a handcuff that'll stop you straying, without me having to worry."

"Straying?" He suddenly felt like the neighbourhood dog, but the sense of relief as he realised that whatever magical handcuffs were, they would only be needed for a still human captive, took the sting out of the thought.

By the time Xander got his breathing back under control, Spike appeared to have lost interest in the conversation. Lifting the bottle to his lips, he tipped it back for another drink. His eyebrows rose in an expression of surprise and he lifted the bottle higher, holding it above his face as he squinted thoughtfully into the open neck. One solitary drop of Bourbon gathered on the rim and fell into his eye. "Bloody hell!" The bottle flew across the room, just missing Xander and rolled away across the carpet as Spike flopped onto his back rubbing his eye furiously. Xander did his best not to laugh.

Spike lowered his arm and lay still, gazing up at the ceiling. "Pass us that other bottle will you, pet?"

Xander shook his head. "I can't, Spike. I'm tied up."

"Oh. So you are. Forgot." Rolling off the bed, somehow still graceful in spite of the quantity of alcohol he'd consumed, Spike stalked past Xander to the chest of drawers and picked up the second bottle. Returning to the bed he sat on the edge, gazing blankly at the carpet between his feet. Time stretched endlessly for Xander as he waited for whatever was going to happen next. His emotions were having trouble keeping up with Spike's changing moods. The fear overload of a few moments ago seemed to have dissipated, leaving him tired but calm. It wasn't that he'd given up, he thought, just that there was only room for so much terror in his mind at any one time. Whether quiet Spike was a safer thing than talkative Spike, he didn't know.

"My Dru," Spike sighed. "So beautiful. So fey." He looked up at Xander, his eyes unfocused. "You have no idea. One hundred years. She was so beautiful. Rescued me." Suddenly he was looking straight at Xander. "How old are you, boy?" His eyes raked Xander's body, head to toe. "Sixteen? Eighteen? Can you even imagine what a hundred years with one person, 'slike?" Xander decided not to answer that and a moment later Spike continued. "No. You can't even begin." His hands twisted around the neck of the bottle, not trying to open it, possibly trying to strangle it. "She pulled me from the wreckage, and life was fun. With her, life was always such fun." Deliberately he opened the bottle, allowing the cap to fall carelessly to the floor. "We danced across Europe and Asia. Through wars and plagues. We watched the comedy of your little lives." He raised the bottle to his mouth and took a long swig. "You humans. Think you're so smart. But you don't know. Your place on the food chain, is way down. Way, way down." Once again his eyes shifted to some unseen point in the distance. "You play your games of power. Your games of betrayal and deceit. You think you're so clever." He lifted the bottle in a careless gesture, as if toasting Xander's health. "Until you've seen an old master with all his court, you haven't got the first clue what power is.

"I watched the Chinese rebel against occupation. I watched the Nazis rise in Europe. I saw the blunt instrument of hate they wielded. I saw their enemies descend to their level." He paused and his voice softened. "But I've seen the power of an ancient court, and I watched The Master kill his master, just so he could leave London and come and die in Sunnydale. And The Old Master... you know what?" He laughed harshly "He looked surprised. All 'Et tu Brute', like he hadn't done it himself, in his time." Suddenly he grinned. "You have no idea the shock waves that set off."

He turned his head and this time Xander felt he was actually looking at him. "My Dru saw it all, before it happened. She got us out of the Old Master's Court." He paused, turning back to stare at nothing, and when he resumed his voice was dreamy with memory. "She was good at that. Tried to get me to leave Europe back in the 30's. Didn't listen to her, that time... so she left me there and I ended up on a submarine." He snorted with mild amusement, before a sweet smile spread across his face, softening his expression. "But she came back for me. She always came back for me." He looked up at Xander again. "She had dark hair and pale skin and muscles like steel and a body as soft and welcoming as a tropical night." He stood and walked over to the chair. Placing the bottle on the floor, he set his knee on the seat and sat down, straddling Xander's legs. Xander reared back as far as he could, but Spike leant forward, his right hand bracing himself on the chair back behind Xander's head. With his left hand he gently brushed the hair back from Xander's forehead and stroked the backs of his fingers down Xander's cheek. He shook his head. "No. The hair's similar, but it's not the same. And your skin's different too." Sighing he pushed himself back onto his feet, picked up the bottle and returned to the bed. Xander heaved a sigh of relief.

Somehow managing to keep the bottle upright, Spike rolled across the bed and pulled himself up to lean his head against the headboard, booted feet crossed at the ankles on the quilted satin bedspread. "You should get some sleep pet. Busy night tonight." He took another swig, emptying the bottle. They both watched as it rolled away and clunked to the floor. Shuffling down into a more horizontal position, Spike grabbed the edge of the blankets and dragged them across his body.

Xander sat awake, as the hours of daylight passed, watching as the vampire lay unmoving in his cocoon.

15. Shopping

Another night, another city. Reno was... another city. Sometimes Spike got so tired of the mass of humanity. They were useful - cities - the way the food gathered together in convenient herds. There were always people on the fringe, ready to be picked off and never missed: the old, the sick, the outcast, or just the stragglers. But sometimes, the stink of them overwhelmed him and he yearned for the clean air of the mountains.

Once past Colfax, as the road lifted them higher, out of the smog of the valley, it was as if he could feel his spirit expanding. On impulse he turned to share his pleasure with the boy, but Xander wouldn't meet his eye, sitting slumped in the passenger seat, sulking. Well sod him. Spike would ignore him if he didn't want to play nice. He sat back and relaxed, one hand gently guiding the car around the shallow bends, the other elbow resting in the open window sill. Spike felt at peace with the world. The ache of Dru's absence was still there, but for the moment it was dulled - an almost familiar pain.

As the fresh air blew away the last remaining cobwebs from his brain, he found his thoughts following unfamiliar trails - examining his actions of the morning. There had been two empty bottles on the floor when he woke up this evening and he had vague memories of waxing lyrical, expounding on history and human and demon nature. He'd been expansive, and a bit maudlin, memories of Dru pouring out of him as fast as the alcohol poured in. But the boy had been an attentive audience, so he'd found himself relaxing as he talked. It had been... pleasant, somehow, to be able to speak freely, in front of someone who he didn't need to be wary of. When he woke up he'd felt much more cheerful, looking forward to another night of banter and snark. So what had gone wrong? What had changed? Come to think of it, Xander hadn't been very friendly at the beginning of the night either. He'd started awake immediately Spike got out of bed and hadn't been grateful for either the breakfast Spike had fetched for him from the diner across the road, or for the fact that Spike left him alone in the bathroom to wash and freshen up. Spike considered that - it wasn't like Xander didn't know he couldn't escape. He must have seen, when they arrived, that the bathroom had no window. So he couldn't have been sulking over some thwarted escape attempt. But for some reason he'd dragged himself around the room, yawning and mumbling discontentedly, as if the world was against him, until Spike began to wonder why the hell he kept him alive. But he'd got in the car, when told to, and not even protested the ropes, like he was half asleep.

It was inconvenient having to keep him tied up, but that was something that would soon be taken care of. At least this stage of the journey was only a couple of hours. And after tonight, things would get easier, Spike was sure. Somehow it was unnerving, having him sit there, a silent, brooding lump. "What's eating you, mate? Come on, not used to you being quiet."

Xander turned his head and gazed at Spike, an expression of pained disbelief on his face. "I'm tired, Spike. I didn't sleep."

"Huh! Why not? I didn't tie you up so tight. You should have been comfortable enough."

"Comfortable?" Xander's voice rose to a screech. "Comfortable? I was tied to a chair and sharing a room with a bloodsucking demon who had just told me I was nothing more than a convenient snack. How the hell was I supposed to be comfortable? How the fuck was I supposed to sleep?"

Spike laughed. "Language, pet. Should be ashamed of yourself." He thought about what Xander had said. "So the reason you're sulking now, is because you're tired?"

"I'm not sulking." If that wasn't a sulky voice, it was certainly weary. "I'm just tired."

Spike pulled the car over to the hard shoulder. "Hang on." He reached round to the back seat and dragged another rug out from the pile of gear stacked there. Shuffling across to Xander, he spread it across the boy's legs and up to his shoulders, tucking the edges snugly around his neck. "There," he proclaimed. "Humans lose body heat when they sleep. You'll be okay now." Settling back behind the wheel, he started the engine again. "Get some rest, and maybe you'll be better company when you wake up." He didn't miss the disbelieving stare, but Xander did close his eyes and relax his body. Spike monitored his breathing as he drove and after a mile or so it slowed into the rhythm of deep sleep.

It was almost a relief to reach Reno. For some reason the silent presence beside him had left Spike feeling more alone than if he really had been. The boy hadn't made a sound for the last hour, not a snore, not a snort, not a whimper. It was oppressive.

The highway split the town in two and Spike followed it right to the centre before turning off into the side streets. It had been a few years since he was last in these parts, but it appeared the places where the deals were done remained the same. Uppers, downers and everything else besides, were easy come by - just a matter of pulling up in the right place and handing the cash through the window. Spike glanced across at Xander as he stirred back to life. He was looking a bit better. "Want something to eat, mate?"

Xander blinked his eyes, clearing them of sleep. "Please."

A quick stop at yet another burger bar, a careful scattering of chemicals across the meat as he walked back to the car and sit back and watch the boy eat. He was out of it within ten minutes. He'd be fast asleep for at least three hours. Might do him some good. Spike smiled at himself, well aware of the irony of drugging the boy back into oblivion, after he'd spent the past hour wanting him awake and talking.

Parking the car in a properly guarded lot, Spike left it there while he went to find the current location of Old Man Black Wind's shop. That entailed visits to some of the seedier casinos and short sharp interviews with likely looking residents, but after a couple of hours he got the information he was looking for, as well as a few thou in winnings and takings.

Xander was still asleep when he returned and he briefly considered waiting until the next night. But if the boy wasn't sulking about being tied up before, he would once he was more himself again and rousing him now, so that he could regain a small amount of freedom, was worth the trouble.

Spike drove carefully through the narrow backstreets and alleys until he felt the shift in the air that told him he was close. He pulled up and got out, untying the ropes and releasing the belt, before giving Xander a gentle slap on the cheek to wake him.

"Ghuh," Xander groaned, peering up at Spike through half open eyes. "What? Uh... Water?" he croaked.

Spike should his head. "Sorry mate. Didn't think of it. Get you some inside, okay?" He hauled the boy out of the car and to his feet. Xander staggered forwards, unsteady and still dopey from the effects of the drug. "Now then. Listen. You gonna cooperate?" Spike asked, holding him steady by his shoulders. He gave him a little shake. "I won't tie you up, if you promise to be good." He let go of Xander's shoulders and he didn't fall over. "Give me your hand and we'll just walk along, friendly as you please. Come on, pet, this way." Taking the boy's hand in a strong grasp, he led him carefully along the alley until they reached the place where the air seemed a little thicker. Spike reached his other hand out and gave a little shove, and they were there.

The room was big and bright, some source-less light, with the spectrum of fluorescents, illuminating every corner. Spike winced at the sudden change. The walls were lined with glass fronted, steel and chrome cabinets, all full of jars, bottles and boxes. The place had a clean, almost clinical look, which belied the nature of the merchandise. Xander gazed round dumbly, probably not taking it in properly, although he must have registered the barrier they had just passed through. Spike's attention was immediately fixed on the figure of the man behind the counter opposite them. He was small and slim, dressed in a neat checked shirt and looked all of twenty five. His hair was short and dark and neatly combed and with his thick rimmed glasses, he projected an air of geeky harmlessness. Except, Spike knew for a fact that he'd looked exactly the same thirty years ago and probably still would in thirty years time. Dragging Xander behind him, Spike walked up to the counter and nodded. "Black Wind," he greeted.

Old Man Black Wind smiled. "Spike. Long time, no see. What can I do for you today?"

Spike raised a questioning eyebrow. "Straight to business, eh? What you so nervous about?" Black Wind said nothing, just smiling in a counterfeit of embarrassed friendliness. Spike snorted with faint amusement at the act. "Okay. We'll be quick. That suits me fine." He indicated Xander, with a shrug. "Need a cuff for this one." Pulling Xander over, he wrapped an arm around his shoulders to hold him still. "Two things: don't want him running away, and I don't want him trying to kill me. Can you do that?"

The old man looked at Xander thoughtfully, his fingers stroking lightly along the edge of the counter in front of him. "Hmmm. For a price, yes." He looked back at Spike and his eyes were sharp and piercing. "Wait there." He edged along to another section of the counter and pulled open a drawer, lifting out a shallow tray. Carrying it carefully, he returned to where Spike stood and placed it on the counter in front of him. He caught Spike's smirk and grinned back as he removed the sprigs of mistletoe and holly, exposing the contents underneath. "For protection," he explained. "Holly protects against lightning and evil spirits, and mistletoe is good for virility. Not quite in keeping with the décor, I'll admit, but style is only style - magic is business."

In the bottom of the tray, on a bed of black velvet, were a series of curved lengths of different materials, looking like nothing so much as drawer handles on display in a hardware store. There was silver and onyx, copper and turquoise, mother-of-pearl, peridot and amethyst, among others, all perfectly circular in cross-section and paired with an identical twin. Black Wind reached into another drawer and pulled out a pair of callipers. "Let me see his left wrist," he instructed. Spike lifted Xander's arm and laid it on the counter. Xander stood unresisting and Spike wondered if that was still the drug in his system, or if the old man had done something to keep him docile. Black Wind carefully measured the dimensions of Xander's wrist, then ran his fingers thoughtfully down the edge of the tray, stopping next to a pair of Jade crescents. Holding the callipers above them he compared their dimensions. Satisfied he nodded. "Jade," he said. "That's what you need. What range do you want? And do you want him incapacitated, or hurting?"

Spike hesitated as he thought about it. "Incapacitated would mean, frozen?" he hazarded. Black Wind nodded. "Hmm, could be dangerous if he suddenly froze solid. Make him easy to pick up, but make him an easy target for other things too. Those my only choices?"

"Those are the standards. Cost you three thousand. But if you throw in two promised favours, I can make it so he just feels really uncomfortable. A sort of compulsion. He'll feel worse and worse, until he turns around." He shrugged and grinned. "And as soon as he does... he'll feel better." Reading Spike's face, he nodded. "Range, one hundred yards?"

"Hang on! Two promises? That's a bit steep." Spike smirked. "But I'll give them to you... so long as they're things I'd do anyway. Nothing against my nature or my interests. Deal?" Black Wind's eyes narrowed thoughtfully. "'Cause I don't really care if he's hurting." Spike added, his smirk broadening.

Black Wind's mouth tightened in annoyance, but he nodded his agreement to the deal. Removing a silk handkerchief from his shirt pocket he carefully picked up the two pieces of stone. "Raise his hand," he instructed. "And be quick. I'm expecting visitors." Spike did as he was told and Black Wind brought the two bits of jade together, so that the ends matched up, creating an oval bangle that encircled Xander's wrist. He began to mutter under his breath as he wrapped the handkerchief around the stones. After a moment he pulled away, allowing the handkerchief to drop. The jade was now a single oval and Xander had a bracelet. Black Wind's forehead wore a faint sheen of sweat, which he wiped away with his left hand. He dragged a pad of paper over as Spike placed three thousand dollars on the counter. Laying his left hand, palm down, on the pad, Black Wind muttered a few more words, then he tore the page free and folded it. He picked up the money and shoved it in the front pocket of his jeans, without counting it, and handed the paper to Spike. "Here's the instructions," he said. "Nice doing business with you. Now go. Please?"

Spike took the paper. "Good to see you again, old man." He nodded towards Xander. "How long before this wears off?"

"An hour or so. Close the door behind you, yeah?"

"Cheers, mate. If it doesn't work..."

"It'll work. You know my stuff always lives up to the label. Now, go."

Taking Xander's hand again, Spike turned and walked towards the blank wall at the back of the shop. Reaching it, he gave a push and stepped forward. Then they were in the alley. The car was parked fifteen yards away.

*****

One motel was much like another. Spike had used his hour to find them both something to eat, leaving Xander in the car while he did so. Then he had found them a place for the day.

This room had two beds and Xander was already ensconced in one of them, consuming his picnic supper, becoming more and more his usual self with each bite. Spike sat back against the headboard of the other and read through the instructions. "It works on intention," he said.

Xander looked across at him, over the top of the apple he had just raised to his mouth, his eyes big and questioning.

"Your new bit of jewellery, pet. It works on intention. Means that although you can hurt me, kill me, by accident, you can't do it intentionally."

Xander looked down at his wrist. He took a bite from the apple and put the rest down carefully on an empty paper bag. Taking hold of the bracelet, he tried pulling it, but it was too small to pass over his hand. He frowned, belatedly remembering to chew, before swallowing to speak. "That place was real then? We really were in some weird white shop, or clinic, or something? With the guy with the huge eyes? I thought that was a crazy dream." He swallowed again, nervously. "What have you done to me?"

"Ain't done nothing. Well, nothing much. Just bought you a pretty, for my pretty." Spike grinned at Xander's expression of disgust. "It's magic, pet. Magical hand cuffs, remember? Stops you running away. Says here, if you try, you'll feel nauseous. Then if you keep trying, you'll feel so uncomfortable, you won't know which way is up. But as soon as you turn around and start coming back to me, you'll feel better." He raised his eyes from the paper to look at Xander, who was glaring at him. "Hey! I paid extra to get you that. Could have been a cheapskate and gone with agonising pain, or something that made you freeze on the spot. Should be grateful."

"Grateful," Xander gritted out, between clenched teeth. "Grateful, to be tied up more effectively than I have been for the last two days? Grateful that you went for the padded cuffs?" His voice rose angrily. "They're still cuffs, Spike!"

"Calm down, pet. You've got a range of a hundred yards. And no penalty if you get outside that, by accident - you'll be okay, as long as you're attempting to come back." He folded the paper and put it safely away in his pocket. "See? Could be worse." He glanced at Xander and his voice hardened. "Don't!" he ordered as Xander picked up the apple and raised it, as if to throw it at Spike. "'Cause you can't hurt me, but I, sure as hell, can hurt you. And if you misbehave, I'll not have a qualm about turning you over my knee, like the naughty child you are." The apple crashed into the wall on the far side of the room. Spike grinned. "Done with your tantrum now? Good. So go to sleep. We've still got a ways to go and I want to be on the road at sunset. Get out of this town, before that old bastard decides to call in any favours." He leaned forwards and unlaced his boots, kicking them to the floor, then he crawled under the covers and rolled over. He was asleep within minutes, in spite of the weight of Xander's glare on the back of his neck.

16. Not waving, but drowning

Xander finished eating his breakfast... supper... whatever meal it was. His life had become nocturnal. And wasn't that a weird thought? Counting back, he realised it was only two days. The day before yesterday, at this time, he'd been loitering on the way to school. Today he was sharing a motel room with a vampire.

Spike didn't move the whole time it took Xander to eat the sandwiches and fruit Spike had supplied. Stuffing the packaging and apple cores into a single paper bag, Xander laid it carefully aside. The light from around the edge of the blinds was brighter now. He gave the bracelet on his wrist another futile tug. Nope. No way was that getting past his hand. He knew, in a theoretical, distant sort of way, that he was tired, but the food had given him a boost of energy and fear was doing the rest. He visually measured the distance to the door. Spike was a lump of blankets on the other bed, his face turned away from the faint daylight. Xander watched him and started to count. Spike still hadn't stirred by the time he reached five hundred, so he began to edge slowly across the mattress. Moving very carefully, praying the bed wouldn't creak with his shifting weight, he lowered his feet to the floor and rolled off onto his knees, lifting his body evenly away, until he was sitting back on his heels on the floor.

He froze, waiting painfully to make sure his movements were undetected. All he could hear was his own breathing, which seemed incredibly loud in the still room. He had a flash of memory of a TV show from years ago - something to do with a hunt through a haunted house and he opened his mouth, breathing through it, instead of his nose. The silence deepened.

Placing his hands on the floor in front of his knees, Xander pushed himself upright. His sneakers made no sound as he backed cautiously towards the door, eyes fixed on the patch of stark whiteness that was Spike's hair. When his right foot met the edge of the carpet, he stilled again, checking. Then he turned and placed a hand on the door handle. One last look back and he twisted the knob, wrenched the door open and lurched out into the welcoming daylight.

Xander heaved a huge sigh of relief. Step one accomplished. He was safe. Now he just had to work out how to get home, before the end of the day. Leaving the door wide open, only regretting the fact that it faced northeast, so the direct light didn't penetrate far into the room, he staggered to the car and laid his head on his folded arms, braced on the roof, as he caught his breath and considered his next move. No car keys, so no chance of just driving away. He needed help.

Looking around, he saw that the motel consisted of a row of rooms joined by a shallow porch. At the end of the row was the city. The morning rush-hour seemed to be in full swing and the air was heavy with exhaust fumes as rows of cars crawled past the motel entrance. He considered hitching a lift, but they were hardly moving faster than walking pace. Between him and the road was the office. Of course, Spike would choose the room furthest away. Probably a habit developed over years, so the screams of his victims wouldn't attract undue attention.

Stepping away from the car, Xander walked out into the open and headed that way. It felt wonderful to have the sun beating down on his head. Elated and carefree, almost giddy with relief, he deliberately walked down the centre of the parking lot, past the few cars and the row of white lines which marked out the territories attached to each room. He stuck his hands in his pocket as he ambled, swinging his shoulders to some imagined music. As long as he stuck to daylight, he knew he was safe, in spite of the vague feeling of not-rightness that was attempting to crawl into his head and spoil his good mood.

He was twenty yards from the office when the first wave of dizziness struck, causing him to stumble and almost fall. Pausing he pulled his hands free and scrubbed his face, running his fingers back through his hair, tugging slightly in an attempt to clear his head. He looked around. Nothing had changed. The sun still shone brightly, the cars still crawled past, but it was as if a pall had been thrown over the world. Shadows lurked at the edges of his vision and the skin on his forehead and cheeks felt tight. He took a couple more steps and a second wave of dizziness hit him. As it slowly cleared, he found himself bent over, hands braced on his knees. His stomach churned and he fought the desire to lose his meal.

Taking slow, deep breaths, he counted them in and out: one, two, three, four, five. The air tasted foully of rubber, burning at his throat. Bending his knees slightly, he pushed himself up with his arms. He felt like an old man - stiff and achy. Concentrating on the office he took one more deep breath and continued on. As he walked, the dizziness gradually transformed itself into a low, throbbing pain in his temples and by the time he reached the two shallow steps up to the office door, he had to hang on to the hand rail and pull himself up.

He fumbled blindly at the handle, opening the door more by luck than judgement, and lurched through, collapsing back against it to close it, panting with the effort of staying upright. The air here was dusty, but lacked the nauseating chemical stench of outside. He opened his eyes.

The man sitting behind the desk looked up from the magazine he was hunched over and leant back in his chair. He was young, though older than Xander, and heavily muscled. Xander squinted across the room, suddenly realising the character of the establishment. He didn't look very promising as a source of help, dressed, as he was, in a faded flannel shirt with the arms ripped off, over a blue T-shirt with a gold logo across the front. His hair was shaved away on the sides of his head, leaving a bristly patch balanced on top, and he had a long moustache, which gave him an even more villainous appearance than the clothes and hair cut already did. A double page spread of sleek black motorbike was revealed on the desk in front of him. But appearances could be deceiving. He might be a real nice guy. He raised one heavily tattooed arm and a ran his hand across the top of the strange brush of hair as he stared at Xander, neither encouraging not questioning.

Xander wiped his brow. "I need a telephone," he said.

Tough motorbike guy shook his head with a grunt. "Broke." Okay, maybe appearances were right.

Xander concentrated on his breathing, feeling the sweat start up on his forehead. "Is there another?"

The guy looked at him critically. "Don't be sick in here. Go outside," he ordered, turning back to his magazine, apparently dismissing Xander from his thoughts.

Xander felt tears gather at the corners of his eyes and willed them back. "Please?" He whispered.

The guy looked up again, apparently surprised to see Xander still there. "Next door." He nodded vaguely to the left. "C-store's got one outside." He turned back to his magazine. That was definitely a dismissal.

Xander stared at him for a bit longer, but he didn't look up again. As he stood, trying to overcome the almost paralysing discomfort and summon the energy to move, Xander remembered Spike reading the instructions for his magical cuffs. Oh God! He tried to remember exactly what Spike had said. A hundred yards, was that it? He was feeling worse and worse with each passing moment, his skin itched and his bones ached and suddenly he knew, it was not going to stop. If he was going to call Giles, he would either have to go back to Spike, until he felt better, or be quick about it. Whatever the magic was, it didn't feel like a specific compulsion to return. And having been possessed twice, Xander knew what that felt like. But whatever it was, the urge to run back to the room and hide under the blankets was strong, and strangely, that was the very thing that finally made him realise he had to hold out. If he went back until he recovered, it would be twice as hard to set out again. Plus, who knew if he'd get another chance?

His hand found the door knob behind him and he stumbled back out of the office, turning right towards the street, hands braced on the wall. The darkness was encroaching ever further on his vision, the sweat on his nose and brow prickled like needles and the skin all over his body felt tight and sensitive. His left hand hit air and he almost fell. Raising his eyes from his feet, he realised he'd reached the corner of the building and was on the sidewalk. He looked around frantically, searching for the convenience store. There it was. The twenty yards between him and it, stretched away like the expanse of the Sahara. Focusing solely on the phone booth by the door, Xander allowed the darkness to take the rest of his vision. "Okay," he muttered. "On three." He took deep breaths as he counted. "One, two, three." With a lurching move he launched himself into space. Each step was exquisite discomfort, but by reciting Giles' number over and over, like a mantra, he managed to ignore that and keep his eyes fixed on his goal. Vaguely he was aware of other people rushing past, of the noise of traffic beside him, of the sun cutting into his brain. He held on to the sequence of Giles' phone number, as if they were the only thing in the world that mattered, as he forced his legs to move.

Then he was there. He was on his hands and knees, but he was there. The telephone hung above him like the Holy Grail, finally found. Walking his hands off the wall, he got himself upright and fumbled the handset off its rest. The buttons on the keypad were dancing all over the place and he had to close one eye and squint with the other to make the '0' stand still long enough to hit it. He got the handset up to his ear and leant his back against the wall, catching his breath and gathering his thoughts for the next challenge. The voice of the operator was cool and businesslike.

He forced the words out through teeth clenched against the pressure. "I need to make a collect call to a number in Sunnydale." He recited his mantra aloud and heard the connection going through.

The ring tone sounded. It sounded again. And again. And again.

"There's no answer from that number, Sir. Is there another you want to try?" She sounded almost interested, sympathetic. But Xander didn't know another number. His brain could hardly compute anything other than the ones he'd been reciting. The handset fell from his hands. Faintly he registered the tinny voice. "Sir. Are you there, Sir? Do you need me to call 911?" He was sitting on the ground, back against the wall and the handset swung in the air next to him.

For long minutes he didn't move, listening to the buzz of the dial tone, as the truth of his situation settled in his brain. The pain began to fade, slightly. Eventually, he realised that he was beginning to attract attention. Wearily he hauled himself to his feet and looked around. The cars still crawled by at walking pace. The sun was still bright in the sky. He turned and walked back towards the motel.

*****

Inside the room, standing back in the shadows, Spike watched Xander's approach. He noted the slumped shoulders and the defeated stance. With a smile of satisfaction he went back to bed and this time he went to sleep.

When he woke up seven hours later, he found Xander curled up on the veranda outside the door. He looked peaceful, although he was hugging his jacket tightly around himself in his sleep. It had been sunlit in the morning, but now the long shadows of late afternoon had probably robbed him of his warmth. Spike dragged a blanket off the bed and laid it over the boy, before going back inside. There was no rush, really and a long, relaxed shower would set him up nicely for the drive ahead.

17. Make and mend

Spike nudged Xander with his foot. "Hey, time to get up." Xander didn't react. He nudged him harder. "Come on. Up you get. This guard dog at the door impression is all very well, but it's time to get up and get moving."

Xander turned his head and opened one bleary eye. "Woof," he whispered, half-heartedly, before pulling the blanket over his head.

Spike reached down and grabbed the corner, dragging it away. "Go get a shower. I'm going to find us some food."

That woke the boy up. He sat up suddenly. "But... but, you can't." Spike raised an eyebrow, questioningly. "A hundred yards," he stuttered. "I'll have to go with you." He paused, as if finally facing an unpleasant truth. "Oh God, I'm stuck with you, aren't I?"

Spike smiled. "Don't worry mate. Won't be a problem. You're not trying to leave. It works on intention, remember? I can leave. You can't. Got it? Now go shower. I won't be long." And he stepped over Xander's legs and walked away along the porch, towards the town. He was aware of Xander's eyes following him, but when he got to the office and looked back, the boy had already disappeared.

In fact he was an hour, or more. It felt so good to be out on his feet, instead of endlessly sitting in the car. He started to run and then kept going, for the sheer joy of it. Finding himself a good meal was not a problem, a homeless guy on a park bench, and there where more than enough shops open to provide a suitably healthy meal for a human. It had been a long time since Spike had needed to eat human food, and it had changed. It was interesting, actually looking at the variety on the shelves, reading some of the labels and picking through the fruit, savouring the fresh, green smells. He took his time.

*****

Grocery bag in hand, Spike strode back towards the room, feeling light and carefree. It wouldn't last, but for now it felt good. He'd almost reached the car and was already reviewing the best route out of town, when Xander's head popped into view above the roof. Spike took the last three steps slowly and carefully placed the bag down on the lid of the boot, as he peered around the far side of the car. His possessions were spread across the tarmac and he stood for a moment, rooted to the spot with surprise.

Xander reached back inside the open rear door and hauled a small wooden box off the seat, placing it carefully on the ground. He looked up at Spike and grinned. "Don't worry, I'll put it all back. I'm just trying to make some space."

"Some space?"

"Yeah, for my stuff. I need some clothes, Spike. I've been wearing these for three days. I've been thinking - like most of the day and in the shower, just now, and I figure, if I'm stuck with you, and you're not going to kill me, you'd better buy me some clothes." He looked up at Spike and his voice took on the tones of exaggerated concern. "Unless you like sharing a car with a stinky human?" Reading the answer to that in Spike's face, he nodded. "Didn't think so." He clambered back into the car and busied himself with rearranging the stuff piled there. Spike leant back against the rear wing, dug his fags out of his pocket and settled back to watch Xander work, and to make sure his own possessions were all safely returned to their places.

By the time Xander had finished, all the gear was stored away again, leaving a patch of seat about eighteen inches wide, still empty. Xander stood back and admired it. "My wardrobe," he said, proudly. "I can't do anything about leaving, so I'm going to have to make the best of things. Right?"

"Er, yeah, sure, mate," Spike mumbled around his fag. "The best of things." He felt adrift in the face of this new creature. This wasn't the defeated boy of the morning, nor the sulky one of the night before. What the fuck had happened while he slept?

Xander nodded briskly. "Okay then. Is that mine?" He gestured towards the grocery bag. Spike nodded. "Good, I'm starved. What did you get me?" He grabbed the bag, sat down on the porch step and started pulling things out of it. The plastic wrapped sandwich stayed out, as did the carton of milk and one of the apples. The rest of the apples, the grapes, sliced meat, bottle of orange juice and the bread rolls, went back. He looked up. "Thanks. I'll come with you next time. Guess they didn't have proper junk food when you were alive, eh?"

This was very strange. "Aren't you even a bit afraid?" Spike asked.

Xander paused in unwrapping the sandwich and glanced up. "Totally terrified," he agreed, seriously. "But since I can't do anything about where I am, I've decided I need to take control of what I can. Way I see it, this is good for both of us - I get to be clean and you get to have an unsmelly co-driver."

In the face of the inexplicable, Spike latched on to the last word. "Co-driver?" he asked, dubiously.

"Sure. Why not?" Xander paused, as if he expected an answer to that one, but Spike could think of so many reasons, he couldn't pick one out of the mass. Giving up with a shrug, Xander continued, "So, mall? shops? clothes? We're all packed. We can go now, if you like."

*****

The parking lot was fairly empty, which Spike took to be a good sign. He parked near the main doors and sat back, hands braced on the wheel. Xander looked at him. "You have to come with me," he said. "I can't walk away from you, remember."

Spike sighed and hauled himself out of the car. With a shake of his head, he watched Xander march ahead, as he trailed him towards the shops.

Xander headed straight for some cheap chain store, Payless or Target, or something. Spike caught up with him and herded him away, to a store which looked more like one he would be seen dead in.

Jeans were easy. Spike noted the size Xander was looking at, walked over to the shelf of Wranglers and picked up a pair, thrusting them into Xander's arms. Shirts were more difficult. Xander headed to the generic T-shirts, with their glaring bright colours, but no way was Spike associating with Xander in orange. He grabbed hold of the boy by the scruff of the neck and steered him away from the piles of cheap clothes in sealed plastic bags, to an area where the shirts hung on hangers. With a quick glance, to assess Xander's size, he picked up navy blue, black, forest green, maroon and grey and added those to the pile in Xander's arms.

Xander gazed at him, open mouthed. "Hey, man, what are you doing?"

"Buying you some proper shirts, in proper colours, which don't make you look like a neon display."

"But I like those colours, is not just that they're cheap." Spike just looked at him, sceptically. "Colours are expressive."

"Yeah, pet, expressive of God-awful bad taste." He scowled at Xander and stomped off to find a couple of long sleeved shirts.

Xander glared at him. "Those are so conventional. I'm seventeen, I'm supposed to explore possibilities."

"Well I'm 120, and I know better." He dumped the shirts on the pile. "Socks and knickers," he said, pointing. "Go."

Back at the car Xander deposited his new purchasers lovingly in his space on the backseat. He shoved his hands in pockets of his new jeans, hunched his shoulders in his new leather jacket, and looked up at Spike shyly. "Thanks," he mumbled.

"Just get in the car, whelp. I need to get out of here."

*****

As they pulled on to the I-80, Xander leant back in his seat and turned to Spike with a grin. "That was fun. I got more new clothes in half an hour than I did in the last year. You," he added, with emphasis, "are a man who knows how to shop. You'd put Buffy to shame." He sighed with satisfaction. "I feel like we're bonding. This could be the start of a beautiful friendship."

Spike smirked. "Do you, pet?"

"But I'm not going to turn nocturnal, okay? So next place we stop, I want to be close to the restaurant. Will you give me some money?" Spike said nothing, but Xander didn't seem discouraged. "The way I see it, if I'm stuck with you, I'm going to have to make the best of it. Then, I figure, I hang around and wait for someone to kill you, since I can't do it myself."

Spike raised an eyebrow. "Going to be waiting a long time then. Hundred and twenty years and two slayers have tried that and I'm still walking."

Xander looked thoughtful. "Two slayers? Hmm, I think I remember Giles saying something about that once. Something about China? When was that?"

"1900, there abouts. Boxer Rebellion was in full swing. Blood and fire in the streets. Dead missionaries all over the place. Took her out in a temple."

"Why were you in China?"

"Don't know. Just went where Darla's whim took us. Took us to China."

"What about after that?"

Spike shrugged. "Back to Europe, through British India, Persia, Turkey, Greece, back to Germany, eventually. Then we went to Paris for a while. What is this, twenty bloody questions?"

"British India?" Xander sounded honestly puzzled. "Is there more than one?"

"Sure, they've got them all over." Spike glared at the boy. "What do you think?" Xander was doing a parody of polite interest. Spike sighed. Again. "You know? The Raj? Sun never set on the British Empire and all that rot?"

Xander frowned. "But it did set. It's gone. The US is the new power in the world."

"Not how it worked. They meant literally. Think about it, Canada, the UK, good bits of African, India, Australia and a fair smattering of Pacific Islands - there was always somewhere in the British Empire with the sun in the sky."

"Have you been to all those places?" Xander asked, apparently diverted by this new thought.

Spike raised an eyebrow. Again. "Lot of them."

"So after India...?"

"By sea to Persia, as it was then, then overland." At Xander's interrogatory grunt, he explained. "Don't want to spend too long at sea, pet - food's limited." He thought back to that long journey, only months after Angelus left for the second time, and remembered Dru's savagery, whenever he let her out of his sight. "Shirraz was beautiful in those days. Dru loved the Middle East, better than Asia. We went through Palestine to Turkey - Adana to Ankara to Istanbul. That was all the Ottoman Empire in those days, of course."

"The Ottoman Empire?"

"Don't they teach you anything? You know sultans, harems and eunuchs."

"You're kidding?" He sounded awed. "You mean like the Arabian nights?"

"So you have read some literature, then?" Spike observed.

Xander grinned, self-deprecatingly. "Well, I saw a movie."

Spike laughed back. "Tell you what pet, once we get to New York, I'm going to teach you to read."

Blood on a Sundial: 18 ~ 25