Childe of my Heart ~ Chapter Thirty
by Shanyah
 

The Fifth Rankers followed Tresten out, their departure accompanied by applause from the Unbonded. Youngsters chased through the crowds, hooting and hollering despite not fully grasping what the fuss was about. Still up on the balcony, Spike was a pacing, grinning live wire.

“Listen you lot! There’s three more cheers to go,” he shouted, bracing his hands on the railing and leaning over. “One for the pluckiest little madam this side of Sunnydale,” Spike pointed down at Dawn who waved when the cheer went up.

“One for the beauty with a hellavu brain,” Spike winked at Fred, she beamed.

“And let’s hear it for my First Officer,” he placed two fingers on his temple and smartly snapped them away in salute of Xander.

Flustered with delight, he returned Spike’s salute, stammered, “thanks,” when the Unbonded let off a round of clapping.

Already having one arm entwined with Fred’s, Dawn linked the other through his. “We’re going up there Xander,” she said, hyper.

“I’m on patrol duty,” he took his eyes off Spike long enough to reclaim his arm. “I’ll come by later.”

“I’ll patrol partner you…if I can just…no Dawnie! No giddy-up,” Fred said as Dawn forged for the staircase, sweeping her along.

Xander picked up a crossbow and arrows from the ‘boots’ table and shivered his way through the cold hall to the Pool House. Enclosed by high walls and roofed by the sky, the Pool House had a calming effect on Xander. “It’s safe as houses, Bit,” Spike had said, “no way in except through the guarded gates or by parachute.”

Xander inhaled the peace of the place and started on patrol, checking the steam, sauna and bathrooms in the ablution block, peering under the cluster of tables on the porch and shaking the palm trees in case a trespasser was hiding in the fronds. He shot an arrow into the small pool, walked on when an asp didn’t hiss to the surface of the water.

Up the staircase, Xander turned left and, “Empty, empty,” he closed two quiet room doors in quick succession, “emp…not empty,” he held onto the door handle of the utility room.

Lighter in build than Bertrand, wavy brown hair, plump pink lips, grey eyes. Long fingers lining bottles of massage oils on a set of corner shelves.

“You’re in a restricted area pal,” Xander said to the trespasser. “No-one’s allowed in here…and how’d you get past the guards?” He looked at the fingers that were now held up to cutest nose he’d ever had the misfortune to meet.

“Bergamot and rose oil is a loathsome blend, I’ll be ecstatic not to have to use it again,” the masseur pinched a hand towel between finger and thumb. “The attendants say Amo Spike’s a firebrand. Is it true?” He wiped his hands on the towel.

“Stick around and you’ll find out,” Xander said.

The pretty lips parted on a small laugh. Leaning a slim hip against a shelf, the guy let his laughter trail into a smile, trick onto a john. “My name’s Dan…sir. Is that what I am to call you – Sir?”

“Scratch sticking around, you should go,” he said, hurrying to the next door along the corridor.

Dan came after him, stayed on his tail as entered the reading room. Pursued him around the room, stood close behind him when he stopped to look into a closet. Stacked from the floor to the ceiling of the narrow closet were black leather bound books, same as most of the books on the shelves.

“I seem to have offended you, sir. What would you have me do to make amends?” Dan asked.

Xander felt hunted and tempted. Was it possible, he wondered, to be tempted and hunted at the same time? Well his dick thought so, hardening with the heat Dan radiated into his back – standing so close bergamot, rose and Dan scent threatened his commonsense. He had no difficulty coming up with one or two ways Dan could make amends, but clean your act up and Spike’s shattered face and Xander was suddenly angry with Dan, Bertrand and all the slim hipped twinks in the goddamn Trail. He wheeled round, loaded cross-bow aimed between the perfectly lashed, perfectly wide grey eyes.

“You should go. Really,” he said.

Dan stepped back and Xander stepped forward, stride for stride along the balcony until they reached the staircase. Hand on the banister, Dan reversed down the stairs, gained flat ground and ran. The guards opened the gates to Dan’s banging, startled at his torpedo departure. Xander lowered the crossbow, breathing hard and not completely convinced he wouldn’t have pulled the trigger.

“Did you make sure the rooms were without geisha boy before locking the gates?” He asked the guards, yelled.

“We ensured the grounds were safe.”

“I asked about the rooms!”

“We assumed the rooms were vacant.”

“You assumed, you assu…!” Xander shut up.

He shut up yelling at the wrong man and went back to the reading room. Spike called it their War Room.

They held research meetings in that room. Stayed up into the morning and had no problem keeping up with Spike’s vampire wakeyness because he, Dawn and Fred were mini-vamps now. They slept when Spike slept, woke up when he woke up, chirped when he growled. Xander expected to sprout baby fangs any day soon.

He and Spike had silent skirmishes in the War Room.

When they’d come home after the first ‘Earn the Unbonded’ day, Spike had brought Dawn and Fred into this room and closed Xander outside it, could be heard telling the girls what he thought of their swimming high jinks. Dawn and Fred had come out half an hour later, hangdog heads and sniffly noses. But after that, Spike was fine with them and they were fine with him.

He’d waited for Spike to call him in for a bawl out that day and was still waiting, praying for it. Preferred that to Spike’s contradictions. They’d be in here winding down after a day of recruiting and Spike acted like Xander only became visible when Spike wanted a log putting on the fire. Totally different matter when they were getting ready for bed. Spike had smoky eyes at bedtime. “Come here, boy,” he’d say, lust in his voice.

He was ‘boy’ in bed these days and couldn’t decide which put him off his stroke more, boy or pet. Boy probably…no, pet. No, the distance between him and Spike was responsible for his off-stroke. He’d tried apologies to fix things; they hadn’t worked. Holding Spike, moving with him, lightly scoring his nails down Spike’s spine the way Spike liked, kissing his throat, all didn’t work. Spike pounded him as good as it gets…while looking at the space between his eyebrows. Evening came and he woke up to Spike listening to his heart or stroking his side, as if he hadn’t blanked him during sex.

Ignore me if you’re gonna ignore me, Xander longed to shout at Spike. Don’t ignore me then want me, ignore me then want me…

“…so not liking the yo-yo feeling,” he said, using a metal staff with a hook at one end to pull the skylight shut.

He moved the coffee table out of the way, lay spread-eagled on the rug under the skylight and tried not to stare at the stars. That would make him broody when all he was doing was thinking things through.

Tresten’s mace had fractured more than Spike’s bones, it had split his personality and he didn’t know which Spike he was living with from day to day. He’d sometimes get pre-chip Spike: undiluted evil, intimidating Tresten’s Bath staff with jaw-dropping creativity. Or he’d sit down for breakfast and find Hostile17 sitting across from him – annoying, loud and fangless.

Tonight’s performance had starred the three Spikes. First Act, in entered ultra smug Spike, smug until the rotten tomatoes started hailing from the balcony. Second Act, in entered Who The Hell. Spoke in Spike’s ‘William’ accent and sounded like a vengeful demigod; not a person you argued with. Xander had wanted to bow down to the awesome Spike. Final Act, Spike on the balcony, excited and proud, calling him First Officer in front of all those people. Knocking him for six because he’d expected to be introduced as the Unforgiven. 

Restless, he made snow angels, his arm and legs sliding on the rug’s fine fur. “Will the real Spike please stand up,” he said, and that’s how Spike found him, talking to the skylight and flapping his arms.

“Trying to fly?” Spike smiled what could be forgiveness.

Xander stilled his limbs, possible forgiveness more frightening than knowing he was unforgiven. “Snow angels…except fur,” he said.

Spike knelt at the bottom end of the rug, crawled forward and lay face down, chest off the floor, weight on his elbows. “You’re making fur angels. That bored, huh?”

Xander tested the fragile truce with a small smile. “All done with the rousing cheers?”

“You missed a great finale. Nibblet and Fred sang We are the Champions.”

“Queen?”

Spike nodded, lips twitching. “Fred’s tone deaf. Nibblet’s not much better, squawked out of tune. Bloody awful.”

Xander’s titter withered when Spike swayed in and nuzzled his ear, feathered a chain of kisses across his cheek. Xander turned his head and followed Spike’s lead, light kisses, no pressure or expectations, just enjoying the contact and the wordless murmurs Spike was making. Nuzzling and bumping temples and rubbing his cheek against Spike’s smooth cheek. Whispering in his ear, “you were awesome tonight,” voice hoarse with suppressed emotion. “You awed me.”

“Was nothing,” Spike shrugged. Then a smile split his face from ear to ear, “Yes I’m awesome and don’t you forget it.”

Xander tsked in false disgust and pushed Spike’s shoulder. Spike pushed back and amid the toppling onto each other and grappling, the rough laughter and sloppy kissing, Spike asked, “did patrol go alright?”

“There was someone in the next room, but he – he left. He’s gone.” And nothing happened.

Spike let loose of Xander’s hip, “Human?”

Xander’s hand, moving up to curl on Spike’s shoulder thudded onto the rug when Spike sat up. “You can’t keep doing this Spike,” he said, choosing to look at the sky’s spangley eyes over being cross-examined by the blue-gold pair.

“Doing what?”

“Rhiana’s boy was meaningless in every way. He was an old habit I brought here and had nothing to do with…”

“Quiet. I’m picking up a psychic link. You’re going to say: it’s not you Spike, it’s me.” Spike blistered him with the up-and-down sweep of his eyes. “Let’s play pretend Harris. Let’s pretend the problem here isn’t the blood that’s not running through my veins.”

Xander snapped his mouth open, closed it and let three beats elapse before saying, “That became a non-issue round about the time I, me…I started this back on Third Ranking, knew you were a vampire and didn’t stop starting it.”

Spike sauntered across the room and scooped the metal staff from where Xander had stood it against the bookshelf. “Peachy, ‘cause HSWS.”

Xander wondered whether the indifferent vampire twirling the staff was the real Spike or if he was another of Spike’s personas. “HSWS? Sorry, my psychic link’s bust,” he said.

“Have Slick Will Shag,” Spike explained, lazily spinning the staff. “Doesn’t it say in the Whore’s Manual?”

Xander flashed hot, the tips of his ears burned, his pulse lurched into a gallop. He got up, walked across to a divan and stayed rooted there behind the couch. Spike would have to give him a direct order to make him lay down. Doubtful he’d obey even then, knowing this was not the way to go about fixing things and pushed into speaking by Spike’s offhand snigger.

“This is how it feels to be your First Officer, hurt and grimy? I hope you Have Soap With Slick.”

It happened so fast he didn’t see Spike move. He heard an explosion, saw that the staff had gone from Spike’s hand, saw slivers of glass dusting Spike’s shoulders. A hole had appeared in the skylight, cracks spreading to the frame and across from one crack to the next; thin ice on a pond giving way under Spike’s frozen feet.

“It’s…get out of the way Spike, it’s…!”

The skylight caved onto Spike. Chin tucked to his chest and arms wound around his head, Spike stood under the raining glass. The patter was dull where it fell on Spike, sharp where it hit the floor, unheard where it landed on the rug. When it was over, Spike’s hair was streaked with red, his hands, arms and shoulders had glass quills sticking up from them. Spots of blood expanded on his tunic and a thin trickle rolled down the side of his neck.

His nostrils flared and voice tight, Spike asked, “You’re hurt Xander? Fuck you.”

The door slammed after Spike and Xander remained as he’d been during the rain of glass: rooted behind the couch, eyes reverted to where Spike had been standing, teeth embedded in his lip, heart crash-banging.

CHILDE OF MY HEART ~ CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

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