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| 1: Circus Skills |
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“Are you serious?” It was the question that
Spike had been asking himself for the past several hours. Naturally it was ten times more irksome when
it came from Angel. “You think I misheard?” “No. I’m just clinging to the hope that you did.” “I haven’t ballsed this
up; Rupert was very specific.” “Xander Harris.” “Xander Harris,” Spike
confirmed. “And Giles told you where
to find him? This is where we’re
headed?” “You can always turn the
car around and….” “Not if Giles was very specific,” Angel responded with
heavy sarcasm. “Don’t take it out on
me. ‘Bout time you just bit the bullet
and dealt.” Spike felt Angel’s gaze
flicker over to him and away several times. “Spike…” the older
vampire began in an implausibly reasonable tone. “You…er…you told me you got on with him.” “At the end, yes,” Spike
conceded, knowing where this was going and wishing he’d kept his mouth shut
about that, however long ago the conversation was. “But only
at the end, before that…” “You still have a better
record with him than me. He never stopped hating me.” “Fancy that. Can’t believe I spent years thinking he was
an idiot.” Angel glowered and Spike,
because it was expected of him, glowered back. “You can take this one,”
Angel eventually announced. “I can…! Excuse me if I’m not overwhelmed by your
generosity.” “All you have to do…” “Ah, no. Two days ago it was beyond my feeble skills,
remember?” Glower. “I have to put up
with Harris, then you do too.” There was a long,
thoughtful expanse of time when they both pretended to concentrate on the road,
while, in fact, both tried to mentally dredge up the last news they’d had on Xander. “No-one talks much about
him,” Angel said with a frown in due course. “Got out, didn’t he? Obviously something better came along and he
jumped ship. And I repeat: can’t believe
I spent years thinking he was an idiot.” Arriving in the small
North Californian town they’d been directed to by Rupert Giles, they tracked
down the address; very evidently no-one at home, but a neighbour was kind
enough to explain where Xander could be found of an evening. It was only a two minute
drive, and soon Angel was parking up outside a cheerful, red-brick building;
the two vampires exchanged a wary look as they approached and saw the sign that
welcomed one and all to the Stokes Chapel. “I doubt we’re the ‘one
and all’ they’re thinking of.” Angel
hesitated outside the main doorway. “You
think we’ll be able to walk in?” “Only one way to find
out.” The question was made
redundant as they reached for the door; it was yanked open and a jolly lady of
questionable age received them with great enthusiasm, telling them they were
only just in time for the evening’s meeting but luckily there were a few spare
seats and she’d be able to sneak them in at the back. They agreed with
perfectly schooled, highly appreciative smiles and nods, and let her lead
on. It didn’t take more than a brief
glance between Spike and Angel to share their thoughts on this one: very
strange for a chapel, in fact, highly un-chapely. More so as they took their seats at the rear
of a packed auditorium and absorbed the general air of subdued but plainly
evident expectation. And there, on stage,
the apparent focus of this expectancy was… “Bloody hell.” …Xander Harris? If Spike hadn’t been
looking out for Xander, he wouldn’t have recognised this alternative version of
the young man he’d known in Sunnydale.
The scruffy, worn-out being on the stage barely pushed any buttons, let
alone rang any bells. He looked as if
sleep was a foreign concept, and peace was off the planet. Spike was refusing to think ‘Xander as main
feature’ and had worked along to roadie for a Christian revivalist, but then a
few eavesdropped words clued him in and a wide grin crossed his face. “He looks a mess,” Angel
muttered, and Spike guessed he was referring to Xander’s state of being rather
than appearance, although either might have applied. “What help is he going to be?” “Shut up, fun’s
starting.” Xander was now fiddling
with a tiny microphone, which he awkwardly clipped to the neck of his t-shirt,
but then he looked up and there was the smile, the broad, guileless Xander
smile, and yes, recognition for Spike, a jolt of semi-welcome memory that took
him back six, verging on seven years. “Hi,” Xander said, “this
working?” and he grinned at the animated response from the crowd. “Guess you know me.” More applause. “Won’t bother with the spiel then, just get
down to business.” “Is this what I think it
is?” Angel asked with a suitably doom-laden voice. “D’know. You think it’s a Spiritualist meeting?” Spike
taunted, perfectly happy with the night’s entertainment but knowing Angel’s
feelings on this particular subject. “Ah…balls.” Within the auditorium,
assistants wielding microphones sprung to attention as Xander concentrated,
evidently listening. “Okay. Okay, I’m…”
He crossed the stage and gestured to the far left of the
auditorium. “…over here. I’m…
Okay, thank you, yes,” Xander said to an invisible presence. “Looking for someone who lost a grandparent,
or grandparent-type figure recently, and…
I have a reference to…” Xander
let out a short laugh. “A motor engine
for Thanksgiving dinner?” There was a small
commotion from the area Xander had indicated, cutting short Xander’s words, and
an excitedly anxious middle-aged woman was bustled to her feet; a mic was
passed along to her and she self-consciously spoke into it. “Hello. Hello, Xander. I’m “Hi, “…and, yes, yes, the
engine makes sense, my grandfather was stripping it down on the dining table
and we had to eat around it at Thanksgiving because the pieces couldn’t be
moved.” “He thought he’d never
put it back together again if it got all mixed up.” “That’s right, yes.” “And…it’s still there
now,” Xander said with another laugh, “but the family has…he’s showing
me…flowers…dressed it with flowers?” A ripple of laughter ran
through the audience. “It is still there, I
couldn’t bear to move it.” “I am not repeating that!” Xander protested, and now the entire audience laughed along
with the man’s granddaughter. “Is it
enough to say that he knows you’ve found better ways to remember him than
staring at a dismantled engine?” “Oh, I can imagine the
language,” Angel was literally
squirming in his seat; he turned and hissed at Spike: “Didn’t Giles warn you it
was him? Directly him?” “No.” “But Xander never showed
any indication…” “Will you shut up? I’m missing the good stuff.” “You stay, I’ll wait in
the car.” Spike grabbed Angel’s
wrist before he could leave. “Not a chance. Too important for me, remember?” “But that was
before…this.” “Sit back, shut up, and
enjoy the show. Unless… Not scared, are you?” “Don’t be ridiculous.” “We’ll watch this, see
what we think of him, and then, if he’s the bloke for the job…” “You can…” “You can…” Spike contradicted. “We can talk to him.” “After all, it’s only
Harris, what harm…” Spike’s attention was
caught by what was happening on the stage, as Xander struggled against
interruption to retain his contact with the woman’s grandfather. “I’m sorry, what…? Can you wait a moment, there’ll be time
for— No, no, that’s… No.”
Xander’s distress was evident and he was shuddering, harshly and
visibly, even at the distance the vampires were from the stage. “No, don’t show me, don’t show me, just tell
me. I understand. I do, I believe that, I’ve seen… Don’t – no, I don’t want to feel—” Xander’s hand came up to his neck, and he
paled in shock, staggered slightly. The
audience’s good humour switched noticeably to unease, and Spike spotted a
couple of people, presumably Xander’s lackeys, dithering at the edge of the
stage, not sure whether to intervene.
“Yeah, I know,” Xander was reassuring the spirit, voice shaking hard
now. “I know.” No searching or scanning
the audience: Xander’s gaze fell directly on Angel. “I know.” It looked as if Xander
was going to keel over; his assistants were at his side in an instant, letting
him lean on them rather than attempting to hold him. “Sorry,” Xander told the
audience. “Short break. I’ll be back, don’t go anywhere.” The stage darkened and
Xander faded away. “Well,” Spike said with
equal parts amusement, sheer nosiness, and discomfort, “what do you make of…” Angel was gone. … Later, backstage, Xander
sat alone in a dimly lit room, wrapped in the goat hair blanket that was his
only remaining souvenir of Wanting to be furious but
too weary to be furious. Barely finding
the strength to rip off the eye-patch that irritated the fuck out of him, or
move to the mirror and check his neck for the tenth time, looking for the bite
mark, the wound that had drained… “Too. Fucking.
Many.” He pointlessly clamped his
hands over his ears. “Too. Fucking.
Many.” He shut his eye,
concentrated on trying to block out the constant voices, but he couldn’t, he’d
never found the way, he’d never find the way, and… Temporary relief. Passing out. A common occurrence –
nowadays Xander’s post-meeting consciousness appeared to have a hair trigger –
but it was never frequently/for long enough to satisfy Xander’s need for
escape. Always too short a time before… Coming to. Passing out, coming to,
and when he opened his eye he saw a pair of filthy boots. His gaze travelled up the form they were
attached to, black jeans with grubby knees, trim body draped in a battered
leather coat, silver rings on the hands, remnants of black nail polish, and
there, right at the pinnacle of this apparition, was Spike’s head. “Great. Ollie skipped town but forgot to take Stan,”
Xander observed flatly. “Hello. Xander.”
Proving that Spike could be polite when he wanted something. “What do you want?” Because Xander wasn’t fooled. Spike ran over the
question in his mind. No hostility, just
a genuine enquiry. No hostility. A good sign that he clung to. “Can we talk?” Xander stirred, realised
how much effort it was going to take, and un-stirred. “Does it have to be
now? I’m pretty beat.” “Mmm, you look wretched,”
Spike agreed with as much sensitivity as Xander would have expected. “But this is
exceptional.” Sharper now. “I don’t usually have to contend with the
Scourge of Europe and a stadium-worth of their victims.” “We didn’t know it would
happen.” “And you didn’t bother to
find out. What the fuck did you think I
was doing? Making this stuff up?” “A couple of hours ago we
thought we’d been sent to you as a contact, a go-between, not…” Spike gave a feeble wave in Xander’s
direction. Xander burrowed further
into the blanket until he was nothing more than a sprout of dark hair. “Go away. I have nothing for you.” “Not real then?” Spike
goaded. “I thought it was too good to be
genuine. Few plants in the audience, bit
of a theatrical swoon…” “I don’t need your—” Xander fell abruptly
silent; Spike failed to notice. “Nice act, though. Would’ve been a scream in Victorian music
hall, they loved their freaks and…” A
hum came from within the confines of Xander’s cocoon. Spike stiffened, whole body tensing in an
instant. An instant of time, a
fleeting moment. Twisting the way he’d see Xander forevermore. “I’ll be off then, if you
can’t…” “Early one morning, just
as the sun was rising,” Xander sang stiltedly, “I heard…” “Stop that!” “…singing in...” “Not funny, Harris!” “…below. Oh, don’t deceive me…” The blanket dropped away,
and Xander wobbled to his feet, closing in on Spike. The vampire’s hands clenched into fists and
he glared at the human. “Not another word.” Xander’s fingers flicked
in an unconscious mannerism, coaxing the spirit on. “C’mon, Honey, you can do
it. Help her.” “I’m warning you.” “That’s better,
that’s… She…she forgives you. You’ll know what. She’s still with… With William, you…you, William. Still with you and…and she’s… Proud of who you are now, what you do.” “No,” barely audible,
Spike weakening as Xander’s contact strengthened. “With you when…” Xander shook his head. “A dragon?
You fought a dragon?” “No.” “Yes, you did, she was
with you, and… Oh,” Xander frowned
painfully. “Shared your loss. Losses.
And…always such a sensitive child.
She wants you not to be ashamed of feeling…” Spike seized Xander by
the throat of his t-shirt, pulling him close and growling, eyes turning yellow
in his upset. “Think you’re so fucking
clever?” Spike snapped out, and Xander
rapidly shook his head. “You know about
the song, the rest you’ve been told, you can guess…” “On your birthday –
thirteenth birthday – your father told you it was time to be a man…a man…with…a
man’s pursuits. A man with a man’s
pursuits.” The words were coming faster
now, almost gabbled. “He burned your
poems and stories, she couldn’t stop him, but she wanted to, and she tried to
reason with him, but…” Spike shoved
Xander up against the nearest wall, knocking the air out of him, but Xander
whooped in oxygen, croaked on, “…and…it didn’t matter that you couldn’t cry
when he died, he’d been too hard on you, he’d worn down any good feelings you
had for him, but she knows, she knows how you suffered, you suffered together,
and she…” With a hard punch to the
face, Spike helped Xander to a little peace.
Angry and confused and guilty, he heaved the unconscious man back into
the armchair and threw the blanket over him. Hurrying to the door,
Spike paused with an unsteady hand on the catch, turning back slowly to look
around the room. Beyond himself and
Xander it was, apparently, empty.
Brutally empty. … “Did you speak to him?” Spike leaned in the open
window of Angel’s car. “Only for a moment. Nothing’s resolved.” “You screwed it up,
didn’t you?” “No.” “Are you sure?” “I’ll leave Harris to you
then, shall I? If I’m screwing it up.” “No! I…Spike, no, I… I’m sure you dealt wonderfully with the whole
situation.” “That’s better.” Requisite mutual glare
and… “So…?” “In the absence of your
sanctimonious gitness, I thought it best not to pursue the subject while he was
still…edgy. After what happened.” Spike watched Angel perform another of the
night’s uncomfortable shifts. “Yeah,
your fault, your victims, and as for doing a runner, you cowardly wanker…” “Are you staying
here? Or coming back with me?” “I think I’ll have to
stop and have another word with him. See
if I can make amends. For you,” Spike
quickly added. “Us,” more sombrely. “‘The Scourge of Europe and a stadium-worth
of their victims’, he said.” Two souled vampires, two
highly troubled faces. “Want to find someone
else?” Angel asked, but Spike saw the question coming and was already shaking
his head. “If we’re directly
involved – and we have no choice there – we’ll get this with whoever we go
to. At least this way we don’t have to
explain, he knows it all. Or maybe not
all, but enough,” Spike corrected himself.
“Unless there’s another way entirely?” This time it was Angel
shaking his head, and he was already starting the car’s engine. “Take it easy on him,” he
instructed, trying not to sound begrudging.
“And stay in touch.” “Where will you be?” “Somewhere a long way
away from Xander Harris and his circus skills.” … Alone and hidden by the
darkness, Spike could be honest. Bitterly, he thought of
his father, William’s father, and
there was the old hatred, resentment, fear, regret, love… Why love? He never deserved a
moment of affection, he was emotionally stunted, intellectually vain,
inadequate in every respect, a tyrant and a bully, and he never deserved love
and… He never deserved… Her. Deeper darkness, the
thickest shadows, Spike let himself be engulfed. Needing the purest black
of night. The all-consuming black
of relentless mourning. … Xander’s friends had
found him unconscious and gently brought him around with quiet encouragement
and hot tea, not suspecting that this was anything other than one of his usual
recovery spells. “Spike?” was the first
word to leave Xander’s lips as he came to, and he suddenly jerked awake,
staring around the room. “Where did he
go?” “Who go?” asked Simone
Colberg, designated lackey number one by audience member Spike. “There was a guy in here,
bleached hair, sharp features, all in black.” “I passed someone like
that in the corridor.” Henry Colberg:
lackey number two. “He looked upset,
what did you say to him?” Xander’s hand came
unconsciously to his jaw. “Something about his
mother. But not like that sounds.” “Did he hit you?” Simone
demanded as she pulled his hand away and poked at the soreness. “You want me to call the cops?” “Ow, and ow.”
Xander slapped the prodding fingers away. “No cops.
I passed on a message that… I’m
never going to be any good at knowing when to stay quiet. This was something that mattered, he would
have wanted to hear it eventually, I’m sure, but what I said to him had to be a
shock, big shock, and… Let’s just say I should know better with this
guy’s temperament.” “That’s going to be a
nasty bruise, I’ll get some ice.” “No, H, really. I’m fine, I’ll put something on it when I get
home if it needs it.” “Sure, but…” “I’ve had worse in the
past, I promise you.” “That is the most
appalling reasoning,” Henry told Xander crossly. “Dismissing this assault because…” “Can we schedule a fight
about this for some other time? Any
weekend is good for me. At least any
weekend that isn’t this year. Or that
has a Saturday or Sunday in it. Or that
involves me waking up any time over…” “…a forty-eight hour
period,” they chorused. Xander was helped up –
unnecessarily helped, he lost no time in protesting – and there followed a good
deal of protective grumbling when he immediately reached for his coat. “I’ll call you in the
morning, okay? Let you know if
I’ve had some
sense knocked into me.” “Xander… You’ve had a bad evening, and now this
shock… You want me to get someone else
to take tomorrow night?” Simone tiptoed through the question with uncalled for
delicacy. “No, I’ll be fine.” The woman sighed, refused
to question how many times she’d heard that immensely irritating phrase from
this immensely irritating individual, and sat back to watch as her husband
pursued Xander along the corridor and tried to secure a guarantee that he was
about to go straight home and to bed to get some much-needed rest, not prepared
to accept the futility of trying to reason with their obstinate friend. … “At least let me arrange
transport for you,” Henry was persisting, even as Xander pushed through the
security doors at the rear of the building and attempted to escape the stifling
concern. “It’s five minutes, I
don’t need a car to—” The words dried up when
Xander caught sight of the shock of white-blond hair that gleamed under the
parking lot lights. Henry followed
Xander’s gaze, and his face flushed red with anger when he saw Spike. “I think you should leave
right now, young man,” Henry warned, “before I call the police and have you
charged.” Spike ignored the threat,
just stared, hard and intensely at Xander, and couldn’t help the stupidity of
bitterly resenting the last person to have heard his mother’s voice. “What do you want?”
Xander asked, not quite cautiously, but certainly without the bravado of their
earlier meeting. “Can we talk? Now?” Xander took a deep breath
and released it slowly, recalling the vampire’s doggedness and fairly sure that
whatever Spike had in mind would need to be addressed before he’d go away and
leave them in relative peace. “You want to walk me
home?” “Xander!” “Trust me, H, I know what
I’m doing.” Without another look at
Spike, Xander began to walk; it was only seconds before Spike fell in beside
him. “Do I know what I’m
doing?” “You’re perfectly safe,”
Spike assured, and Xander glanced at him in eloquent disbelief. “What’s this about? Or did you simply track me down to ruin my
meeting and take a shot at breaking my jaw?” “I’m…” The ‘sorry’ refused to happen. “I’ve a legitimate reason to be here. We need your help.” “Straight to it. Okay.”
Xander diverted them to take the long way home: this was already
beginning to feel like a long way conversation.
“‘We’ being?” “Oh, y’know,” Spike said
casually, “mankind.” Xander gave a chuckle. “Just mankind? So long as it’s no biggie.” “I’m…this…is serious.” “And since when do you
include yourself in mankind? Thought
demonkind couldn’t swing it, huh?” “I’m working for
mankind. And mankind needs your help.” “I don’t do that stuff
anymore, didn’t anyone tell you? No
apocalypses, saving the world, talking down the genocidal best friend. I switched my name to the list headed
non-essential personnel. You’ll find me
in the column marked ‘retired due to mutilation’.” “I wouldn’t be here if
there was any choice, trust me.” “Trust you? Wow, amazing how easily that doesn’t come.” “Rupert Giles sent me to
you,” Spike tried another tack. “He
thought you were the one for the job.” “It’s a job now? How’s the pay?” “You know what I mean.” “Maybe I do, and maybe I
don’t want to.” Xander stopped walking
and leaned against a streetlight. “It’s
taken me long enough to find my place in life, I don’t intend to let you
disrupt it.” “Look, Ha…Xander, I understand if you won’t take
me seriously. Who would you…” “You can’t do that! You can’t ask me who I’d like to be coerced
by,” Xander said with a laugh, but inside his head he was already making the
list. “No-one could sway me,” he lied,
already up to double figures. “I could always…bop you
on the head and carry you off,” Spike said conversationally. “Like that worked so well
the last time. If this turns out to be
another bullshit love spell to win her back…” Spike smiled sadly, eyes
suddenly full of memories. “She’s gone. Drusilla.
Angel and I both felt it happen.” The ignorantly smart
comment that once would have emerged without thought stuck in Xander’s
throat. Bereavement was, regardless of
who, how and why, bereavement. “That’s… I’m…I’m sorry for your loss, Spike. Genuinely.
But don’t expect me to be sorry she’s no longer making a meal of the
population.” “No, I wasn’t sorry about
that either.” Xander looked at him
curiously. “Soul. Insists on having its way.” “I hope you’re not here
to talk to her, ‘cause it doesn’t work like that.” “Hardly save the world,
would it?” Xander realised that he’d
totally lost track of the conversation, nodded, and resumed walking. “Want to tell me about
it? Not saving the world, just why I
matter.” “If you’ll tell me how
you got to be the one that matters.” “Only if you tell
something equally as personal.” “Quid pro quo, eh? Next you’ll be calling me Clarice, which I
wouldn’t advise, by the…” “What did you do when you
walked away earlier?” That wiped the
smirk from Spike’s face. “And why didn’t
you keep going? I made you really angry
and it’s difficult to understand why you came back.” “What did I do…?” Spike
considered, and Xander noticed the muscles in his jaw twitch with strain. There was almost a sense of panic when he
realised that Spike was about to be honest. “Forget I asked. You really don’t have to ans…” “What did I do? First thing: got rid of Angel. Then I thought about…” Spike inhaled sharply. “I wept, is that what you want? I believed what you said, you repeated, I had to fight – and yes,
truly fight – my way past the
memories it stirred, and then I simply hated you for hearing her voice. I wept with sadness and with rage and…” Spike’s voice broke into a humourless
laugh. “Amusing, isn’t it? I have a soul to bare. I hurt,
is that what you need to hear?” Xander pushed through the
fuckinghellfuckinghellfuckinghell. “Did you really believe what I relayed to
you? Did you question it? Because you always should.” “No-one knows a thing
about my father,” Spike admitted sullenly.
“I’m not about to call you a charlatan.” “Then why only sadness
and rage? There should’ve been some
comfort in there, Spike.” “It wasn’t…enough. Enough for comfort.” “What would be? After the existence you’ve led?” The question, an
admittedly fair one, was asked without any apparent malice so instead of
provoking defensive bluster, it caused Spike to dwell on the subject for a
while, and he was still thinking it over when Xander made another long way home
diversion to accommodate the vampire’s pondering. “When I came back,” Spike
finally said, “I wasn’t sure if it was to ask the question I’m supposed to be
asking you, or asking the one I actually want an answer to right now.” “Which is?” The thought of the
question was traumatic enough – the idea of speaking the words was beyond
Spike’s present capacity to deal. “Fuck you.” Spike picked up speed and
was away from Xander in seconds, into the darkness, the blond hair being the
last scrap of the vampire to fade to nothing. “That isn’t… I’m not trying to force anything out of you,”
Xander said, trusting that Spike’s acute senses would allow him to hear, sure
that he wouldn’t get too far ahead, not if he sincerely wanted Xander’s
help. “I want to know why me. The reason you actually came here. There had to be other options, better
mediums, so…” “I don’t have to explain
the stadium of victims,” came a disembodied voice. “It’s hard enough to explain the rest.” “See, expediency I
get. Expediency is easier than it being
specifically me that’s somehow essential.” Xander kept walking and,
after five minutes, Spike was back at his side. “It began after I lost
the eye,” Xander started abruptly, feeling obliged to keep his side of the deal
but also wanting to forestall any further confessions from the vampire. “It’s been suggested that it was always in me
but latent, and the shock brought it out.
I asked around and it turns out that the ability runs in my family;
makes sense now why my parents would have nothing to do with my supposedly
crazy great-aunt.” “Had it already started
before the end of Sunnydale?” “Vaguely. At first I kept accusing “Why did you come back to
the States?” “She told me to. Practically threw me out of the country and
told me to find where I fit in. So I
came home, made some contacts, learned a lot more about what I was and wasn’t
capable of, and ended up here. Fitted
in. I began to help people and… I understood why this was happening to me and
I started to feel worthwhile. Completely
at peace with myself.” Now it was Xander’s turn
to fall into silent thought and Spike held back on the many questions he wanted
to ask, feeling any interruption would be inappropriately crass, even for him;
eventually they ended up outside Xander’s house. “Home,” Xander told
Spike, failing to notice that the vampire already knew and had automatically
stopped at the gate, barely aware of Spike following him to the front door. Spike waited patiently as
Xander went inside, sure of what was coming when Xander turned to look at him,
studying the resurrected undead curiously in the light from the hallway. “Can I come in?” Xander evidently thought
that over, but his face was unreadable. “No. Not this time.” “Please? It’s about…”
Spike turned away, frustrated and embarrassed. “This is about… Not the world ending, this is about your
mother?” Spike lowered his head and
nodded. Long pause. “You’re not
going to hit me again?” “No, I’m sorry I did
that, I just…lost my head.” “But…” “I’m sorry. I wouldn’t say that unless I meant it. I’m sorry I hurt you. Xander.” Spike looked directly
into Xander’s eye, exposing himself emotionally, and Xander thought that maybe
Spike was sorry: he looked suitably,
unfamiliarly humble. Beyond that, he
looked… Desperate. “If I let you in it
doesn’t mean I’m even considering
agreeing to do whatever it is mankind sent you to ask me to do.” “Understood.” Xander’s fingers
irritably swept through his hair, once and again. “Why does this feel like
such a stupid thing to do?” Spike shrugged. Hopefully. “You need to trust your
instincts. Unless they’re telling you to
slam the door in my face.” There was another
substantial pause as Spike inched closer and closer to the threshold. “God, what the…” Xander sighed. “Spike…
Come in.”
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