Blood on a Sundial: 18 ~ 25
by Maz

 

18. A leaf in the wind

 

When the phone rang, Giles was in the middle of his habitual, slow Saturday morning wake-up routine - tea, shower, shave, tea, breakfast, more tea. More accurately, he was only half way through the shave portion of his morning routine. For a single moment he considered letting it ring, but too many years of suffering from, and preparing for, emergencies, won over that base instinct. Throwing his razor into the hand basin, he ran down the hall to the living room, trying to stamp down the spark of hope that rose in his heart.

 

The desk was a mess, necessitating a rapid search under copies of Occultus Quaero and Argentum Veneficus, and a Hopi Koshare mask (acquired in the mistaken belief that it was a relic of the local Chumash tribe, an error he could kick himself for, now that he knew more about the subject) to find the source of the insistent summons.

 

He was surprised that whoever it was hadn't rung off, the time it took for him to find the damn thing. As a result he was a little abrupt in answering. "Yes?" he snapped.

 

There was a pause, then an uncertain voice asked, "Giles?"

 

Giles sat down in shock, only a moment later registering with gratitude that there had indeed been a chair behind him, as the spark took flame. "X-Xander? Is that you? Oh thank God! Xander, are you alright? Where are you?"

 

"I'm okay, Giles. I'm not dead. I promise." He sounded so close. "But Spike's got me."

 

Without conscious thought, Giles' hand lifted to cover his eyes and he wiped it down his face as he took in the news. Not quite the worst he had feared, but still bad. His hand was covered in soap and he wiped it clean on the leg of his trousers. "Xander," he said, urgently, "tell me where you are. I'll come and get you."

 

Xander sounded almost calm, it was worrying. "I'm somewhere in Nebraska, or possibly Iowa. And you can't come and get me. There's this whole thing with a spell. I can't leave. I tried a couple of days ago. It wasn't nice. You have to trust me on this one." He paused. "Oh, and I can't kill him, either."

 

Giles propped the phone under his chin and groped through the rubbish for a pad of paper and a pen. "Where's Spike, now?"

 

"He's asleep. I'm in the lobby of the motel."

 

"He's not there with you?" Giles sat up in his chair, hope blossoming. He took a breath, to calm himself. "Get out of there, Xander," he instructed. "Get into the daylight and keep going. Get to a bank. Any bank. Find out where you are and call me in half an hour. I'll arrange some money for a flight, or a bus, or something."

 

Xander's reply was impatient. "Giles. You're not listening to me. I. Can't. Leave. It's a spell." He paused, taking a deep breath. "Listen. I'm playing nice. I figure if I do that, he won't kill me. We're going to New York. I don't know why." Another pause, longer this time, but Giles somehow sensed that he shouldn't interrupt. "Can you...? My parents..."

 

Giles reached up and pulled off his glasses. "They've already filed a missing persons on you."

 

"They did? That's nice. I mean... Okay." It was indicative of something, that Xander sounded surprised. "Hang on." He asked, suspiciously. "Was that because you did it already?"

 

Giles would have laughed, if it hadn't been so bloody tragic. What did you say in such a situation? "I'm sure they're worried sick about you."

 

For a moment Xander's voice held a hint of humour. "Yeah, I'm sure they are." He took another deep breath and seemed to dismiss further thoughts of his parents from his mind. When he spoke again, he sounded lost, forlorn. "I don't know what to do, except what I'm doing."

 

Giles refocused on the immediate crisis "Has he hurt you?"

 

The hint of a laugh was back in Xander's voice, but it sounded strained. "No. He bought me clothes. And he got a room close to the lobby, because I asked. That's how I could make this call. I can't go further than a hundred yards from him, Giles. He can leave me, but I can't leave him. Thing is, I don't want him to leave me dead, hence the playing nice."

 

Giles mentally reviewed Xander's previous statements. "Okay, tell me about this spell. Everything you know." Maybe he could find an counter spell, if he knew what he was looking for.

 

"It's a bracelet. Green stone, smooth, no markings. He got it from a guy in Reno. I don't remember much. I think my memory is a bit cloudy on that." Xander paused, as if trying to pull the memories in. "I think I remember walking down an alley... then I was in this really weird shop... and this guy had these huge eyes." There was silence at the end of the line, then a 'huff' of frustration. "And that's it. I can't remember exactly how he did it, but I got a nifty magic bracelet that acts like a handcuff, so I can't leave and I can't kill him - not that I've tried that, because really, the trying to leave was bad enough. And I can't get it off."

 

Giles could feel Xander's frustration. "Be strong," he admonished. "We will sort this out. You may not be able to kill him, but I can. We will get you back and we will find a way to get you away from him, even if we have to kidnap him, so he comes back with you. You hear me, Xander?" He put every ounce of conviction he could manage into his words - determination and hope were powerful weapons, in their own right. "We will get you back. And we will break the spell."

 

There was a sound of choking, over the phone. "Ugh, Giles, sorry, even listening to that plan is making the spell kick in. I'm sorry. I've gotta go. Give the girls my love, yeah?"

 

The dial tone sounded loud in Giles' ear and he pulled the phone away and stared at it blankly. He would have to talk to Buffy and Willow. Tell them Xander was almost safe. Buffy had been tearing Sunnydale apart for five nights, searching for Spike. Her instinct would be to rush off immediately to the rescue, but Giles knew it was more complicated than that. As he carefully placed the handset back in its cradle, he wondered if there hadn't been some deliberation in Xander not disclosing his location. Xander knew Buffy very well. Meanwhile, Giles needed an alternative plan. He turned and began to scan the bookshelves when another thought struck him. Picking up the phone again, he dialled a number from memory. There was a pause, then, "Ms Calendar, Jenny. I need your help tracing magic workers in Nevada."

 

19. The undead poets' society

 

Spike glanced at Xander, asleep in the passenger seat, as he exited the GW Bridge. After eight days and nights, the boy seemed to have finally settled into acceptance of his status as prisoner. It had been a mostly uneventful trip and for once Spike was happy to have it so. He'd been laying low, driving every night, finding inconspicuous motels for the days and feeding only once, just before they drove out of town. Being careful like this was usually second nature, but he'd got lazy on the Hellmouth, where the most blatant behaviour didn't raise more than an eyebrow. Getting here had been his immediate goal and it was not a bad thing to have a reason for re-establishing well learnt habits of discretion.

 

So why had he taken the boy? At the time, it had been expedient, but there was no doubt, if it had not been Xander, his kidnapee would probably have been a snack on the road, eaten and forgotten by now. He shook his head, faintly puzzled by his own behaviour. It was true that the boy had captured his imagination from his first encounter, when Angelus offered him up as a peace offering, but looking back, that didn't seem enough of a reason. Circumstance may have brought them together, but why was he still here, unharmed, after more than 3,000 miles?

 

Tired of trying to figure it out, Spike shelved such thoughts and concentrated on the road. Even in the middle of the night this city was never still and where he was heading was right at its heart.

 

One of the many advantages of living for a hundred years, was the convenience of accumulated interest and property - especially when the pounds and dollars accumulating were just left-overs from past meals. Spike had learnt a lot from Angelus in the first twenty years of his unlife, but he'd learnt even more from Darla in the next - before he took Dru and left the Old Master's Court.

 

He turned a last corner and there it was - the building had been empty when he'd 'acquired' it in 1933, on one of his periodic visits to the US, before the lure of the rising power of Nazi Germany had drawn him back to Europe again. Through all the years he'd maintained this place. It had been his base of operations in the seventies, when Nikki had tried to close him down, and it was still his.

 

Spike pulled the car into the ground floor garage. The first task was to locate Azumar, who should have got a few leads for him by now. It was only 4am, plenty of time to get unloaded and back out on the streets. In fact, he paused and considered Xander again. Yes, the boy could do that in the daylight. He nudged Xander. "Come on, you. We're here and we're going out." Xander mumbled something incomprehensible. "Oi! Wake up ya lazy slattern." Spike nudged him again.

 

Xander raised his head and lifted bleary eyes to Spike's face. "Huh?"

 

"Not a morning person, are you, Pet?"

 

"It's not morning. It's the middle of the night. Where are we?" He rubbed his face. "And what do you mean, 'slattern'? What's a slattern?"

 

Spike just grinned and ignored the last question, in favour of answering the first. "My place," he said. "One of my places. New York." He opened the door, climbed out and walked around to the passenger side, opening that door too. "Come on. There's stuff to do. People to see. Questions to ask." Reaching a hand in, he grabbed Xander's arm and hauled him to his feet. "Come on. We're going out"

 

Xander came reluctantly, but soon he was standing, leaning against the door, shaking his head to clear it, as he gazed around the space. "So this is home?" he asked, unenthusiastically.

 

"No, you ninny. This is the garage. Home is upstairs. But that can wait. We're going out. I have a date with a demon - if we can find him. He has information I need. So move your lazy arse." He grabbed the collar of Xander's jacket and dragged him towards the door. "We'll unpack when we get back. Or do you want me to leave without you?"

 

Xander shook his head once more. "I'm coming. I'm coming. You don't need to get nasty about it." He pulled himself free of Spike's grasp, but he kept walking and Spike smiled to himself. Xander had learnt through uncomfortable experience that the spell interpreted a direct refusal to accompany Spike, when told to do so, as an attempt to run away. Spike had no fear that the boy would allow more than the maximum one hundred yards to separate them. In fact he stuck to about fifty, as he trailed Spike down the street.

 

As he walked, Spike gazed around at the closed up boutiques and the bars and clubs which still showed lights. This place had changed dramatically since his first visit in the early years of the century. Then it had been the Lower East Side, a prime hunting ground, as long as you concentrated on the lost individuals and avoided the tight-knit European immigrant families. By the seventies, when he and Dru were here and Nikki interfered with his plans, it had already been renamed the East Village. Now he was back to pick up those threads Nikki had tried to cut. Somewhere in this city was a clue he had been searching for, intermittently, for sixty years. Somewhere was the information he needed to find the Gem of Amara. And this time the slayer would not get in his way. He glanced back at Xander, grinned to himself and, with renewed determination, headed to Marley's, as a first stop in his search.

 

*****

 

For three nights Xander had trailed behind Spike as they roamed the streets of lower Manhattan, searching for God knows what. For three nights Xander had maintained his maximum safe distance and refused to go with Spike into the various dens, clubs and bars he been searching through. Instead he'd hung around outside and generally been bored out of his mind.

 

Which had left him with far too much time to think and he was still nowhere nearer to understanding why Spike had kidnapped him. Spike, himself, was singularly uncommunicative about what he was doing in New York and Xander was stubborn enough not to ask. They had fallen into a pattern of communicating for essentials and not much else. It was almost comfortable. Xander was having difficulty remembering what his life had been like before Spike.

 

His determination not to change his sleep patterns to accommodate his captor's preferences had not lasted long. After the second night he'd had to admit that he really did need more than a couple of hours sleep in every 24. The morning after that second night he'd been staggering by the time they got back to Spike's apartment and he'd fallen into the nest of cushions and blankets he'd claimed in the corner of the main living room and slept through most of the day.

 

Their new home was an old garment factory, well outside the garment district and now stripped of its machines and most of the work tables. Instead the ground floor was an open space, where the car was parked, the next floor was living space and the floors above were unused. The living space was amazing -- a single, huge room, with a fully fitted kitchen at one end and a big bed at the other, polished wood floors with African and oriental rugs, comfortable chairs and a couple of oak dressers. There was a bathroom off to one side, bigger than any he had seen before, with a bath and a shower but no toilet. For that he had to go back down to a room on the ground floor, with stalls and coat hooks and a redundant clock card machine on the wall outside. At least the plumbing still worked. When called on it Spike had shrugged. "Did this place up in the seventies, didn't need a bog, so didn't put one in."

 

Xander had staked out a space against the wall, under the shuttered windows and near the kitchen, as his, dragging one of the dressers across, to create a partition and to hold his belongings. He appropriated cushions and blankets from the couch to make up a bed on the floor. Spike raised an eyebrow, but made no comment.

 

The first day, Xander spent exploring the building as Spike slept. The top two floors were a treasure trove of old junk and he poked into cupboards and identified suitable hiding places, for when he had things he wanted to hide. Eventually hunger drove him back down to the kitchen and he produced a meal of sorts from the odd mix of ingredients Spike had picked up before they headed home. That was the one time he didn't trail behind Spike and, looking back, he had to smile about the fiercely whispered argument they'd conducted over fresh vegetables versus packets of chips.

 

*****

 

On the fourth night they left the factory as usual, Xander trailing behind, but Spike seemed reluctant to leave. As he locked the door behind them he turned to Xander. "How about we take a night off, pet? How about we go do something... something different? Pretend we're just two blokes out for a night?"

 

Xander was stunned and nodded, only realising a moment later what he had done. But as they walked down the street he thought at least it wouldn't be another night of leaning against walls, like he was trolling for customers, and being bored out of his head.

 

The bar was really not what Xander had expected. Dark? Yes. Smoke-filled? Yes. But rowdy? No. Half the occupants seemed to be drinking coffee and there wasn't a single demon in sight, at least not that Xander recognised. A small stage with a spot-lit stool and microphone occupied one corner and the walls were covered in posters advertising books, films, concerts by bands he had never heard of and yoga and meditation classes. Spike pointed at a small table near the door and marched over to the bar. Xander watched him go, briefly considering marching off himself, in the opposite direction, but that would only lead to another night standing around street corners, so he shrugged to himself and slipped into one of the seats.

 

When Spike came back, he was carrying a whisky and a beer for himself and a large glass of lemonade which he placed in front of Xander. "Just sit still and keep quiet, okay mate? I'm taking the night off and I'm going to have a quiet drink. And I don't want any bitching from you about where I choose to do it."

 

Xander picked up his glass of lemonade and took a sip. Just then a loud clicking sound indicated that the microphone had been switched on and Xander's attention was grabbed by the guy up on stage. "Welcome all, to tonight's open mic night. And to start us off, here's one of our regulars. Let's have a round of applause for Jimmy."

 

There was a polite spattering of applause around the room and a tall gangling figure stood up and walked towards the stage.

 

*****

 

Four hours later Xander was wondering if he should take up drinking. One amateur poet after another had taken the stage and read their verse to the thin crowd. Most of them appeared to be college students, a couple of years older than Xander. A few looked older still. Some of them were actually not bad, in Xander's opinion. Some of them were awful. Through it all Spike slouched back in his chair with a faintly supercilious smile on his face (although Xander noticed that he was listening carefully) every now and again lighting another cigarette or signalling for another drink. At least he seemed to be able to hold his liquor, which was more than could be said for the small group of Goths and Punks at the table right in front of the stage, who had been getting gradually louder as the night progressed.

 

It was close to 1am when a small, scrawny guy, with long blonde hair, got up and hesitantly made his way towards the stage, clutching a notebook tightly. It looked like he'd really had to psych himself up to step forward. The MC introduced him as Robby and explained it was his first time, an introduction that didn't seem to help the guy's nerves at all. He fidgeted, shifting from foot to foot, sat down on the stool, fumbled the adjustment of the microphone, almost dropped his notebook and then spent too long nervously leafing through it. The punks began to jeer softly and Xander felt kind of sorry for the guy. Eventually he seemed to find what he was looking for and looked up, gazing round the room over the tops of everyone's heads. Glancing back at his notebook he took a couple of deep breaths but, just as he opened his mouth again to speak, he was interrupted. "Why are we waiting?" one of the punks called out, singsonging the words in mocking tones.

 

Robby's eyes went wide with surprise and he gulped. He glanced frantically around, but the MC seemed to have temporarily left the room. He took another breath and blindly reached out, grabbing the microphone stand, and began. His voice was hesitant and he held the mic too close, so every breath rasped loudly, distorting the words.

 

"I lie in bed and dream of you.

Why do you hurt me so?

We share a space, but not a life.

Why do you haunt me so?

I hear you weep, 'most every night.

But you don't notice me.

 

I see the wounds she leaves behind,

which I know that I could heal.

If you could only look at me,

I know you'd see my soul.

And if you did, then you would see,

that we were meant to be."

 

By the time he'd stuttered through the last line, the jeering from the punks was virtually drowning him out. Other members of the audience appeared to be torn between embarrassment and amusement at their antics and, although a couple of people looked at them meaningfully, no one actually told them to be quiet. Then someone did.

 

Spike surged to his feet and was across the room before Xander could even blink. He grabbed the two loudest young men by their collars and hauled them to their feet. What he whispered to them couldn't be heard by any one, but the crash as their two heads banged together echoed around the suddenly silent room. Spike looked up at the young man on the stage. "You carry on, mate. I'll get rid of the garbage," he announced, and he marched the two young men to the door, which someone quickly held open for him, and tossed them out into the street. Turning back into the room he slapped his hands together, as if wiping them clean, looking pleased with himself. Xander stared at him, open mouthed with surprise, as he calmly reclaimed his seat.

 

Meanwhile Robby had taken the opportunity to vacate the stage and the MC had returned. He looked around the room, spotted Robby sitting back in his corner and nodded to him, before going on to introduce the next act. The remaining group of punks stayed for another few minutes, as they finished their drinks and those of their departed companions, then they stood up, ostentatiously casual, and swaggered out of the bar.

 

Xander turned to Spike questioningly. "Why did you do that?" He asked. "You didn't even try to eat them."

 

Spike's eyes narrowed consideringly, then he shrugged. "Not hungry," he snapped. And that appeared to be it.

 

The bar closed shortly after two, by which time there were only a few remaining stragglers. Spike and Xander were the last to leave.

 

Out on the sidewalk Spike stood gazing up at the sky and took a deep breath. He stilled and Xander watched as he swung his head from left to right, apparently searching for something. He nodded. "Come on, mate, this way," he said, as he took off, with Xander hurrying along behind.

 

They rounded a corner and there in front of them were the jeering group of punks. They stood in a loose circle, with their backs to Spike and Xander, watching something in their midst. The shouts of encouragement, the clapping and the stamping of feet were loud in the confined space. Spike sniffed the air again and stalked forward. When he reached the oblivious group he brought his arms up, sweeping them outwards and two bodies crashed into opposite walls of the alley. Another two fell beneath crashing blows to the sides of their heads, from the edge of Spike's fists, as he swung his arms back together and a fifth flew across the alley, colliding with a dumpster as Spike's left foot caught him squarely in the ass. By the time Xander was within a couple of yards of the action there were five unconscious bodies on the ground and the remaining three were turning away from the object on the floor, finally registering that something else was going on.

 

Spike stood in the centre of the alley arms lose by his sides, feet braced squarely a foot apart. He considered the three young men in front of him, tilting his head to one side, as if in considering them, he found them wanting. Xander backed up to the wall and began to edge towards the lump they had been playing with, but his eyes were fixed firmly on the four figures standing in a loose circle a few yards away.

 

The three punks exchanged a look, each one of them was bigger than Spike and they obviously hadn't registered that five of their company were already unconscious. With a yell they charged. Spike fell back half a step shifting his weight for balance and let them come. At the last minute he bent double and the leader did a spectacular somersault over his back, crashing to the floor behind him. Spike was upright again in moments and blocked a clumsy punch from the one on his right, grabbing his fist mid blow. The other one bent over and charged, as if to head-butt Spike. But Spike danced out of the way and the punk went stumbling past him, only just saving his head from crashing into the wall by bracing his hands in front of him.

 

Spike looked like he was just holding the other guy's hand, but his victim, his attacker, moaned in pain and slowly collapsed to his knees. Spike brought his other fist down on the young man's wrist and Xander heard a sickening crack as the bones in his arm snapped. A follow-up blow to the temple and another body lay unmoving on the ground. Spike spun around, as his last conscious opponent grappled him from behind and this time they both went over.

 

Xander tore his eyes away and looked at the object of their earlier attentions. As he had suspected, it was the poet. He crouched down unsure about whether to touch, afraid of doing more harm. Thankfully, Robby chose that moment to groan and open his eyes. He rolled onto his back clutching his ribs. Even in the dim light of the alley Xander could see that he would have a livid bruise to his cheek shortly. But it didn't look as if his neck was broken. "Can you get up?" He asked. "If I help you, do you think you could stand?" Robby nodded, so Xander got his hands under Robby's arms and hauled him up. Getting one of Robby's arms around his own shoulders to help him, they staggered together back towards the Street. Once there Xander glanced around searching for help of any sort. "Do you live near here?" he asked.

 

"At the University," Robby gasped. "It's not far, but I think I'll take a cab. Please, can you help me find one?"

 

Xander nodded. "Sure. Come on. If we go that way, it's busier. There's sure to be one there." He glanced quickly back down the alley. He could make out two figures on the ground, but no detail. It was more than a hundred yards to the main road, but since he was planning to come back he silently prayed that the spell wouldn't misunderstand him and kick in.

 

It didn't and he managed to find a cab and assist Robby into it. By the time he got back to the alley, Spike was waiting for him, a satisfied smirk on his face. Xander looked at him. "Are they all dead?" He asked wearily.

 

"No, pet, not all of them." He tilted his head to one side, considering Xander. "I have to eat. But I know how much I need to live. You get the young poet away safe?" Xander nodded. "Right then. Let's be getting home. That was fun, but I'm thinking the telly will have been delivered by now. Come on." And he turned and walked away, leaving Xander confused, horrified and relieved in his wake.

 

20. Going out to the dance

 

For the next few nights Spike went out alone and came home as the first glow of sunrise began to light the sky. Xander should have spent that time re-establishing his human sleep patterns, but for some reason he found he couldn't settle. He tried climbing into his nest of blankets and pulling the covers over his head, but he always ended up sitting in one of the easy chairs, channel hopping through the seemingly endless range on the big TV. When he eventually found a station that showed nothing but classic SciFi he could have cheered and when he accidentally stumbled on a porn channel he couldn't believe his luck, although he sat watching in a state of mixed excitement and dread, with his finger hovering over the button on the remote and more than half his concentration focussed on listening for boots on the stairs, for fear Spike would come back and catch him before he could switch back to the Star Trek re-runs.

 

Each morning Spike came in, glanced across at Xander and disappeared into the bathroom. When he re-emerged he went straight to bed and that was Xander's signal to clamber into his own corner and finally get some sleep. They didn't talk and the silence was really getting to him. He didn't do silence very well.

 

By the fourth night he'd had enough and when Spike dragged on his duster, obviously planning to go out again, he cracked.

 

"Spike?"

 

"Hmm?"

 

"Can I come with you?" he asked hesitantly. "If you told me what you're doing... maybe I could help?"

 

Spike just looked at him. "Why would you want to do that?" he asked, eventually.

 

"I don't. Well... I mean... I don't know what you're doing. But I... I just thought... I've been stuck here for days and..."

 

"Getting cabin fever, pet?" For some reason he looked pleased and Xander scowled at him. "You can go out anytime you want, as long as you come back."

 

Xander was stunned. "I can?"

 

Spike raised a satirical eyebrow. "Intention, mate. How often do I need to tell you?" His eyes narrowed. "And no, you can't leave on the promise of coming back in twenty years." He pursed his lips in thought, his tongue pushing at the back of his bottom lip. "Time I set some ground rules." He grinning. "Just so you can make your intentions clear. You can go out to the shops, but you come back here once you're done. Before I start to notice you're gone. If you stay out too long you'll know it and the spell will kick in."

 

"How will I know when you start to notice I'm gone?" Xander asked dubiously. This had to be a trick. But he was so desperate for company, he thought he'd trade anything for some conversation.

 

"Intention." That was definitely smug and the repetition irritated Xander. "It's when you think I'll have started to notice. Okay?"

 

The accumulated pressure of the last week suddenly broke through, now that Spike was acknowledging his presence, making Xander want to scream. "Why are you doing this?" He cried in frustration. "Why are you keeping me here? What do you want from me?"

 

Spike looked surprised. "Company," he said.

 

"Company? But you don't talk to me. You go out and leave me here. You come home and go to sleep. What is this?" He drew in a heaving breath and collapsed back in his chair. "I don't understand," he groaned. "And oh my God, I sound like my Mother."

 

Spike burst out laughing. Then he sobered up and shrugged. "Been busy," he said calmly. "You seemed alright. Didn't seem to mind."

 

"I didn't mind," Xander agreed. "But I've been stuck here for days and I'm going crazy."

 

Spike looked puzzled. "Does that mean you did mind?" he asked.

 

"No. Yes. I don't know." Xander felt his frustration mounting again. "I don't know anything right now. I don't know why I'm here. I don't know what you want. I don't know... anything," he finished, throwing up his arms.

 

"I suppose I just forgot about you," Spike mused. He shook his head. "You looked happy enough."

 

"You forgot about me? What is this? You kidnap me. Haul me right across the country, then you forget about me?"

 

"I've been busy. I brought you food, when you ate the last lot." He almost sounded defensive. Almost. And Xander was almost fooled, but there was something in his tone... something Xander just couldn't pin down, which alerted him.

 

"You make me sound like the pet cat," he groused. "Give it food and it's happy enough. Doesn't need any attention. Better than a dog - you don't have to take it for walks." By the time he finished he was almost spitting and Spike was laughing again.

 

"Okay, pet," he acknowledged with a final huff of laughter and an expression of satisfaction that worried Xander slightly. "If you've finally given up on this ostentatious habit of staying outside the door, you can come with me and I'll tell you what's going on. Sort of. I finally got a lead. Need to go talk to a guy. You come too and we'll see about how you can help."

 

"Help with what?"

 

"Ah, that would be the part I'm not telling. Yet."

 

This time as they walked down the street Xander walked at Spike's side. The night was clear, unseasonably cool and the traffic was light, with more people on foot than usual, as if they had been persuaded to leave their cars behind by the clean smell of the evening. Spike led the way and the silence between them was almost companionable. Not like the heavy, expectant, ignoring silence of the last week.

 

"So where are we going?" Xander asked.

 

Spike turned his head, his expression still guarded. "Going to see a guy called Azumar. I've been looking for him. Finally found him last night. He said he had a lead for me. He's been doing a job for me for the last few years. I was beginning to wonder if he was avoiding me. Seems like he might have come through."

 

Forty minutes later, after walking numerous streets of brick apartment buildings and specialist retail outlets, Spike came to a halt in front of a small, dark shop in dire need of a paint job. Xander gazed up at the faded lettering on the sign but he couldn't quite make out what it said.

 

Beside him Spike braced himself, taking a deep breath and letting it out noisily. "Right then. Let's see what he's got." He stepped forward and pushed open the door. Xander followed closely behind.

 

The inside was a mess. Empty display cabinets, broken packing crates and scraps of paper littered the bare lino on the floor. In the faint light that came through the dirty windows it all looked depressingly chaotic. Opposite the front door, a bead curtain hung in the entrance to a back room. Spike strode forward. The beads clattered as he thrust them aside. He held them back for Xander as he stepped through in his wake.

 

Suddenly a light snapped on and Xander blinked as his eyes adjusted. He glanced round quickly, taking in the empty shelves lining the room and a large chair, against the far wall, but his gaze was captured and held by the figure standing with one hand still on the light switch next to what seemed to be the back door of the shop. He wasn't big, not as tall as Spike and slimly built, dressed in faded jeans and a denim jacket over a faded blue T-shirt with the Yankees' logo and the slogan 'Reggie Jackson Batting a Thousand for New York' emblazoned across the front. He wore a red baseball cap pulled down low over a face that more closely resembled a monkey than a human being and he stood with a hunched posture, as if attempting to appear inconspicuous, although that could be his natural stance.

 

Spike halted, squaring his shoulders and raising his chin slightly, so he looked down his nose at the strange creature. "Azumar," he said, with a nod of acknowledgement. "Right on time. So what have you got? I'm here like you asked, but I don't see a book."

 

Monkey man hunched even more, twisting his neck so he looked up at Spike sideways, the picture of obsequious respect. " Master Spike, so good of you to come. I have it, I promise. It'll be here in a moment." He wrung his hands together, like he was washing them.

 

Spike snorted. "Not sure I trust you, mate. You're being altogether too polite."

 

"Please, Master Spike. You know me. You didn't need to bring a guard."

 

Spike snorted again. "Him? He's not a guard." He turned his head to regard Xander. "Not sure what he is. But I'm dammed certain he's not a guard."

 

"Not sure what I am?" Xander asked incredulously. "I'm a prisoner, that's what I am. I didn't ask to be here. I just got kidnapped and dragged across the country."

 

Spike laughed. "Yeah, well, that's true enough. But you can calm down, pet. No need to get riled. I'll figure out something for you eventually."

 

Xander actually growled. "How about you figure out letting me go?"

 

Spike shrugged and Xander felt the dismissal of his concerns. Turning back to the little demon Spike said, "Come on then, what are we waiting for?"

 

At that moment there was a sound of the shop door opening, followed by footsteps across the outer room. Xander backed away from the doorway until he was pressed against one of the shelves, while Spike turned around slowly on the spot, just as three large vampires entered. Beyond Spike, Xander saw Azumar pull open the back door and another vampire came in, elbowing the little demon out of the way.

 

Xander turned back to watch Spike as he confronted the vampire at the head of the delegation. This one was smartly dressed in a snazzy suit, in contrast to the combat trousers and leather jackets of the others. He carried a gold topped cane and Xander guessed he was the one in charge. He would have taken him for a dodgy car salesman, if it weren't for the heavy ridges, the yellow eyes and the very sharp teeth.

 

Spike maintained his human face, pursing his lips and scrunching his nose in apparent puzzlement, as if racking his memory. "Don't thing I remember arranging to meet anyone except his-nibs here. Who are you and what do you want?"

 

Smart and sleazy shook his head and the demon face was replaced by something that matched the suit far better. He glanced quickly around the room, noting and discounting Xander and nodding approval to Azumar before returning his gaze to Spike. "William the bloody. I've heard of you."

 

"So what? I've heard of me too. What of it?"

 

"I'm Heinrich," he announced with supreme certainty, as he stepped around Spike and casually sat in the large throne-like chair, propping his walking stick against the arm.

 

Spike turned again, tracking him as he moved. "Never heard of you."

 

Heinrich's eyes flickered briefly but he masked his annoyance quickly. "I'm the Master of New York." He announced. Xander thought he looked like the kind of guy who made announcements a lot.

 

Spike shrugged. "So?" But his eyes darted quickly around the room and he took a casual step backwards, so that he could keep all three henchmen in sight.

 

"So... Azumar here tells me that you're looking for Argentum Veneficus. Is that correct?" Spike didn't reply, merely cocking an eyebrow questioningly. "Where did you hear about that particular book?"

 

Spike smiled calmly. "What's it to you?"

 

"Not much. But I'm interested. It's supposed to tell the whereabouts of a certain famous gem. If it weren't for the fact that the gem was a myth, I'd be wondering if you were making a play for it." He looked around the room from his position as focus of attention. "If there was any chance that the Gem of Amara was more than a myth, I'd be a little put out if I discovered that some minionless itinerant had come into my territory to steal it away."

 

Spike followed his glance, casting his own eyes around the empty shelves. "Err. Right mate. That's what I'm here for. Searching for a myth." He threw up his hands in mock disgust. "Come on. Be serious" he said, with a derisive laugh. "The Gem of Amara?" He spun on his heel but was brought up short by the two hulking vampires in the doorway. Turning back to Heinrich he tilted his head to one side and regarded him thoughtfully. "Is that why you've gone to all the trouble of getting this treacherous little snitch to lure me here? You think I've actually got a lead on the Gem of Amara? And you're some sort of master? I'd have thought you'd be too busy ruling the roost and keeping the city in order to be wasting your time on fairytales."

 

Heinrich frowned. "So why do you want Argentum Veneficus? Who told you about it?"

 

"The Prince of Lies." Spike said. "Met up with him in the war." He smirked. "Just before he died."

 

Heinrich's eyes narrowed. "The Prince of Lies? I've heard of him too." He leant forward, leaning on the arms of the chair. "And he told you it contained the whereabouts of the Gem of Amara?"

 

Spike's shoulders slumped. "No mate," he enunciated wearily. "He didn't. It doesn't. I'm not looking for any bloody gem. I want it for something else." He looked up at Heinrich and, if it had been anybody else, Xander would have said he looked innocent. "If you've heard of me, you'll have heard of my sire?"

 

"Everybody's heard of Angelus." Heinrich sneered. "An object lesson to us all."

 

Spike growled. "That wanker's not my sire. My sire is Drusilla."

 

"Drusilla the mad?" Heinrich looked thoughtful. "I heard that rumour, but I didn't know it was true. I wouldn't have thought, from what I've heard of her, that she was capable."

 

Spike's growl echoed around the room and for a moment his eyes flashed yellow. "She's quite capable." He snapped. He paused and apparently wilted. "Or at least she was. She's sick. That's why I'm looking for the book. I think it's got the cure."

 

Heinrich closed one eye and focussed the other on Spike thoughtfully. "And you've been looking for it for sixty years?" he asked.

 

"No. I've been looking for it for three years." Spike flicked a quick glance at Azumar then a longer one at Heinrich on his throne.

 

Heinrich nodded thoughtfully. "Hmm. You almost convince me." He leant back, bracing his arms. "Tell you what... Whether it's the Gem, or not, it's sure to contain useful information. Since you're in my town, and I hold the power here, why don't you bring your sire to my court and I'll look after her, while you find the book. Then, when you've got it, you can sort out her cure and then we'll see what else the book contains. Together. How's that?"

 

Spike shook his head. "Can't do it. She's not here. I took her to the Hellmouth for a rest cure. The air there's invigorating. It makes her stronger. She's there now."

 

Heinrich frowned "Did you?" He paused thoughtfully. "Okay. A second deal. I'll keep that human of yours instead."

 

For a moment Spike looked nonplussed, then he pulled himself together to object. "No. You see mate. Um. This human... he's tied to me. Can't survive if separated. Isn't that right Xander?" Xander nodded fervently. "Anyway," Spike went on. "Why do you think he's tagging along behind me? Why do you think I keep him? I need him to find the book. So leaving him with you isn't really an option." He looked back at Xander, sweeping him from head to foot with his eyes. "Besides... what would you do with him?"

 

Heinrich's smirk was decidedly twisted. And cruel. "I'm sure I'll think of something."

 

Azumar crept forward and bowed deeply before Heinrich's chair. "Master, the human said he was a prisoner."

 

Heinrich smiled. "Is that so? It seems to me William, that you were attempting to steal the human away. I said: This is my city. The Gem may be a fairytale. You're right there. But this search for a book? I don't think you have any idea where it is. And you certainly don't know what's in it. This is a waste of my time. You're just the childe of a mad woman and an abomination. You have nothing for me." He looked over Spike's shoulder. "Take him, boys."

 

As the three vampires sprang into action Spike went from totally still, to whirling dervish action, in a split second. Xander cowered back against the shelves intent only on keeping out of the way, until it occurred to him that although he couldn't kill Spike...

 

A flash of steel caught Xander's eye just as one of the vampires staggered backwards towards him. From somewhere Spike had produced two long knives. Xander fended the lumbering body of Heinrich's minion away, pushing it to the side where it crashed into a packing crate smashing it to splinters. Xander snatched a broken sliver of wood from the wreckage and shoved it through the vampire's back, straight through his heart. A small voice in the back of his head cried 'Yes!' and as the dust settled around his feet he turned back to watch the rest of the action.

 

The knives Spike wielded were each at least seven inches long and he used them to good effect. The two remaining vampires were hanging back out of reach and Spike had got himself positioned in a corner, so they were forced to come at him from the front.

 

Heinrich rose to his feet. "Get him!" he shouted. "Come on, what are you waiting for?"

 

Hulk on the left lunged forward and grabbed Spike's wrist, forcing it upward, but they weren't a team and his mate followed his lead just a moment too late. Even though Spike's arms were occupied battling the upward pressure of hulk number one, somehow he managed to kick out with his right leg, catching hulk number two square in the chest, sending him staggering backwards towards Xander too. It was almost instinct that caused Xander to raise his makeshift stake and it was probably pure luck that ensured it pierced his heart.

 

Almost absently Xander noted Azumar edging cautiously towards the back door, but his attention was focussed on the fight in the corner where the remaining hulk's extra height and weight seemed to be working to his advantage as he forced Spike's arms to bend under the pressure, bringing the twin knives close to Spike's exposed throat. Xander watched with his heart in his mouth, unsure whether he should just let Spike get killed. He glanced across at Heinrich, who had relaxed again and was sitting back in his throne smiling. Slowly he turned his head and looked at Xander. Xander's heart clenched and a shiver travelled down the length of his spine at the sheer malevolence of his expression. He turned back to the fight, now silently cheering Spike on, as the hulk shifted his feet into a position which would allow him greater leverage. The blades of the knives were actually touching Spike's neck and a thin stream of blood was running down the left side to soak into his collar. All the hulk needed to do was bring them together and Spike's head would separate from his shoulders.

 

Spike's knee flashed upwards and the hulk went reeling back, screaming and clutching his groin. Spike bounced once on the balls of his feet, then he pounced. With his arms crossed in front of him he closed the distance between them and with a wide, expansive gesture he threw his arms apart. The blades flashed and the hulk's head momentarily sprang free before it fell, hit the floor, bounced once and burst into dust, followed closely by the rest of his body.

 

Spike spun round to face Heinrich who slowly stood back up. "Very impressive," Heinrich sneered. "Those were three of my best minions. But they were just minions. Let's see if you can face a true master?" He reached down, picked up his walking cane and took three paces forwards, twisting the top of the stick and pulling it apart, exposing the long length of a stiletto sword blade. Spike took a half step backwards, crouching into a defensive position with the knives held in front of him. Heinrich threw the sheath of his sword stick away and lunged forward in one easy motion. Metal clashed on metal as Spike raised his knives to block the sword's advance. Heinrich stepped back and Spike once again resumed his defensive posture. They circled each other in the small space, eyes narrowed as they assessed each other's moves. Xander watched breathlessly. He really wasn't sure which way this would go. Somehow Spike's lighter build and two serviceable knives seemed almost a match for Heinrich's greater reach and longer, single blade.

 

Suddenly Spike straightened up. With a growl he threw the knives in opposite directions so their points buried themselves in the walls leaving the handles vibrating with the force. "This is bollocks! Who needs bloody weapons?" With a strange crunching sound, loud in the sudden quiet of the room, his face transformed into that of the demon and with a roar he dived to the floor, somehow twisting in midair so he landed on his back, sliding across the lino towards Heinrich. Bringing his arms up he grabbed Heinrich's wrist, wrenching it downwards with a twist which forced his hand open so that the sword rolled harmlessly away, just before Spike's shoulders collided with Heinrich's shins causing him to topple clumsily forward, tripping over Spike and crashing to the floor.

 

Heinrich was already in gameface and if the situation had not been so violently serious the combination of gameface and shocked confusion would have made Xander laugh. Heinrich didn't think it was funny either. He scrambled to his feet at the same time that Spike did another of his inhuman manoeuvres and somehow bounced from flat on his back to upright. Heinrich charged, head down with the full force of his bigger body and his speed. He crashed into Spike shoving him backwards and Spike's head cracked against the sharp edge of one of the shelves. His body went limp in Heinrich's grasp as he shook his head in confusion and Heinrich roared his victory as he brought his mouth down to Spike's exposed neck.

 

Xander gaped at the sudden turn of events and for a second was frozen. Clenching both hands around the splinter of packing crate that he still held, he ran forward. Heinrich must have heard his footsteps because he raised his head from Spike's neck and began to turn. Xander closed his eyes and brought the sliver down into Heinrich's back with all the force he could muster. Heinrich roared again, this time in pain, but he remained disconcertingly solid and Xander realised that not only had he missed the heart but that he'd probably also condemned himself to what ever painful future Heinrich's earlier look had promised. He staggered back dragging the sliver of wood out of Heinrich's back as his hand forgot to let go. And somehow that did the trick. A twist to the left as he staggered must have sent the splinter into Heinrich's dead heart because suddenly there was nothing between him and Spike but a cloud of dust.

 

Xander regained his balance as Spike straightened himself against the wall. Xander gazed gape-mouthed at the gradually settling pile of dust and Spike raised an amused eyebrow. "Thanks mate," he said with a thoughtful smile. "Guess I owe you one for that."

 

Xander shook his head, pulling himself together. "Fuck off Spike," he said wearily. "I didn't do it for you. I was saving my own neck. Think I didn't know I wouldn't last a day with him?" He turned and looked around, noticing that Azumar had gone. "Are we done here?"

 

Spike laughed. "Sure pet. We're done. Come on. Enough excitement for one night. I'll find Azumar tomorrow. You deserve a drink. I know a place that'll take no notice that you're not twenty-one." He slapped Xander on the shoulder and gave him a small shove towards the door.

 

Xander went where he was pushed, but he did look back to growl again, "I said I was doing it for my own sake."

 

Spike shrugged. "Doesn't matter pet. You saved my life. Same difference, far as I'm concerned."

 

Hours later, in the aftermath of the alcohol, which had temporarily done a great job at replacing the adrenalin but by then was only making his head ache and his stomach roil, Xander paused long enough to wonder if it had been worth it.

 

21. The night after the morning before

 

Waking up was a slow and uncomfortable process. Xander's body was reluctant, but some instinct buried deep in his brain was insistent. He rolled onto his back and opened his eyes. The room was dark, but he hardly noticed that because the first thing he saw were a pair of yellow eyes hovering in the air next to him, glowing like twin headlights. He let out a gurgling scream and scrambled madly backwards, blankets and cushions shifting under his flailing hands and feet.

 

The glowing eyes disappeared to be replaced by Spike's voice, "Calm down, pet. It's just me. Hang on, I'll get the light."

 

There was the sound of boots retreating across the wood floor, then the light above the stove flicked on and Xander could see Spike, dressed and looking ready to go out. He sagged with the loss of sudden tension and drew the blanket back over himself, up to his chin, as he watched Spike return.

 

Spike squatted down next to him again, this time in his human face. He studied Xander closely. "Looking a bit peaked, love. How you feeling?"

 

Xander groaned, bringing one hand up to push his hair back off his forehead. It felt sweaty and lank. He rubbed his eyes. "Well since you've now woken me up, I think I can safely say..." He paused. "I really wish you hadn't," he finished, with as much vehemence as he could muster, before subsiding again with another groan. "I think my head's going to fall off," he added pitifully as he began to push the blanket away, preparing to play the martyr. "Okay. I'm getting up."

 

Spike shoved him back down with a smirk. "Think maybe you'd best stay in, today," he suggested. "I've got to go hunt down that snitch. You don't look like you're in any state for a scrap. Positive liability like that, what with being a target now, an' all."

 

Even to Xander's foggy mind that sounded not right. He blinked, blankly at Spike. "Target? Why am I a target? I don't want to be a target." Running both hands up over his forehead and through his hair, he attempted to scratch life back into his brain through his skull. "Really... I'm just as happy being overlooked." But he pulled the blanket back over himself, just in case Spike was serious.

 

Spike snorted with what could have been amusement. "Too late for that mate." He said. "You killed three vampire's last night, including the so-called master of New York. That sort of thing doesn't go unnoticed. There'll be a new master ready to step up, but they'll have to prove themselves. What better way than to kill the human who killed the last master?"

 

Xander squinted up at Spike. "But it was just luck," he protested. "You shoved the first two at me. And the only reason I got any of them, was because they didn't really notice me. The only reason I got close to the master, was because he was concentrating on you. They took one look at me and knew I wasn't a threat. And I'm really not. The only way I'd ever manage to kill a vampire, would be pure luck." A sudden memory of The Bronze and Jesse's face just before it disintegrated caught Xander unawares and the pain in his head was dwarfed by the pain in his chest. It was so intense that he curled himself up into a ball in an effort to escape it.

 

Spike didn't appear to notice anything because he continued the conversation, "Doesn't matter. You did it and you were seen to do it. I'll silence Azumar, the little bastard, but if you think the story's not all over the city by now, you're dreaming. And there's no way a sneaky bloody ingrate like him will play it down, if only to explain why the hell he ran away." He rolled backwards so that he was sitting on the floor with his knees bent up in front of him, leaning on his bracing arms. "Hmm... looks like I'd better teach you a few moves. Didn't drag you 3,000 miles just to have you get yourself murdered in New York."

 

"I've been meaning to ask you about that..." Xander said.

 

"Don't go there, pet," Spike warned with a subvocal growl.

 

Xander subsided back into his nest. "I think I need coffee," he said. "I'm not sure I can cope with offers of martial arts training from the undead when I'm not even awake." He closed his eyes and snuggled deeper into his cushions, as if he was going to go back to sleep. "I think I must be dreaming," he mumbled.

 

Spike laughed again and Xander could hear him getting to his feet. "You get yourself some coffee. Probably could do with some food inside you too. Soak up the remains of the alcohol. I'm going to go torture a snitch. I won't be late. We'll start your training tonight."

 

Xander heard the door open and close again, but he didn't move. This was too weird. Maybe just another hour...

 

*****

 

In fact it was nearly 5am before Spike returned. By then Xander had drunk most of a pot of coffee, had a very long shower, eaten a meal consisting completely of fried foods and was much more awake. He looked up as Spike closed the door behind him, threw his duster onto the cushionless sofa and came to sit at the kitchen table. Xander poured the last of the coffee into a second mug and shoved it across to him.

 

Spike picked the mug up with both hands, elbows resting on the table and tilted it in a toast of thanks. He took a large gulp and closed his eyes as if savouring the flavour. "That's better," he said, as he put it back down. "There are some demons who don't taste bad, but there are some..." he shook his head slightly. "Can live on the stuff, but it tastes like shit..."

 

Xander wasn't sure he really wanted to know that, although part of him was thinking 'better a demon than a human'. He knew what Spike lived off, but he really didn't know what he'd feel about it, if he ever let himself follow the thought through to its conclusion.

 

Spike looked up at Xander and spoke again, "Too late to start training tonight. But I was thinking as I was coming back... Halloween night, you shot me. You know how use a gun? Or was that sheer luck, too?"

 

Xander got up and busied himself making another pot of coffee, as he tried to work out how much he wanted to tell. In the end he realised that there was really no point in holding back. Spike did seem serious about teaching him how to look after himself in a fight and the truth was, he did remember, in a sort of second-hand way, a lot of the background training behind soldier guy. In fact on a couple of occasions since then, when he had acted without thinking, he'd even managed to replicate some of those moves, although his muscles had protested the next day.

 

He turned and leaned back against the kitchen counter. "Halloween. Yeah. It was a whole thing with costume possession. There was a guy. I think Giles knew him." As he said the name aloud, he felt a pang of such intense home sickness wash over him that for a moment he thought he's fall. He shook his head, pulling himself together by main force. "Some sort of devotee of chaos. Something like that. And everybody who got their costume from his shop ended up turning into whatever they'd bought. I bought a toy gun and that was enough to turn me into a battle seasoned sniper." He smiled reminiscently. "Shot you in the leg, didn't I?"

 

Spike didn't seem annoyed. He merely cocked an eyebrow, inviting more. "Yes I remember," Xander admitted. "I remember drills, regs, ordinance and the command structure. I could give you a guided tour of half a dozen different army bases, home and overseas. And I'm pretty sure I can put together an M-16 in 57 seconds." He walked over to the table and picked up his mug, taking it back to the sink and giving it a rinse to get rid of the dregs. "But I also know that guns don't do shit against vampires."

 

Spike nodded slowly. "No, they won't kill, but they can hurt like hell. Put a bullet in the right place and it'll sure slow the vampire down." His fingers tapped against the surface of the table as he stared down into his coffee, lost in thought. Eventually he looked up, a sly smile gradually spreading across his face. "Shotguns," he said. "Think you could manage that?"

 

Xander nodded. "Yeah, sure. And they're different how?"

 

Spike's smile became a full-blown grin. "You ever seen the damage a blast from both barrels of a shotgun can do? Take your head right off."

 

Xander found himself smiling back. "That sounds good. I mean... I would like to learn how to fight... I do know the theory... Well some of it... But my body just won't do it."

 

"Probably just need practice, pet. Could be your brain knows but your muscles don't. We can work on that, too."

 

They sat up long beyond sunrise while Spike explained how they could turn the basement into a firing range and the kind of moves he thought Xander could learn, given his pseudo military background while Xander joined in enthusiastically, recounting his memories of combat and special ops training. When they eventually separated to their respective corners at around 10am, Xander felt more in charity with Spike than he ever had.

 

His last thought before he fell asleep was to remember how the night before Spike had said he could leave the factory as long as he intended to come back and how he really should try and find a public call box and phone Giles again. Soon.

 

22. DIY

 

Over the next few nights Spike kept Xander busy clearing the garbage in the basement of the factory. It was mostly pallets, broken furniture and unidentifiable bits of old machines. Junk that had been shoved down there because it was easier than getting rid of it properly. It was a bit like sifting though the city dump and a bit like the biggest rummage sale of the century, and there was the occasional treasure which Xander put carefully aside - a box of unused accounts books, mostly undamaged by damp, a small and very dirty teddy bear, a strange black lacquered tray with rods strung with beads across it and the remains of gold decoration, a painting of a man in a top hat standing next to a big desk and a tin cup from some amateur boxing contest. Each morning Xander re-emerged into the apartment filthy and exhausted. Each day he slept like the dead.

 

One night when Spike went out, he came back carrying a long duffel bag which he stashed upstairs before coming to help Xander move some of the remaining, heavier rubbish. They set to together then, shifting the stuff to the sides of the room and clearing the floor. From somewhere Spike produced new tools and paint and Xander found pleasure in the way they seemed able to work together, sparking ideas and plans for the final layout as they progressed.

 

"This space," Spike said. "We'll keep it clear. Few mats on the floor. Make a good training area." He swept his arm out, indicating the other side of the room. "Over there. We'll have the firing range."

 

Xander eyed the area. "Do we need a wall? To mark it off... you know... to prevent accidents?"

 

Spike stood back appraisingly. "Could do." He nodded. "How high?"

 

"Nothing much. Just to stop anyone getting in the way, without knowing."

 

Spike laughed. "Who you got in mind, mate? Just us here. Wasn't thinking of having a party."

 

Xander grinned back. "Shot gun," he said.

 

Spike grimaced. "Point. Okay. Wall it is."

 

The next night there was a hammering on the main entrance doors which Spike answered. The procession of amiable looking creatures in work clothes and hefting tool boxes who entered, had Xander's eyes bugging out of his head. However, once they got to work rigging up new electric lighting and power in the basement he was only too happy to take kitchen duty and provide regular mugs of coffee for the labourers, between shifting stuff out of their way.

 

It was almost a week before Xander remembered his promise to himself, to phone Giles. He'd been so busy, he'd forgotten. That thought gave him pause and he was so distracted trying to work out why he'd forgotten that he almost split the batten he was fixing. He leaned his head against the wall, the stone cool on his forehead as he tried to figure it out. Part of the problem was that he didn't know exactly what he was going to say. His life was so messed up. He tried to count back over all that had happened since Spike grabbed him: a week of sleeping and driving and sleeping again, sitting in the car, gradually learning how to talk to Spike. Learning how to avoid confrontations. Learning. Then here. How long was that? Three weeks? Four? It seemed like forever. And Sunnydale felt like a dream. Like something he'd made up, or something from his childhood. He could picture the library, the gym, his bedroom with the posters on the walls, but they were distant. And he couldn't pull Willow's face clearly to mind. He could remember that his Mom had to call him every morning to get him up for school, but he couldn't remember her voice or the last thing his Dad said to him. There were individual moments, like photographs: his Dad sitting in his chair in front of the TV, his Mom at the kitchen table hunched over a mug of coffee, Willow and Buffy walking ahead of him past a row of lockers, but he couldn't remember their faces. It wasn't logical. He knew it was only three weeks, or maybe four, and if he thought about it he knew all the events of his life. But it was like he was remembering a film he'd seen. How could four weeks have changed him so much that his real life felt like a distant memory, or something that had happened to someone else? Only Giles was clear. Their last conversation in the corridor outside the library seemed to be the only memory that came with clarity of colour, scent and surround sound - Giles' face as he gazed at Xander with real approval for the first time and the warm rush of affection he'd felt to receive a look that was usually reserved only for Buffy or Willow.

 

He glanced across at Spike, wielding a paintbrush with careless abandon, his shirt, jeans and skin already covered in spots of white. Xander threw his screwdriver down. "Back in a while," he called as he ran out of the room, digging his hand in his pocket, feeling for loose change.

 

As it turned out it was not so difficult. There was a drugstore half a block down, the call went through with no problem and Giles was there. The way he said Xander's name, his accent and his concern, almost broke Xander's resolve. But he managed to hold firm and concentrated on the facts it was sensible to share, on recounting the length of their journey and the fact that they were somewhere in lower Manhattan and he was safe. It hadn't lasted long before his money was gone, just enough time to reassure Giles that he was surviving and to promise to phone again soon. Then the call cut out. Silently he returned to the factory, picked up the screwdriver and finished fixing the shelf in place.

 

Finally it was done and Xander allowed himself to take some pride in the sight of the large empty room with its concrete floor, clean walls and empty shelves. That night a delivery truck arrived and unloaded floor mats and an assortment of gym equipment. And as if that was some sort of trigger, his brain crashed back into gear and the question that had been nagging at the back of his mind, and which he'd been refusing to face, crashed with it - Why was Spike doing this? What was his game? And with that thought came another: Did he dare ask?

 

That morning, before exhaustion took him, he lay in his bed rewinding through the surreal conversation in the kitchen on the night after his first hangover. Spike had talked to him like a friend and Xander had allowed himself to be seduced by it. After days of being ignored and then the exhilaration of dusting three vamps and having Spike actually talking to him again, he figured he'd just gone a bit overboard. That was his excuse and he was sticking to it. But in spite of that, and almost without him noticing, he realised that he spent all his time walking on egg shells, being careful about what he said and how he said it. Hyperaware, listening for the signals that Spike's mood had changed and he'd decided Xander was more trouble to keep, than not. Spike's attitude to Xander was unclear. Spike's motives for everything he did were a mystery to Xander. For the life of him, he didn't know why he was still alive. Grateful to be so, but totally in the dark as to why. Spike had said 'company' and maybe it was as simple as that. Certainly, day by day, Xander felt a little more certain that Spike didn't have any immediate plans to kill him. And when Spike was helping him shift rubbish or paint a wall and laughing when Xander almost put his foot in the can, it was possible to ignore, or even forget exactly what Spike was. But he went out each evening, alone. And he didn't need to eat any of the meals Xander cooked for himself. It was those moments of realisation that caught Xander, like he'd hit a brick wall and suddenly he was frightened again. Frightened for himself, and frightened for the residents of New York.

 

In the early hours of the next morning Xander tried to call him on it. They were sitting in the kitchen and Xander had made hot chocolate for them both. He moved the dirty plate from his own meal into the sink and there was something in the way Spike looked up at him and smiled that gave him the courage.

 

"Did you find what you're looking for?" He asked.

 

Spike cocked an eyebrow. "What d'you mean?"

 

"That demon guy, the night we got attacked, you were expecting him to give you a book? Did you get it from him the next night?"

 

Spike's smile faded and Xander tensed, cursing himself silently, but Spike just seemed to be thinking about his answer. "No," he said eventually. "He didn't know where it was. Said he saw it at some sort of sorcerer’s estate sale about ten years back, but it was bought by a human and he couldn't track it."

 

"Was he telling the truth?"

 

Spike grinned wolfishly. "He was telling the truth. They always tell the truth. In the end."

 

Suddenly Xander felt sick, at exactly the same moment that he realised why Spike had been late home that night. He sat back in his chair and shoved the oversweet chocolate away, concentrating on calming his breathing and his stomach. "That's good," he mumbled just for something to say. "Err... well... I guess I'd better be going to bed." He pushed himself up and away from the table. "Night Spike. I'll see you in the morning." And he fled downstairs to the old factory restroom.

 

When he came back Spike was already in bed, apparently asleep. The mugs had been cleared off the kitchen table but the light above the stove was still on, so he could see his way across the room. He turned it off and clambered into his own nest, pulling the blankets over his head.

 

23. Unfriendly fire

 

 

"No." Spike sighed. "That move never works. It's too obvious." Xander lay on his back staring up at Spike standing above him, legs spread either side of Xander's thighs. Xander's back ached from the throw that had sent him crashing onto the mats. He managed a grimace and accepted Spike's hand to pull him back to his feet. "You keep trying for it," Spike added. "But think about it. It's instinct to protect your balls. That only ever works in cartoons." He paused and Xander knew he was thinking about the fight with Heinrich's goons. "Mostly," he added. "Anyway, you need to be a lot faster than that, and your opponent needs to be a lot stupider than me. Any normal man will always bring his knees together, as soon as he sees your muscles twitch. You ever let anyone catch you there?"

 

"No, I haven't," Xander admitted. He leant forward, hands on his knees, to catch his breath. After a moment he looked up at Spike from under his hair. "Okay. So when you say think...?"

 

"Let's go back to basics," Spike suggested. "How to fall..."

 

Xander grimaced. "Er... I've had lots of practice at that. You could call me the king of falling."

 

"Falling properly," Spike interrupted, sternly. "Falling so you don't hurt yourself. Falling so you can get up again." Xander straightened under the verbal whip and nodded to show he was paying attention. "Right," Spike said. "So, when I do this..."

 

*****

 

Spike stood in the middle of the mats, bouncing lightly on the balls of his feet. He raised his arms in front of him, hands flat, palms up, and twitched his fingers with a 'come and get me' motion. Xander ignored the taunt and concentrated on his own stance, keeping out of reach and dancing lightly from side to side, trying to spot an opening which never seemed to come. Eventually Spike dropped his hands and his shoulders in apparent disgust. He turned and began to walk away. Xander didn't hesitate. Three running steps and a leap and his forearm was around Spike's neck and he was clinging onto Spike's back for dear life.

 

At exactly the same moment that he realised that attempting to strangle a vampire would probably not be as effective as it would be on a human and he began to pull back his free arm to punch the side of Spike's head, Spike heaved his shoulders as he bent forwards, tipping him and he landed once more, flat on his back.

 

Spike spun on one foot and dropped so he was sitting on Xander's chest. He grabbed Xander's wrists and held them firmly still, smirking down into Xander's face and shaking his head in mock disapproval. "Oldest trick in the book, mate." He stood up so he was straddling Xander's legs and hauled on his imprisoned wrists, dragging him back to his feet. "You don't have a clue how to attack. What was that watcher thinking, not to train you at all?" He sighed. "Right. We'll start with defensive moves. Maybe you'll learn how to attack, by being attacked."

 

*****

 

After a couple of hours, which Xander mostly spent looking up at Spike from the floor, Spike walked away and picked up the black duffel bag he'd brought down from the apartment with them. Lifting it up onto one of the shelves he unzipped it, spreading the flaps to allow him to pull out a double-barrelled shotgun and a couple of handguns, which he placed on the shelf above his head. Boxes of shotgun shells and other ammunition followed. Xander wasn't close enough to read what was written on the boxes but he guessed they weren't small calibre. He wandered closer, peering up in an effort to see exactly what Spike had brought. Meanwhile Spike shoved the empty bag aside, picked up the shotgun again and turned to face Xander. "Starter for one, pet," he said tossing the gun across to Xander, who caught it automatically. "Let's see you load that."

 

Xander hefted the shotgun thoughtfully, assessing its weight and inspected the guard, trigger and safety catch. He broke the breach and saw that it was unloaded. Closing it again he raised it to his shoulder turning slowly, aiming along the barrel until he came to a stop pointing directly at Spike's face. "Boom," he said, pulling the trigger and pretending to react to the recoil.

 

Spike merely raised an eyebrow and reached up to pull down the box of shells. Xander dropped the shotgun from his shoulder and broke it open again. Taking two shells from Spike's hands he shoved them into the breach and turning carefully away snapped the gun closed. Once again he raised it to his shoulder and began to swing around in a circle. Before he'd got anywhere near pointing towards Spike, although the dream was tempting, his body was already rebelling and he knew he couldn't do it. Dropping his arms he hugged the gun across his chest and sighed.

 

Spike's smile was faint but smug as he walked across the room to the far wall. He grabbed an old pallet which had been too broken to be recycled into shelves or a part of the firing range and leant it up against the wall. He came back and stood behind Xander. "See if you can hit the top left corner," he instructed.

 

Xander carefully lifted the gun again, this time noticing the finer details of its balance, and manipulated the safety. "I've never used a shotgun before," he said. "I don't think they're very accurate, are they?"

 

"Let's see." Spike suggested. "Never really got into firearms, myself." Xander raised the gun, sighted on the pallet and pulled the trigger. The sound of the explosion was nearly deafening in the enclosed space and Xander was sent staggering by the recoil. Spike's hands caught his shoulders steadying him. "More power than you expected, eh?" The bastard was laughing.

 

He raised it again and this time he ran his forefinger backwards and forwards across the trigger, judging the pressure. Once again he aimed, thinking about what the recoil had done to him. The explosion was still deafening and the recoil was still hard, but this time he was ready for it and his body eased with it, by instinct. He raised his head and looked across the room. There was a rather large impact mark in the freshly painted white wall just above head height and another in the middle of the broken pallet. He hrumphed in disgust.

 

Accepting two more shells from Spike, he reloaded. Lifting the gun again, he took careful aim. This time it didn't sound so loud. Or maybe he was going deaf. He looked up. The top left-hand corner of the pallet was missing. He smiled. "Looks like this young dog remembers its old tricks."

 

Spike smirked back and clapped him on the shoulder. "Nice one." He headed for the door. "You have a play with that. I'm going out." He pulled the door open, pausing just before he left the room and looked back. "And don't touch the handguns. I'll know if you do." With that he left.

 

Xander aimed the gun at the door. "Boom," he muttered again. Then he turned back to his original and Xander-safe target.

 

*****

 

Even after five days of intensive training, Xander still seemed to spend only two minutes on his feet before Spike was pulling him back up from the mats. He ached in places he hadn't known existed before and had more bruises than a lifetime of Larry and Co had ever inflicted. But at least he was managing two minutes now. That was better than at the beginning of the week.

 

Spike's hand came down on his shoulder, jarring tender muscles and joints. "You're improving. But you're gonna need to do better, before you can face the new master." He frowned. "Or even his lowest minion.

 

Xander straightened up, still breathing heavily. "About that..."

 

Spike shook his head. "Not a chance. You went and got yourself noticed. If they weren't too busy fighting amongst themselves, they have come for you already. Think yourself lucky you've got time." He paused and appraised Xander. "Right then. We'll take a break." But before Xander could relax he added, "Let's have some fun. Come on."

 

He grabbed Xander's arm and pulled him over to the makeshift firing range, handing him the twin handguns. Xander's original idea of a short but straight shooting range had developed during its construction, into something far more complex. Spike had taken up his idea of a wall and between them they had built an obstacle course with targets on ropes and pulleys that Spike hauled into view as Xander progressed around narrow corners and under and over the obstacles in the way. Xander suspected that Spike came down to the basement and moved things around while Xander was asleep, because the targets came at him from all angles as he made his way through the course. But here he had confidence. The memories of his soldier alter ego took over during this exercise and he found that instinct meant he rarely missed. When he had his guns and was firing two handed, his doubts fell away and his body knew what to do, as his mind went cool and calm.

 

*****

 

From somewhere Xander pulled a move which blocked the sweep of Spike's leg and although Spike broke contact and re-established his balance and position, Xander knew that he had found something which connected his body to his inherited memories. It was still imperfect, but there was a tantalising promise of more to come.

 

*****

 

When Spike grabbed him, instead of fighting back, for the first time Xander rolled with the move so that for a moment Spike's balance was gone. He hooked a foot behind Spike's ankle shifting his weight so his shin became a fulcrum, his body applying the load. For what felt like a long moment they hung there, unmoving, and Xander began to fear his play would fail. He leaned further into Spike, applying more pressure and suddenly, as if he'd somehow pushed them past some tipping point, they crashed together to the floor. He landed in a sprawl half on top of Spike, losing his advantage. While Spike pushed him away and rolled back onto his feet with all the natural grace of the predator, Xander lay still, exaggerating his panting, arms spread to either side.

 

"Come on mate," Spike called. "You were doing better there. Get up." He stepped forward to offer Xander his hand, as he had a hundred times before. Xander raised his head weakly, sighed in apparent resignation and lifted one arm. Spike grabbed it and stepped back to haul Xander upright. But before he could begin to exert any force Xander brought his right foot up and slammed it squarely into Spike's crotch sending him staggering backwards. Xander bounced to his feet, crowing victory as Spike lay curled up on the floor, clutching his balls protectively, half into gameface.

 

Looking down at him Xander's grin stretched into a full-blown laugh and he leant forwards bracing his hands on his knees as the laughter interfered with him catching his breath. Eventually Spike raised his own head and began to uncurl with a groan, although he didn't attempt to stand. He took in the sight of the madly laughing human and a reluctant grin began to spread across his own face, which slipped back into its human mask.

 

"Never works, huh?" Xander gasped. "I don't know about that. But man, you should've seen your face." And he began to laugh again.

 

The laughter appeared to be infectious because very soon Spike was laughing too and Xander flopped down onto the floor next to him. Eventually Spike managed to gasp a few words. "Proud of you, pet." He said. "Proud of you."

 

*****

 

As the days went by, Xander gradually became aware that he felt easier in his body than he ever had before. For the first time in as long as he could remember his muscles seemed to be working with him, rather than sabotaging him with their awkward reluctance to do what he wanted.

 

*****

 

Xander had discovered that the best time to ask questions and hope of a straight answer was at the end of their 'day'. He pushed his empty dinner plate aside, picked up his soda and took a sip. "Why do you want this book anyway?" he asked. "You said it was for Drusilla, but that was a lie. So what's it for?"

 

Spike looked up from his glass of whiskey. He hesitated but then shrugged. "Old Heinrich was right about what I wanted. There's a thing called the Gem of Amara. Sort of what you'd call a Holy Grail. I aim to find it."

 

"Why? What does it do?"

 

Spike looked amused. "Who says it does anything? Maybe it's just worth a lot of money?"

 

"Somehow I don't think you'd be interested in something, just because it was worth a lot of money."

 

"I don't know," Spike said with a leer and a significant look. "I might be."

 

Xander straightened in alarm. "What does that mean? Am I worth money? Is that why you're keeping me?"

 

Spike smirked. "Didn't say that did I?" He slouched back in his chair and shrugged again. "Don't worry, pet. I was just winding you up."

 

Not fully reassured, Xander asked, "And why should I believe that, instead of what you said before?"

 

"No reason at all." He stood. "You'll believe what you want to believe. You'll just have to wait and see, won't you?"

 

Xander didn't sleep well that day.

 

24. Two's company...

 

Spike came into the room from the stairs. "Get a move on. We're going out tonight."

 

Xander looked up, the last spoonful of breakfast poised in midair. " Huh? What?" he asked, intelligently. He shook his head and tried again. "Why? Where?"

 

Spike's voice was deadly serious for once. "One of Heinrich's brood finally came out on top. We're going to meet her on ground of our choosing."

 

"Her?"

 

"Yes, Her." Spike's frown turned into a full scowl. "You got a problem with fighting a woman?" he asked. "She's a vampire, remember? She's also wiped out at least half a dozen other claimants to get where she is. So she's not really in need of your chivalric protection."

 

That hadn't been what Xander meant, but now that Spike had challenged him on it, he couldn't remember what his real point had been. One thing did tug at his brain though. "If she's come out on top, why does she need to kill me?"

 

Spike sighed. "Not you," he corrected. "Us. She needs to get me because I'm older and not family and a potential threat. I could step in and take the city away from the whole clan. You're with me, so she needs to take you out too." He smiled suddenly. "'Course, she might choose to keep you alive as a trophy. Or turn you and make you hers..." He paused, thinking. "Or turn you and kill you twice." He nodded in apparent satisfaction at having thought of all the possibilities. "That's what I'd do, if I was her. Bit of revenge is all well and good, but doubled... that's sheer bloody bliss."

 

Xander meanwhile was still figuring through the earlier part of Spike's speech. "So when you said I got myself noticed... I was the target... What you really meant was you were the target and I'm in danger because I'm with you."

 

"You killed Heinrich." Spike said, his tone making it clear that they'd dealt with this. "If you weren't with me, someone would have got you already. But they know who I am, so they're being cautious. Now get yourself dressed."

 

Xander looked down at his jeans and shirt and wiggled his toes in his socks. He considered pointing out that he was dressed, but Spike didn't seem in the mood for sass. "How do you know all this?" he asked instead, picking up the empty cereal bowl and taking it over to the kitchen sink. "You haven't been out tonight."

 

"Little bird told me." Spike said, walking back to the door. "Fifteen minutes," he added over his shoulder as he left.

 

Xander grabbed his sneakers from the corner and pulled them on, tying the laces in ten seconds flat. Grabbing his jacket he ran to the door, opened it cautiously and peered down the stairs. There was no sign of Spike so he tiptoed down, keeping to the edge of the steps and avoiding the one that creaked. At the bottom he stuck his head round the door and looked into the open space of the ground floor.

 

At first he couldn't see much of anything. The room was big and the light from the single bulb that hung from the ceiling barely penetrated the corners. The car occupied the space in the middle, close to the big double doors to the street. Beyond it were a few empty store rooms, but they were always locked, while to his left was the doorway to the old staff wash room. He reminded himself for the tenth time that he should really buy some cleaning materials and make that place a little more welcoming. There was still no sign of Spike.

 

Xander wasn't sure what he was looking for, or why he was being so cautious, but he had acquired a good working knowledge of Spike's moods over the past few weeks and something was bothering him, so he went with his instincts. Cautiously he stepped out into the room.

 

A faint sound caught his attention and drew his eyes across to the main doors. The single man-door swung open and Spike came in, followed by another man. Xander ducked down behind the car, out of sight. Crouching down and trying not to think about what would happen if Spike caught him spying, he crept forwards until he got to the corner. Carefully poking his head round the tail fin, he could see them standing together just inside the door. The guy looked young, maybe a student. He was fresh faced with longish dark hair and he was standing very close to Spike. Xander hesitated, cursing himself for his own curiosity that had sent him following so soon and casting about in his mind for ways to get Spike away, which wouldn't end up in either of the humans in the room being dead. There was the low murmur of voices, but the words were too soft for him to make out what was being said. Suddenly Spike pulled the young man to him and spun him around so his back was plastered to Spike's front. Spike's left arm went around the man's waist, holding him close and his right arm slid around the man's neck, the hand resting gently on his shoulder. The pose was somehow intimate, almost sexual. Spike buried his face in the man's neck.

 

For a split second, which felt like full minutes, Xander froze in disbelief. He had been fighting, and running from vampires for over a year, but he had never actually seen one feed before. Then he shook himself free of the sick fascination and deliberately not giving himself time to consider what he was doing, he was up and running towards them yelling, "No!"

 

Spike looked up and glared at Xander, his yellow eyes swirling with incipient violence, blood on his fangs and lips. "Piss off," he growled. A shiver of dread passed through Xander, but it wasn't that which brought him to a screeching halt. It was the fact that the man in Spike's arms raised his own head and growled at him through his fangs. Xander froze.

 

Spike gave a snort of disgust and released the vampire, bringing his right arm up to his mouth, licking away the trail of blood. They had been feeding on each other, Xander realised.

 

Spike glanced between the two of them. "Xander meet Jimmy. Jimmy, this is Xander. You don't touch him. Understood?"

 

Jimmy nodded vigorous agreement, his body language meek and his eyes pleading from beneath heavy brows. Spike gave him the shove towards the door. "Out," he said. "Scout around, keep those eyes open, let me know if that bitch Flavia makes a move."

 

He watched as Jimmy sidled to the door and slipped through it, then he turned back to Xander.

 

25. A walk in the park

 

"You," said Spike. "Should keep your arse out of things that don't concern you."

 

Xander's fear metamorphosed and he found that the emotion causing shivers in his spine and shoulders had coalesced into his stomach and erupted now as burning fury. "Who the hell is that?"

 

Spike cocked an eyebrow. "Jealous?" Xander snarled and Spike sighed. "That is someone you don't need to concern yourself with."

 

"I'm not stupid, Spike. Don't try and lie. Did you go out and drag a random vampire off the street, or is he yours?"

 

Spike looked at him for a moment before answering. "He's mine. Was a student at the University. Studied computing." He shrugged. "I need a computer expert."

 

"You need a computer expert? So you just go out and kill one?"

 

"Well, yeah." Like it was the most obvious thing in the world. And from Spike's perspective, perhaps it was.

 

But is wasn't like that for Xander. Another thought hit him. "Why? I mean... What do you need a computer expert for? To scout around looking for the new Master of New York?" He put as much contempt as he could into the question.

 

Spike was beginning to look annoyed and Xander knew he should shut up, but for now Spike seemed willing to answer, even if not politely. "No, witless. I need a computer expert to hack into a computer system."

 

"That is just so wrong." Xander looked at Spike and realised they might as well be speaking different languages. "Oh, why am I even surprised?" He glanced around, searching for any logical alternative, as if he could persuade Spike to change. "Couldn't you have got the help without killing someone?"

 

The expression on Spike's face was a strange mixture of bewilderment and sullenness. "Maybe. But this is easier." A touch of self-righteous accusation entered his voice. "If you were more use, you could do it. But you can't, can you?"

 

"No, I can't." For a moment he almost believed Spike had a point and it was his own lack of any useful skills that had condemned a man to death. Then common sense made a welcome return. "And that is so not the point." he said, indignantly. "And anyway, what are you doing sending your precious computer expert out there to scout out the local big bad?" A low growl brought him further back to his senses. "Other than you that is. I mean, you're the real big bad. We all know that... but..."

 

Spike thankfully interrupted his floundering attempt to placate. "Jimmy won't fight. He's too young. He doesn't know how to handle himself, let alone a weapon."

 

But now was not the time to back down completely. Xander felt momentarily proud of the sneer that he knew was stretching across his face. He was learning some useful stuff from Spike. "And here I thought all vampires came out of the ground with a full knowledge of martial arts."

 

Spike sighed wearily. "Don't be bloody stupid." He shrugged. "Kid didn't know how to walk, hardly. Not going to be an expert in the fighting department right off now, is he? He's scouting around and he'll let us know when the Bitch Queen starts to move. He's all gangly and harmless looking, that'll keep him safe. That, and he'll switch sides in an instant and she knows it. You on the other hand. You're as much a target as me. So you are fighting." He bent down and picked up the duffel that Xander hadn't noticed at his feet. Walking to the car, he dumped it on the hood and pulled it open to extract a hunting knife, Xander's handguns and the shotgun, placing them carefully down next to the bag. He reached in again and extracted boxes of ammunition. "Come here, mate," he said, tossing a box to Xander who caught it without thinking. It was followed by one of the guns. "Load up."

 

Xander came over to stand next to Spike and inspected the gun. He pulled a magazine from the box and shoved it into place, sliding the breach to push one shell into the chamber. Placing that gun back down, he picked up the other and repeated the operation. Meanwhile Spike was loading the shotgun. Xander grabbed another few magazines and shoved them in his jacket pockets. He also grabbed the knife.

 

*****

 

It was as if they were out for a casual evening's stroll on the town. The duffel over Xander's shoulder sagged with the weight of the shotgun and the twin Colts were heavy in the pockets of his jacket. But Spike seemed in no hurry, ambling up Broadway like any other tourist. He seemed almost relaxed, pointing out various landmarks and even disclosing some bits of history, as if he'd been there. Which he could well have been, Xander realised with a shock. It was strange how he kept forgetting how very old Spike was.

 

Since he was in such an approachable mood, Xander decided to see if he could get a better idea of what the hell they were doing. "Where are we going, Spike? And who's going to be there?"

 

Spike shrugged. "There'll be Flavia and her nest, her court if you like. Seems like there'll be a load of witnesses too." Catching Xander's puzzled expression, he jerked his head back over his shoulder. "We've got company," he explained. "They won't do anything. Just come to see the fun." Xander looked around, as they continued walking, and gradually became aware of the company Spike meant. Here and there dotted through the crowds, individuals were keeping exact pace with them as they headed uptown. "'Bout twenty of them, I reckon. Probably every vampire in Manhattan."

 

"Twenty?" Xander asked, amazed. "Is that all?"

 

Spike glanced across at him. "Not counting Flavia's court. Sunnydale's not like other places. You know how much we eat? Even a city like Manhattan has a limit when it comes to the number of dead bodies they'll accept. Even with the blood houses, this place couldn't support many more than this."

 

"Blood houses?"

 

Spike shrugged. "Don't have to kill, you know. That last drop is a buzz, but it is not necessary. Legend is, in the old days, before my time..."

 

"Before your time?" Xander interrupted. "So you mean in the really old days?"

 

"In the old days," Spike repeated, with obvious restraint, "there were arrangements. But now, people ask questions, so you have to kill to avoid witnesses. Law enforcement's too good. A bite can be disguised as long as the body's dead. You'd be surprised how modern forensics make a whole lot of wrong assumptions, just because slit throats have always looked that way, so it's in the literature. They get trained to accept it. The houses are an alternative - humans who're addicted to the bite and know what they're doing. You can live without killing, but only if you are in with the in crowd."

 

This was amazing news, thrown so casually into the conversation and Xander felt a wave of relief so profound, that he was surprised he hadn't been aware of the worry. "Wow! So all we have to do is defeat this Flavia woman and get you in." he said, excitedly. "You can feed without killing. That's fantastic!"

 

Spike didn't answer, instead he came to a halt and looked around. Xander glanced around too. Across the street and behind them other figures stopped walking. "Not far now, pet." Spike nodded ahead. "Into the park, before it closes." Xander looked at his watch. It was half-past midnight. They crossed the street to the gates. Behind them their shadows coalesced into a single body and followed.

 

"What are they doing?" Xander asked. "Are you sure they are not Flavia's?"

 

Spike shook his head. "Not hundred percent." He smiled slightly. "But pretty sure."

 

Central Park. They left the path immediately and walked on the grass under the trees. Through the gaps between, Xander could see the buildings of Upper Manhattan towering above them, while in other places the trees obscured everything, casting deep shadow. Jimmy appeared and took up position five paces behind them.

 

After a while Spike slowed down even more. "Don't want to get there too early," he observed. "Take our time, now we're out of sight of the humans." He wandered over to a large tree and leant against it. "Might want to stash the bag here," he suggested. Xander slipped the handles of the duffel from his shoulder to the crook of his elbow and opened the zip to extract the shotgun. He dropped the bag at Spike's feet and broke the breach to recheck it was loaded properly. Meanwhile Spike leaned his head back against the trunk of the tree and gazed up at the night sky glowing orange with the reflected light of the city. They waited.

 

After a while, Spike stirred. "What's the time? Can't see a single bloody star in this place."

 

"Quarter past one," Xander said.

 

Spike grunted acknowledgement. "Give it another half-hour," he observed. "Then we'll move."

 

Xander rested the shotgun against the tree, pulled the knife out of his pocket and clipped it onto his belt at the back. He pulled the Colts from his pockets one by one, releasing the magazines, checking they were full and snapping them back into place, before tucking them into his belt. Then he went and leant up against the tree next to Spike and joined him in watching the leaves above them whisper against the sky.

 

Jimmy loitered nearby. Now that his eyes were more accustomed to the dark, Xander could see that his human face was smooth and round, innocent and young looking. He might be a student, but he didn't look any older than Xander and right now Xander felt older than his years. "Computers, huh?" He asked. Jimmy nodded nervously shooting quick glances at Spike, as if checking it was all right for Xander to speak to him. Spike didn't move, so Xander took that as permission. Jimmy was eager but awkward and Xander recognised the signs from his own high school days, which now felt so long ago - Jimmy was a full-blown nerd. Conversation was difficult, but somehow he managed to extract a rather confused account of a late walk home from the computer lab, falling into conversation with a stranger who really seemed interested in what he had to say, then waking up locked in one of the store rooms on the ground floor of the factory. Xander looked sharply at Spike who was chuckling quietly, obviously pleased by the note of awed hero worship in Jimmy's voice. Xander gave up in disgust.

 

Eventually Spike pushed himself upright. "Come on," he said. "This way." He led the way further into the park.

 

This far from the roads the air smelt a bit cleaner, a warm, heavy dampness held trapped under the trees. They continued walking, skirting the large open spaces until they reached a place where the trees thinned out and they took the last few steps into a small clearing.

 

In front of them a phalanx of ten vampires in full game face stood flanking the figure of a woman with long dark hair, wearing a black catsuit with a silver zip down the front. Xander turned to Spike to make some witty comment about 70s chic meeting 80s punk, but the words died on his lips as Spike's face also shifted into its demonic form.

 

Spike glanced along his shoulder at Xander. "Now would be a good time, mate," he suggested.

 

Xander looked back over his shoulder. He and Spike were alone with five yards of space between them and their erstwhile shadows, who had now emerged to stand on the edge of the clearing. Jimmy was hanging back in the crowd. "Ignore them," Spike added. "They'll not interfere. Just here to see the fun. Your problem is the ones in front."

 

Xander nodded and loosened the twin handguns in his belt and swung the shotgun up to a position of ready-rest, as he took in the rank ahead. They were all big and powerful looking, which was intimidating, even though intellectually he knew that the weediest vampire could probably still outfight him hand to hand.

 

Spike planted himself squarely, feet apart, legs straight and shoulders squared. His natural swagger projecting cocky confidence and defiance. "Flavia," he shouted. "You want me? I'm here."

 

The woman at the centre of the line raised her arms horizontally and signalled. Two of her followers moved forwards. "I'd take those two out now, pet," Spike suggested, conversationally. "Aim for their necks, yeah?"

 

Xander felt the calm of desperation take hold of his mind and he raised the shotgun. The two vampires walked towards them, heavy footed but agile. They looked to Xander like approaching giants, he almost expected the earth to shake. He aimed at the one on the right and with a total sense of unreality, pulled the trigger. The recoil jerked his shoulder but before the movement was complete instinct snapped into place and he was already swinging the barrels to aim at the second. A peripheral part of his brain noted that his first target had disappeared, but his eyes were focused totally along the sights. Again his finger operated without his conscious intervention and the second recoil hit him.

 

Dimly he registered Spike's gleeful cry of, "Nice one, pet." But before he could relax a scream of denial split the air and he recognised the voice as Flavia's as she yelled, "Foul! Go! All of you, go!"

 

Then the remaining eight, and Flavia herself, were running towards them. Xander dropped the shotgun, realising that he had no time to reload and grabbed the handguns from his belt. Instinct was now the only level on which his mind was functioning and instinct had a name: Sergeant Harris. He stood his ground and knowing that body shots would do nothing, aimed for heads and kneecaps. A handgun didn't have the deadly accuracy of a proper sniper rifle, but that really wasn't an issue in this situation, where the enemy were almost on top of them.

 

It took multiple hits, but one by one, heads exploded and bodies fell. He was aware of Spike getting involved in real hand to hand to his left, and he took out one of the minions who was about to jump on Spike's back, before he was distracted by the need to deal with closer opposition, personally.

 

By the time he realised that there were no more vampire's heading his way there were three empty magazines on the floor at his feet. He looked around searching for Spike and saw him engaged with catsuit woman. They were too close together for him to get in a clear shot so he moved nearer, gun at the ready. Even to his untutored eye they looked well matched. He paused about ten feet away as a kick from Spike sent Flavia staggering backwards. But she righted herself almost immediately and closed again while Spike was still re-establishing his balance. Her punch to the centre of his chest jerked him backwards, arms momentarily out of control, allowing her to grab his right wrist and heave him off balance as she used her entire body and his own momentum to swing him around so he landed flat on his back on the ground. Xander raised his gun but Spike did his crazy body flip and was already back on his feet.

 

Spike and Flavia circled each other cautiously, trading occasional jabs, testing each other's reach and reflexes, both too experienced to rush in recklessly. A seemingly lucky kick from Spike caught Flavia's left arm, causing her to back away and pause, shaking it. Spike advanced and managed to get a hand to her neck, but a moment later her right arm came crashing down on his elbow, breaking his grip. She took her advantage and her left fist crashed into his temple. As his head rocked to the side and his balance was once again uncertain, she followed up with a knee to his side, just above his hip. Xander's arms had dropped as he watched, but he raised them again, aiming for Flavia's legs. As he began to fall Spike grabbed the front of Flavia's catsuit and somehow managed to hook the ring on her zip. As he went down so did the zip, exposing her chest and underwear for all to see. Even as he hit the ground, Xander could see that Spike was laughing. Flavia managed to pull away and took the time to straighten her clothes which in turn allowed Spike the freedom to regain his feet.

 

He stood upright hands on his hips and flicked a grin at Xander. "What you reckon, Xander? Think she wants me?"

 

Xander shook his head in disbelief as Spike's inattention proved his downfall. Flavia closed, punching him again in the temple and the chest. Spike grappled with her, managing to capture her right wrist and her left shoulder. He brought his head forwards swiftly, slamming it into her forehead with a sickening crash, which had little apparent effect on either combatant. Flavia got her right leg hooked around Spike's ankle and he couldn't dance away. He forced her captured hand up in the air attempting to shift her balance backwards, but she collapsed in his grip, dragging his arms back down and shifted her weight forwards, trying to tip him. Xander took aim on her right knee. He pulled the trigger, just as she shifted her weight again, causing them both to twist to the left. Spike howled and collapsed, releasing Flavia who staggered back out of reach.

 

Spike clapped one hand to his calf and brought it away bloody. "Hell! My best pair of jeans." He glared at Xander. "I wore these to impress."

 

Xander lowered his arms. "Sorry," he shouted. "I was aiming..." he trailed off dumbly, as he realised that the spell hadn't triggered.

 

Spike simply growled and got back to his feet. Once again Spike and Flavia circled cautiously. There was a slight limp in Spike's movements. Flavia darted forward and Xander thought that this time surely they would close with each other, but Spike danced back and evaded her. Sergeant Harris was scanning the immediate vicinity and suddenly he understood Spike's tactics - there was an area of gravel just behind him and he was heading that way. As Xander expected, as soon as the wounded foot crunched on the loose stones Spike appeared to stumble. His leg shot from under him and he had to use his hands to prevent himself falling completely, leaving him crouched and open. Flavia gave a roar of premature victory and pounced, arms reaching forwards, just as Spike's left hand swept upwards and with deadly accuracy he hit her in the eye with a sharp chunk of granite.

 

Flavia went down like the proverbial log and in moments Spike was crouched over her, his weight holding her down and one hand firmly gripping her neck. Without looking up he said, "Pass us your knife, pet."

 

Xander walked over to them and silently handed Spike the hunting knife. Spike took it and replaced the hand at Flavia's throat with its blade. "We done?" He asked. "I won. You lost." Then with more emphasis, "Are we done?"

 

Flavia removed her hand from the bloody wreck of her eye and spat at him, "You brought guns into a formal challenge. How dare you?"

 

Spike grinned, his fangs distorting his mouth and subverting the open and charming expression of his human smile, into something monstrous. "I never was one for the rules. But he's human. None of the ancient codes apply." He shrugged. "And the only reason my human's here at all, is because you included him in your challenge to me." He tilted his head, considering her. "I never challenged you. I killed your sire because he came after me. I didn't proclaim Holmgång then. And I'm not doing it now. You want to be Master of New York?" he asked. "You carry on. But you do it on my sufferance. I could call Wergeld for what you and your sire have done. Your sire called me an itinerant. And so I am. But not because I have to be. It's what I choose. I'm no outcast. So I'll grant you asylum. You leave me and mine alone, okay? And if ever I call you, you come running and offer your due. You got that?"

 

Flavia growled with frustration but a glance up at his face seemed to convince her and she conceded. "Yes, My Lord. I've got it."

 

Spike swept his eyes around the edge of the clearing. "And witnessed?"

 

The words seemed to choke her, but she got them out. "And witnessed My Lord."

 

Spike flung back his head and burst out into a loud and carefree laugh. He shoved himself to his feet. "Fuck that," he said, reaching down a hand to help her up. "Forget the My Lord bollocks. Just do what you've just agreed and we'll get on fine. Main thing you have to remember is to leave me and mine the hell alone. Okay?"

 

Standing before him, blood still trickling down her face, Flavia nodded again. "Do I have your permission to rebuild my court?"

 

Spike waved a dismissive hand. "Sure. Do what you like." She bowed in homage and over her back Spike caught Xander's eye. "Just choose carefully, and no gratuitous killing. Don't want the Peelers on my back because of your carelessness." Once again she bowed acknowledgement and this time she began to back away. Spike turned to Xander. "Come on mate. Don't know about you, but I could do with a drink. Where the hell is that Jimmy?" He looked around, spotted him and waved him over. "And later," he added, turning back to Xander, "you can take this bloody bullet out."

 

 

Note: Holmgång (or holmganga) was a duel practiced by Norsemen. It was a recognized way to settle disputes. Ref: Wikipedia

 

 

Blood on a Sundial: 26 ~ 32

 

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