Xander knew he was dreaming, of course.  Ever since his abilities had surfaced he’d been peculiarly sensitive during his dreams, often experiencing a sense of being conscious inside them.  It had been a boon and a curse: a boon when dealing with the impossible scenarios within his nightmares; a curse because he rarely escaped from reality.

Tonight he was back at Sunnydale High, alone as the school crumbled around him in the midst of the town’s destruction.  He felt a pain in his empty eye socket, or rather, a reversal of pain, beginning as the dull ache the damage had become by that time and becoming agonising before the eye was suddenly popped back into his skull.  That wasn’t new either: the eye was returned to him on a regular basis, his vision bi-optical and twenty-twenty as he watched the dreamscape unfold.

A few minutes to acclimatise and he was picking through the rubble, looking, probably, for Anya.  Probably, because he’d never found her yet and, waking, had pondered the significance of that.  Too simple, surely, for it to be the fact he’d never seen her body so her death had seemed unreal for a very long time.  He thought it might be because she was already lost to him at the time of her passing.  Or, if he wanted to feel especially guilty, that he didn’t deserve to find her because somehow he let her die, or led to her death, and if his every waking hour hadn’t been so preoccupied with sexsexsexsexsex when she first propositioned him she would’ve been somewhere safe, far away from the action that would lead to her being slain.

Perhaps tonight he’d find the pile of ash that had been Spike saving the world.  That would…hurt.  Now.  Not then, naturally.  Back then the vampire had been an accepted casualty of war, warranting a moment’s reflection but no tugging of emotional strings.  Now, though?  Xander was undoubtedly…strung.  No longer taking a lead from Buffy’s sanity-preserving outward indifference to the death and mayhem, Xander felt.

“Spike?” he called, hearing himself echo endlessly through the empty building.  “Spike?”

“Xaaaaander.”

“Ah, shit.”

Any voice that sounded like gravel being rolled simultaneously around steel and plastic buckets had to be bad.

“Xaaaaander.”

Xander kept walking, kept looking, unable to pin down the direction of the voice, trying to ignore it until the source made itself known, when he’d no doubt find himself running down the requisite endless corridor to escape it, or…suddenly discover he was naked in the middle of Angel’s memorial service.  Oh, yeah, that had been a doozy.

“Xaaaaander.”

“Hello?”

“Xaaaaander.”

He jumped back a good couple of feet as the rubble in front of him stirred, spouting dust and waste like a minor volcano, tumbling away to reveal…

“Oh.  God.  No.”

…his lost love, and appearing exactly as any reasonable person could expect her to after being hacked to death and buried under an assortment of jagged and heavy debris.  She smiled sweetly at Xander, the effort splitting the decomposing flesh on her once-beautiful face; skin sloughed from her arms as she shifted to tug away rotting clothes from her oozing body.

“Xaaaaander.”

Her legs opened, one hip joint collapsing and the leg swinging wide, and she glistened with putrefaction rather than lust as she offered herself; Xander watched with disgust as his dream hands enthusiastically undid his belt, fumbling in eagerness over button and zip.

Aware but unable to intervene, Xander felt the sharpness of broken concrete under his own knees as he knelt between Anya’s, his ardent desire evident as his erection dripped onto her, and where each drip landed a void formed, dark and deep and humming with life.  When the first bugs crawled from the voids, Xander – even insanely horny dream Xander – couldn’t help but jerk away from the disintegrating corpse, and as the trickle became a line became a rush became a swarm that whirled around him and bit and tore, he screamed in panic and sobbed apologies to Anya in the hope she’d make it stop.

“Xaaaaander.”

“Please?  I never meant this to happen.”

A wider grin and the flesh slid away from the jaw with a gruesome slurp, barely visible through the black clouds of insects.

“My.  Own.”

Xander forced himself awake with a wail of dismay, panicking in the darkness, another nightmare, one he lived with, fearing he was completely blind and…

The bedside lamp clicked on and Spike was leaning protectively over him, snarling at the emptiness of their room and ignoring the desperate hands that grasped and slipped, damp with sweat.

“Fuck,” Xander gasped.  “Fucking almighty fuck.”

The snarl lessened to a muted growl and Spike moved slowly back to his own spot in the bed, one hand snatching Xander’s and finally giving him something solid and strong and real to hang onto.

“Nothing,” Spike eventually said, having out-stared the room for a solid five minutes.

“Dream.  Fuck.  Bad.  Bad, bad, bad.”  Spike unconsciously brought Xander’s hand to his mouth, pressed it against his lips, not kissing, just holding.  Xander let the gesture sit him up, and he leaned against the vampire, catching his breath and calming down.  “My own,” Xander whispered, the words that were branded in the forefront of his mind.

The growl went back to the snarl for a moment before breaking off completely.

“It won’t get you,” Spike promised, now clutching Xander’s hand to the cool skin of his chest.

“It was only a dream.  There were…bugs.”  Xander shuddered.  “Where in the world are there no bugs?  I have to go live there.”

“Somewhere freezing.  California boy like you wouldn’t stand a…”

“Gyah!” Xander exclaimed as he finally noticed the demonic features.  “I did wake up, didn’t I?”

Spike shook the game face away and studied Xander closely as the human began to giggle, his scrutiny breaking the giggles into full-blown laughter.

“You’re a funny one,” Spike observed as he fell back onto his pillow, taking Xander with him and almost managing an accidental strangulation.  “This shut you up?”  He morphed back into his true guise and after a pathetic squeak, Xander simply laughed harder.

Out of both breath and energy, Xander slumped where he’d been guided, sprawled over Spike and now leaning his chin on the vampire’s breastbone.  He gazed thoughtfully at Spike, and Spike, semi-hidden behind the demon’s mask, gazed thoughtfully back.

“You bit me,” Xander stated in due course.

“I know.”

“You liked it.”

Understatement.  Spike’s fingers itched to caress the scar.  Fangs ached to renew it.

“Yes.”

Pause.

“Bite or drink?  Is that the ‘spit or swallow?’ of the vampire world?”

“Bite.”

“But you tasted my blood, didn’t you?”

“Couldn’t help but take some,” Spike answered with cautious honesty, “but that wasn’t the intent.”

Pause.

“Do I taste different?”

“To what?”

“To normal people.”

“You are normal people.”

“You know what I mean.”

“You taste…human.  Normal,” Spike overemphasised.  Then added quietly: “Good.”

Pause.

“Are there repercussions?”

“You mean like rabies shots after a bite from a mad dog?” Spike smiled.

“I mean like Angel thinking…  I don’t know what.  If I knew I wouldn’t be asking.”

“There’s always a chance he’ll see the scar and go ballistic, so I’ll get in first and tell him what happened.  Not all of it,” Spike quickly assured before Xander could protest.  “Just that you needed me closer and that’s…that’s…”

“As close as a vampire gets.  Make sure you tell him I wanted it.”

The thoughtful gaze was back, but now, only seconds in, Spike turned his eyes away and shifted uncomfortably.

“Want to move, Petal?”

“Because you’re getting hard at the thought of…being closer?  Don’t you think I’m used to it?” Xander grinned.  “Last thing at night, first thing in the morning – our time equivalents of those – battery with a friendly weapon.  I don’t mind if you don’t.”

“You don’t mind?”

“It’s not like I take it personally.”

“Idiot,” Spike told him affectionately, dragging fingertips through the dark hair that flopped over Xander’s brow.

“So, Angel…?”

“Why does it matter what he thinks?”  Xander shrugged.  “Think he’ll go back to Rupert and your girls and tell sordid tales that’ll make ‘em stop loving you?”  Xander shrugged.  “Think he’ll have some sort of claim over you, some attachment, through the bloodline?”  Xander shrugged.  “Are you even still awake or am I talking to myself?”  Xander shrugged, tired self seduced into mindlessness by the rhythmical stroking through his hair.

Spike gently tipped him aside and rearranged the tangled covers, tucking Xander in and hesitating as he reached to switch out the light, but reasoning that Xander had never seemed afraid of the dark, and he’d apparently recovered from his bad dream, and…

It was as if Spike took a huge step back and looked at himself, at his behaviour as he alternately fretted over and cosseted the young man.  Laughing softly, he shook his head as he recognised the old ways, the old version of Spike who was love’s bitch and too often wore a wounded heart on his sleeve.  He didn’t want to be that Spike, semi-permanently miserable and ultimately rejected, he wanted the detachment and sanity he’d fought for over the past five, six years.

Yes, okay.  That was, logically, what he should want.  Detachment.  Emotional inaccessibility.  The knowledge he was his own master.  But another hard look at himself and he knew what he illogically wanted.  Honestly wanted.  Wanted?  More.  Back to need over want.  What he needed.  He understood need, which is why he understood Xander’s.  And if Spike didn’t give in to his true nature he’d be treating himself as cruelly as Edmund had, trying to force himself in an unnatural direction.

The simple act of not condemning himself for the person he was lifted an incredible weight Spike hadn’t realised was there.  No leaping up in bed after a shocking revelatory dream and proceeding to behave like a besotted fool, this was a considered step and…no doubt proceeding to behave like a besotted fool.  Time to stop fighting who he was.  Time to start seriously working on what he desired.

“I want you, Xander.  I know what you think, and maybe you and me as an us doesn’t make any kind of sense, but…  This is who I am: an idiotic, hugely obsessive romantic who chooses to see us as star-crossed lovers, and…I want you.”  Xander, barely awake, certainly not paying any attention to Spike’s words, flung an arm back and tried to find purchase to draw the vampire closer.  Spike went willingly, body tight against Xander’s, laying kisses to neck and shoulder as the man muttered something sweet and indiscernible before finally falling asleep.  “Want you, Love.  All of you.  I’ll do my best not to hurt your heart, but I will have you.  See…I do understand need.  And I need you.”

…

“Fancy going to the pictures?” Spike asked as he browsed the local newspaper Xander had picked up in the motel’s diner.

“Pictures?”

Spike tutted.

“Cinema.”

“Ohh, pictures.  Moving pictures.  They have sound now, y’know.  And col-our,” Xander cheekily spelt out, ignoring the reprimanding glance from the vampire.  “You have that address?” he asked as he sealed and stamped Henry’s birthday card and placed it in a second envelope.  “The via LA one?”

“Leave it, I’ll do it.”

“I want to mail it, so…now?”  Spike tossed the paper aside with a sigh and took Xander’s pen, doing as he was asked; Xander added a stamp and sat staring at the door, wondering if Spike could be persuaded to let him out of sight for the second time that afternoon.  “You mind if I…”

“Yes, I mind.  Just go and do it.”

The moment Xander left, Spike was at the window, peering through a crack in the curtains and watching every step of the man’s progress until he was out of view.  Wasn’t often that Spike cursed what he was, but sometimes the UV problem really got to him.  The rules were fine for traditional vampires, but he thought there should be some sort of leniency for a unique being such as himself.  Oh, and Angel at a push, he supposed.  But especially him because he was here, now, and once again stuck in the ‘unable to protect the human in daylight’ loop.  It helped to blame Xander: bloody humans and their irrational enjoyment of being in the sunshine.  Or lack of it, today, but even this watery light was enough to keep Spike inside.  And, in fairness, Xander had been reasonable about being trapped indoors too, and Spike knew how hard reasonable was, and…that didn’t help.  At.  All.

“Have you been standing there, grinding your teeth, since I left?”

“No.  Yes.  It’s your fault.”

“Well, of course it’s my fault,” Xander grinned, “it wouldn’t be any fun if it wasn’t my fault.  And what are we talking about exactly?”

“The fact that, with time and inclination, I could walk the sea beds to reach anywhere in the world, but I can’t help you if you’re outside when the uber-nasty strikes in the day.”

“Not when,” Xander told him with a shudder.  “Don’t make it a when, for God’s sake.”

“I don’t care how inconvenient it is for you, in future…”

“No, stop right there.  Finish that sentence and we’ll fight, really fight.”

“Because I want to keep you safe?”

“Because I feel enough of a prisoner already, I can’t cope with any more restrictions.”

Spike glared and Xander…  Well, it would be irrational to expect him to stop making up games after a post-pubescent life of it.  Anya would have detected the potential for multiple orgasms by the glint in his eye and pounced, but luckily Spike wasn’t paying attention, still sulking and wearing that off-putting sucking lemons face, as Xander battled to expunge the warder/prisoner fantasy from the naughtiest corner of his mind.

But still…

“I’ll get safely out of your way: shower while you brood and hit the blood.”

Xander gestured to the duffle of fresh supplies that had shown up on their doorstep during the morning, hoping that Spike would be distracted long enough for this frustrated male to escape.

“You don’t have to hide away from me, I’m…  All right, I’m not going to mention that again.  Course you need a little freedom, you’re not the only one feeling trapped.”

“We’ll be good later, yeah?  I know it’s only the chapel but we get out, meet new people.  Maybe,” Xander added quickly, already sold on his own idea, “maybe, as this is a bigger place, they have a club we can go on to.”

Spike’s interest visibly perked.  Then visibly flattened.

“How can you do that with the voices?  All those people, it’d drive you nuts.  At least if we went to the cinema we could sit close enough for you not to be bothered.”

“’Kaaaay…  Apart from the fact we’ll have missed the last show, could be, if we’re clubbing, the music will be louder than them.  Could be…I’ll have to smooch with you all night to stay sane.  Could be we won’t know until we try, so let’s try.”

“If you’re willing to take a chance it’d be churlish to turn you down,” Spike grinned.  “And you know I’m not averse to the odd smooch.”

“You know that was a joke, right?  ‘Cause, good choice of words.  Odd smooch.  The locals would probably find it a very odd smooch.  After Tobyville I have no intention of stirring up the locals.”

“You don’t want to check me out while I protect your honour, or what’s left of it?”  Hands on hips, Spike hung his head, shook it slowly, adding a transparently fake sigh for good measure.  “You’re not the man I thought you were.”

“And isn’t that something to be grateful for?”

Spike peered and smirked, so mischievous that Xander wondered where the soul got to when that expression appeared.

“Shower then?” Spike reminded him.

“Uh…yeah.  Shower.  Alone,” Xander felt it necessary to add after that look.

Spike gave him a wink before turning to retrieve a bloody snack from Angel’s delivery.

“Alone in body if not in spirit.  Enjoy thinking of me, Petal.”

“Think of you?  Oh, sure, ‘cause we’re expecting a bizarre occurrence to announce the forthcoming apocalypse.”

Xander left, muttering to himself, and Spike took a deep breath, analysing, and silently rejoicing over the knowledge that Xander was growing increasingly horny around him.  Not the most patient of vampires but he knew the worth of attrition, and what were Xander’s defences for if not to be worn down?

…

The Woodbury Chapel was bigger and grander than anything Xander had been used to, but the warm welcome was familiar, and it was nice to catch up with the people he’d met a short while ago at Peter and Miriam’s.  Spike’s ability to quiet the spirits led to in-depth discussions that went far over the vampire’s head, and he was tempted, listening to what he rapidly condemned as off-the-mark twaddle, to simply announce ‘demon, get over it’.  But he was charming and as helpful as possible because Xander was happy, in his element, and it would have been cruel to ruin his evening.

Nothing to do with Spike’s chances later.  Nothing at all.

There was always a possibility Spike would be outed by one of the stadium of victims, and he’d’ve been lying if he said he wasn’t concerned about that, for Xander’s sake rather than his own.  He was surprised that it hadn’t happened yet.  But Xander hadn’t mentioned those particular voices since before Spike had visited LA, so maybe they’d been permanently scared away by a far greater nasty than him.

As Spike reassured himself with that notion, coincidentally Xander had arrived at the uber-nasty too, and was explaining what had happened at the Stokes’ to Jo, cautiously straightening out some rather bizarre half-truths and rumours.  Spike listened with interest as Xander side-stepped, back-peddled, and generally played down his own continuing involvement with the phenomenon, finally managing to turn the conversation back in the direction of why he was actually here and being delighted when he gained himself a guest appearance in the meeting that was due to begin very shortly.

…

At the back of the hall, Spike watched the other mediums with half-hearted interest, obviously because they weren’t Xander and this obsession wasn’t half-hearted either.  Xander had chosen to sit nearer the stage tonight, and Spike had an unobstructed view of the man in meditative mode, eye closed, features calm as he prepared himself for his work; he would be called upon at any moment, and Spike looked forward to seeing his companion as his best: Xander only seemed to be truly happy, vibrantly alive when he was helping people and, although that was unsettling to a demon who wanted to be everything, it was something Spike realistically knew he would have to come to terms with.

Xander’s eye slowly opened and he instinctively looked for Spike, just at the moment when Spike was smiling at his ridiculous self as he sat plotting and planning an immediate future that was as fantastical as anything the Sci-Fi channel had ever bestowed on the object of his scarily single-minded devotion.  Xander simply saw the smile, thought it was encouragement for him, and smiled back with an appreciative nod.  Xander started to look away, but he seemed compelled to take another glance, and their eyes caught and held for what probably should have been an uncomfortably long time, but no.

The knowledge that Xander was drawing strength from him hit Spike like the proverbial ton of bricks.  He knew if he chose to he could pretend that this gaze was about romantic affection, but the truth was as good, perhaps even better.  Whatever had been said, he hadn’t really believed Xander trusted him.  Until this very moment.  When Spike saw it.  And felt it.  And knew it.

Another brief smile as Xander heard himself being introduced to the audience, then he was in public mode, and Spike was simply one of many.  The vampire missed Xander’s first contact, as he wallowed in his marvellous discovery…  Trust.  …then there was a very still silence, and he paid attention to find Xander listening closely to the next spirit, wearing the short-focus expression that told Spike the medium was being shown something; Xander frowned in confusion as he tried to make sense of what was being shared.  He shook his head.

“Again,” as his fingers stopped their twitching and moved to unconsciously stroke an area of his inner forearm.  “I’m sorry, this is very hazy.  Jumbled.  I think…  It’s to do with…numbers, but…” Xander groped, with a further shake of the head.  “Now…  I’m seeing…hair?  A whole heap of…  It can’t be hair.  …  Sorry, Saul, again?”

Xander’s focus lengthened as Spike deliberately drew his attention, then the vampire peered warily around himself at the back of the hall, making sure he was unnoticed before laying a finger across his top lip and raising his hand in a fascist salute.  The references immediately clunked into place.

“Oh, fu—” Xander whispered as new, brutal thoughts flooded through, the spirit taking advantage of his realisation.  “Just the knowledge not the emotions,” he said urgently, “don’t let me…  Okay.  That’s okay, that’s better.”  Xander scanned the audience, looking toward the centre right.  “Where do I have to go?” he murmured to Saul, taking only seconds longer to settle on a middle-aged man.  “Sir…  In the green jacket.  Would you understand about…photographs?  Looking at photographs recently and feeling very sad?”  The man nodded.  “Stars.  There are stars.  White or grey now.  But they were yellow.  You were…looking and…hiding.  Hiding photographs, because you don’t want your children to see them?”

“Yes, I…um…I understand,” the man replied awkwardly, and the young teenager at his side gave him a look filled with curiosity before turning back to Xander.

“Ruth?” Xander asked.

“My wife.”

“That’s it, that’s the sense.  This, I’m sure, is your wife’s grandfather connecting to me, paternal grandfather.  But he knew you, he looked upon you as a son by the end.  …  Within your present family there’s been a lot of interest in the past.”

“That would be me,” the teen spoke up.

“Uh…Darryl?”

“Yes.”

“Your great granddad is very aware of you, of what you’ve been doing, investigating the past.”

“Our family tree.  For school.”

Xander nodded, and listened, turned his attention back to the man.

“I have to come to you.  Erik?  That’s you?”  Nod.  “He’s showing me…”  Xander flinched.  “Just the thoughts, not—  Okay, that’s it.  Show me.  This is…  Bir…ken…  Birken…  Birkenau.  It was…”

“I know what it was,” Erik cut in, voice hoarse.

“And your grandfather…  …  Okay.  You can’t protect the children.  That’s what he’s telling me.  You can’t protect the children.”  Xander listened, making sure he had the message precisely right.  “This kind of protection leads to ignorance, and ignorance leads to it all happening again.  …  He’s…  Amazingly, he’s learned to forgive.”  Erik understandably shook his head in disbelieve, an action repeated by individuals in every row of seats.  “But forgiving…can’t mean forgetting.  He’s showing me…  Oh, God,” Xander’s voice broke up and he swallowed hard.  “I can’t convey any of this, it’s too…it’s too much, and I don’t want to try in front of Darryl.”

“I do know about the camps,” Darryl said, sounding pretty shaky himself.

“But you…”

More images, uncensored feelings, and Xander turned away for a moment’s privacy as he tried to compose himself, Saul finally putting an end to the vivid and terrifying awareness of existing within a Nazi concentration camp that the spirit was inflicting.  Instinctively knowing that Spike would be halfway to the stage by now, no doubt in aggressively overprotective mode, Xander quickly turned back, gave a wave to stop Spike in his tracks, and managed a weak smile for the family he’d been talking to.

“He spends a lot of time with you, he watches over his family.  He knows the way the past has affected the present and…  He asks you to respect the – his – beliefs, even if you can’t share them.  You understand?”  Erik nodded; Darryl remained head down, refusing to acknowledge that request.  Xander listened for more information and his face broke into a relieved smile.  “You have a daughter, or possibly a niece you’re very close to, and…  There’s a lot of disapproval going on.   …  This would be about…wow, has to be the boyfriend.”  Erik nodded ruefully as if he knew what was coming, amid a few humorously knowing murmurs from those seated near to him.  “Your granddad wants to remind you that he didn’t like you much either when you first showed up…but see how that turned out.”  The burst of laughter Xander was expecting happened and, thankfully moving away from past terrors, he settled into his variety of normality.

…

In the small ante-room to the side of the stage, Xander waited impatiently for the few seconds it took for Spike to join him.  He knew what he wanted, thought Spike wouldn’t object to filling the void created by the lack of Simone and Henry, although it was more difficult than he’d imagined it would be to ask for comfort when he came face-to-face with the vampire.  But a single step, an awkward gesture, and he found himself being hugged and fussed.

“That was…  God, that was horrible,” he said unsteadily as he clung to Spike.

“Over now, Pet,” came the response in Spike’s best soothing tones, swiftly followed by the correction.  “Petal.”

“You could try Xander.”

“I’ve tried Xander: bloody fantastic it was.”

“Calling me Xander,” Xander said patiently, enjoying the diversionary tactics.

“Calling you Xander when?  Before, during, or after?”

“During,” Xander replied in kind, pulling back to catch the lustful interest in Spike’s eyes.  “During…our many fascinating conversa…”

Xander’s face suddenly lost all expression and Spike tightened his hold as the man teetered on the edge of a blackout, but Xander pulled himself back and let himself be guided to, and gently lowered into a conveniently placed chair.  As requested, coffee and a blanket had been left here for Xander, and Spike wrapped him up and helped him drink, seeing the giddiness disperse and Xander’s focus return.

“Humanity,” Xander whispered.

“In which context, and what of it?”

“What of it,” Xander repeated, meeting Spike’s concern with a teary eye.  “Puts your – the demon’s – crimes into perspective, seeing humans—”

Xander couldn’t go on, features crumpling in upset as he turned his face away.  Spike shuffled his chair closer and resumed the hugging and fussing.

“Ate a few Nazis in my time,” Spike whispered.  “That make you feel any better?”

“Oh, yeah.  And that has to be the wrong answer, but after…after…”

“It was a long time ago.  Them, and me.”  Xander nodded and wriggled, any last reticence gone as he pushed himself into the vampire’s embrace.  “And that was just a part of tonight.  Think how many people you made happy.  Erik’s future son-in-law better send you a piece of wedding cake, I know that.”

“Can we get out of here?  Did you ask anyone if there’s a club in town?”

“I’ll ask around now.  Be all right, will you?”

A rapid nod and Spike topped up Xander’s coffee before putting on a very deliberate show of not being at all worried, and leaving to interrogate the congregation.

Xander relaxed, closed his eye, tried not to let his mind drift toward the latest additions to his mental chamber of horrors.  Forced himself to think about…  Spike doing the crossword in the newspaper and bothering, however pointlessly, to read Xander the clues; Dawn with hair six inches tall; Willow with yellow crayons and not black eyes; Mom using lipstick to paint his face like a raspberry tiger; Giles being a Fyarl demon; Buffy not being dead; Anya and Tara not deserving to be dead; Spike being alive and dead and deader and aliver and…

“Am I allowed to disturb you?”

“Please do that,” Xander told Jo, starting to rise but letting her ease him back into his seat.

With a smile, Jo sat in the chair Spike had set alongside Xander’s.

“That was a fascinating reading: Erik’s.  I am sorry it upset you though.”

“Don’t worry about—  Damn, I forgot, I wanted a chance to talk to Erik…”

Jo stopped Xander rising for a second time.

“Already gone, I’m afraid.”

“You have his number?”

“I’m sure someone has, I’ll make sure you get it.”

“You think I should have carried on?  Tried to tell him more of what his granddad was showing me?”

“No.  You were right to stop when you did.  Maybe if Darryl hadn’t been…  No, not even then.  It would have been too distressing for a lot of people.”

“I’m relieved.  I don’t always make the best decisions when it comes to telling or not.”

“Xander, I was wondering…  Would you like to join me and a few friends for dinner tomorrow night?”  Jo smiled again, apologetically this time.  “I’m afraid it’s a rather selfish invitation: I’m hoping with less distractions you may be able to contact my late husband, seeing as none of the resident mediums have.”

“Tomorrow, sure.  I’d be happy to try to reach your husband, you don’t have to be embarrassed to ask.  What time do you want us there?”

“Are you sure you wouldn’t like to check with Spike before accepting for him?  He might like an evening off if he knows you’re safe with friends.  I get the impression he isn’t here for any reason other than you.”

“No, he does enjoy the readings, it’s the debate that bores him so we’ll have to try not to talk shop all night.  He’ll be fine, and…he’s not going to let me out of his sight anyway – Peter told you about…?”

Jo nodded a sharp, almost conspiratorial nod before standing to leave.

“Any time before eight,” she requested.  “My house is called Rosewood, it’s about a mile along this road on the left if you’re travelling south, it’s the only white house, you can’t miss it.”

“Thanks, I’m looking forward to it.  Keep thinking about your husband.”

“I certainly will.”

Jo waved her crossed fingers at Xander and, with a hopeful smile, she left him alone with his thoughts once again; as Spike reappeared Xander had arrived at…

“What were they thinking?  How could they do that, how could they follow those kinds of orders?  If you can live with a demon and still be a good man, what was their excuse?”

“You have to let this go, Xander.”

“Yeah, or I’ll go nuts trying to figure it out.”

“No, or I’ll thump you for being so tedious.”

“Well, thank you for that, my compassionate friend.”

“Actually…  Can I ask you something?  Now you’ve dragged up demons and such.”

“Sure.”

Spike drew breath to speak but suddenly hesitated.

“Out of here first.”

…

Quiet contemplation until the car but, once inside, the words burst out of Spike.

“I’ve been thinking about it since you asked me how you tasted.”

“Uh-huh.”

“How do I feel to you?”

Xander remembered the sensation of cool flesh beneath his hands and knew he was missing the point.

“Feel?”

“Feel.  Y’know…feel.”

“Like…umm…Spike.”

“Do I feel dead?  Do you feel like you’re with a corpse?”

“No,” Xander assured him, “no, of course not.  You’re like anyone else.  Body, spirit…”

“No heart beat, no breathing…”

“You breathe all the time.”

“So I can speak.  The rest of the time it’s purely habit.”

“Habit or need, you still breathe, and Spike wouldn’t be Spike without the huffing and the puffing and the siiiiighs,” Xander grinned.  Spike’s frown didn’t unwrinkle for a moment.  “C’mon, Spike, I may listen to the dead but I live with the living, and that’s the living of whatever description, and that’s you.”

“I feel alive?”

“As much as anyone does.  Remember, voices aside, I’m just a normal guy.”  Spike stared, eerily quiet.  Xander looked out of the window, finding a featureless brick wall fascinating, just to avoid that stare.  “What am I facing?  A charge of deadism?  ‘Cause, Baby, I’m spending every minute with you, I’m sleeping in the same bed as you, I can’t be much more accepting.”

Xander defensively jerked away as Spike moved in fast, and the vampire missed his kiss by a fraction of a second.

“You call that accepting?” Spike accused.

“Don’t come at me from my blind side and make me jump, you ass!” Xander laughed as he prodded Spike away.  “And will you stop with the kissing.  No kissing.”

“You know how much I want you and you have less excuses all the time to…”

“You want me, why?  Proximity.  Wow, what was I thinking?  Even the biggest cynic in the history of failed romance would lose himself to that heartfelt declaration of wanting to get off on the nearest convenient body.”

“Xander…”

“I’ll tell you what, I’m not going to pander to this.  No more insinuations of deadism from you when I’ve been honest about how I feel and—  Fuck this, I’m past justifying my decision!  Deal, okay?”

“Xander…”

“And this is just you, isn’t it?  Nothing to do with me, wanting me, at all.  Hang out with anyone for any length of time and you have to push for more, whatever the context.  I’m telling you now, I don’t want to be where Angel’s been.”

“Xander!”

“You’re such a pest, you know that?  You’re as bad as those bugs at the cabin.  Is this what Buffy had to put up with?  She fuck you just to shut you up?”

“She fucked me,” Spike replied through clenched teeth, “because I loved her enough to take, without question or complaint, the beatings and abuse she considered foreplay.”

“Oh, shit, I didn’t…”

“After all, it’s not as if she could have turned to anyone she liked or respected, but I’d’ve settled for any attention, whether it was broken ribs or a solid six-hour fuck, simply…”

“Six hours?”

Spike kinked an eyebrow at Xander.

“Have to admire the human male, always going straight to the heart of the matter.”

“We’re talking six hours including intermissions, right?”

“Six hours solid.  How much detail do you want?”

“No, no, nothing, no detail.  But…  Six hours?”

“You’re thinking…?  How could she bear…”

“I’m thinking if I ever say yes you’re going to fuck me to death.”

“I might not fuck you to death but I guarantee to send you to heaven,” Spike said with an improbably straight face that cracked into a grin as Xander was seen to think about the offer.  “You’re not going to tell me that old line worked?

“Just…just…  Drive.  Club, alcohol, now.”

“You look tired, Petal.  Sure you wouldn’t rather give it a miss tonight, go tomorrow?”

“We’re…  Ah.”

“Ah?”  Spike repeated, and sighed.  “All right, where are we on the scale of…Spike laughing politely, to Spike removing your liver and lights?”

“You’ll…er…laugh?  But not long, or loud, or…at all.”

“It’s that bint who spent all night giving you the eye, isn’t it?”

“There’s someone giving me the eye?  That’s very generous, I could do with ano—”  Xander broke off as Spike shot him a don’tyoufuckingdare glare.  “Yeah, um…  Actually, it’s Jo, Jo asked us to dinner tomorrow.”

“No.”

“I’ve already said yes.”

“No.”

“Spike…”

“Why can’t you grasp the concept of laying low, keeping safe…”

“But…”

“I’m trying my bloody best to give you some freedom, and…”

“Spiiiiike!”

“Don’t.  Sodding.  Whine.”

“It’s only Jo.”

“You don’t know her, Xander, you shouldn’t assume…”

“This is Jo we’re talking about.  Jo.  She’s the administrator for the chapel, she’s hardly going to be running with a team of hit-men.”

“You shouldn’t assume anything.  Yes, she seems genuine enough, but what if she’s been set up?”

“Are we still going out?  I think I need to get you mindlessly drunk as quickly as possible.  Or get me mindlessly drunk so I can cope with you being sober.”

Spike slammed the car into drive and the Mustang shot off along the road, Xander clinging to his seat by his fingernails but not daring to complain or criticise.

“And just so you know…  Six hours wasn’t even an effort.”

…

Good club, invigorating atmosphere, a little more abstaining from abstention and Xander was happily relaxed, not bothered by the voices as they became an unobtrusive element in the wall of sound.  He knew he’d get a sustained lecture later but it didn’t stop him sneaking away from Spike after a mere twenty minutes and finding himself a crowded spot on the dance floor where he could hide in the heaving mass of bodies.  Not that he was fooling himself, he knew Spike wouldn’t lose track of him for a moment, but this way he could pretend he had some choice over what he did.

So he danced, unaccompanied, or sometimes with anonymous others, turning away when he saw too clearly the despised curiosity but not wanting to risk even less favourable, alcohol-liberated responses if he took the patch off.  A couple of times he saw a flash of white-blond hair under the pulsing lights, but he was, gratefully, left alone.

Two-and-a-half hours later he’d had enough and went looking for Spike, finding him on the quieter side of the bar, stopping dead in his tracks when he saw that the vampire had company and not wanting to intrude, mind racing through the possibilities and…  That would be something to watch, wouldn’t it?  Too easy to imagine Spike’s stark, sculpted paleness entwined with this girl, whose dark skin looked polished, glittering under the strobes, while her long, sleek hair had turned to black silk.  Xander’s fingers flexed as he imagined drawing them through those tempting locks during a kiss, or while she…  Stopping right there, Xander reminded himself with brutal honesty that the likes of her were not for the likes of him.  Head to head now, beautiful together, Spike and the girl laughed at a shared joke; Xander felt the exclusion keenly, and wanted without focus.

“Completely superficial,” he muttered to himself, using a bullshit excuse in an unsuccessful bid not to be quite so jealous.  And jealous of which of them?  Not for the first time he thought about having had sex with Spike and wishing he could recall more than the anguish of dealing with the uber-nasty, his frantic relief that Spike had returned, the shock of the bite, and how much the encounter had hurt his tense, unprepared body.  He’d had sex with Spike and seemed to have missed out on the sexual aspect entirely.  Not that he’d tell Spike anything so potentially insulting – well, not until he needed something fairly antagonistic to throw at the vampire – but he did feel justifiably cheated: first bout of sex in three years and he’d missed it?  Oh, yeah, thoroughly cheated.

The blow job on the other hand…  Shame about the guilt ruining that, because it was spectacularly good, more so for being completely unexpected, and it was…it was…spectacularly good and…spectacularly, and…and…a blow job.  Bogged down by lust, Xander pointedly asked himself when precisely he’d turned thirteen again, forcibly reassigned Spike to the (vertical) position he belonged in – representative of client, and vampire keeping Xander in one piece – and mentally re-booted.

Which had the desired effect until the fantasy of a threesome exploded in his mind and he slumped against a convenient pillar with a groan.  Unfortunately the pillar’s mirrored surface was cruelly candid in what it reflected, and Xander glimpsed himself, this flushed and sweaty, danced out, lucked-out…freak.  His hand started up to rip off the patch, but stopped abruptly when he considered what he’d see when it was gone.

A few minutes intense self-pity later and, plastering a fake smile on his face, he made his cautious approach to the couple in the bar, ready to disappear again at the slightest indication from Spike that he would be a complication to wherever the vampire’s encounter was headed.  He needn’t have worried: the moment he was close enough, Spike threw a friendly arm around his shoulders, introduced Xander as ‘my bloke’, and pressed a hard kiss to his cheek.  The affectionate gesture unsurprisingly reminded the girl that she had somewhere else to be, and she left before Xander even had the chance to say a proper hello.

“What was that about?”

“Stupid cow, wouldn’t take the hint.”

“You were laughing with her.”

“At her, actually, but she was too dim to get it.”

“Don’t be so mean, she looked…nice.”

“No, Xander, we don’t measure niceness by the quality of the cleavage.”

“We might.”

“Or the shortness of the skirt.”

“We still might.”

“No, we don’t.”

“She was gorgeous, and she obviously liked you, and you turned her down.  Know what that means?  Huh?  It means,” Xander grinned, “you’ve turned into Angel, you sad bastard.”

“It means,” Spike countered with an equally wide grin, “that now I get to concentrate on you.”

Xander was unresisting as Spike’s body pinned him against the bar, but the kiss he was expecting and, frankly, would have welcomed, never happened.  Instead, Spike reached up and gently peeled off the patch, slipping it into Xander’s pocket before lightly stroking the marks away.

“Want to dance with me?”

“Not here.”

“Home?”

Xander gave a humourless chuckle.

“I wish.”

“Home here.  The motel.”

“I guess.”

Spike rubbed their bodies together in a parody of dance, watching closely as Xander’s eye darkened further with mounting lust.

“Not just me, is it?” he murmured when he leaned in to nuzzle Xander’s cheek.  “Caught in the proximity trap.”

“No,” Xander groaned in reply, hands finding the vampire’s waist, drifting lower.  “Can I blame the alcohol?  ‘Cause then it’s your fault: you promised not to let me drink.”

“You asked, I never promised.”

“The alcohol.  I blame the alcohol.”

“It’d just be sex.  Just sex, no attachments,” Spike considerately lied.  “We both want this.  Let’s have it, Xander.”

“Pest,” came the muttered reply, and Spike smiled against Xander’s flushed skin.  “Pest.”

“I know.”

“Pest.”

“If nothing else…”

“Pest.”

“Listen.  You were angry with me last time because I sprang it on you.  This time…”

“Wait, wait.  Last time?  You mean…  You’re offering to blow me?”

“If it’s reciprocated.”  Spike frowned to himself.  “Even if it’s not, surprisingly.”

“Spike…”

“You’ve been horny all day, and I…”

With an exasperated sigh, Xander pushed Spike away.

“You have to screw it up by being nice, don’t you?”

“What then?  You’d fuck a bastard, but not me if I’m being considerate?”

“You don’t listen, and…  You’re never gonna get it.”

“I’ve listened: no attachments, you can’t afford attachments.  I did say…just sex.”

“No,” Xander said regretfully, barely able to take his eye off the vampire’s sensual mouth.  “No, you didn’t.”

With a frustrated flick of a hand that was more likely an attempt to brush away the situation than the voices, Xander squeezed past the confused and crestfallen vampire and headed for the club’s exit.

…

Another car ride when the communication was monosyllabic at best, and they arrived at the motel just as the cell in Spike’s pocket trilled for attention.  Spike took the call as Xander made his way inside, a lonely and depressed man, and still, irritatingly, turned on; tonight he would sleep alone, Xander resentfully announced to the room, snatching his belongings off the so-far unused bed and petulantly hurling them into an empty corner.  Alone on the rock-solid mattress, the discomfort of which wouldn’t matter because he intended to brazenly masturbate himself into a stupor.

The vampire was clearly insane.  The protectiveness was understandable; the same bed was about the quiet, Xander sleeping well and being strong and alert when he was needed to contact Dead Guy; the provocative banter he remembered well from their days of uneasy cohabitation in Sunnydale;  Spike wanting him?  Spike wanting Xander?  That was like Wile E Coyote finally catching up with the Roadrunner and deep-throating the damn bird.  Not normal.  Okay, Spike had managed to get him hot and bothered but, being this close to a living(ish), breathing(ish) body after prolonged celibacy, Xander didn’t entirely blame himself for being susceptible when the vampire was good company, and witty, and attentive, and a stimulating challenge, and fucking hot, and…charming.  Spike could be unexpectedly charming, damn him!

“It isn’t Spike.  It’s…me.  He’s right: I’m caught in the proximity trap.  If I’d spent two weeks cooped up with the seven dwarfs I’d’ve been begging for a piece of vertically challenged action.  And why am I defiling the memory of my childhood icons?  And why am I talking to myself?”

The vampire was clearly insane, and it was catching.

Xander sat heavily on his hard, unwelcoming bed and wanted peace, wanted to be unconscious, wanted to come until his balls pruned, wanted…  Too much he couldn’t have, and this was ridiculous.  He didn’t want to sleep alone.  Ridiculous.  He wanted to be seduced, and not by Spike – because this adventure would be over soon and Spike would be gone – but by someone who might be able to tolerate the oddities and insecurities and one day love him despite them.  Someone who’d stick around for a lifetime.  A stunted, human lifetime.  He wanted…

“Here.”

“What?”

“Here.”

Xander bothered to look and found Spike offering him his cell.

“What?  I don’t want to talk to anyone.”

Spike picked up Xander’s hand and wrapped it around the phone.

“It’s sorted.  Finally.  Scramblers, everywhere apparently, don’t ask me to explain how it works, but I asked and I got.  I grudgingly admit that the old boy’s not so bad.”

“Huh?”

“At the risk of ripping off Spielberg: phone home.”

“Seriously?” Xander demanded, sitting bolt upright and gazing at the phone as if it were another box of the joke boyfriend’s Belgian chocolates.

“Seriously,” Spike confirmed, but Xander was already dialling, forgetting it was three in the morning and laughing jubilantly when the first words he heard were Simone telling him off.

An exchanged smile and a soundlessly mouthed thank you from Xander were the perfect end to Spike’s night, letting him know he hadn’t done any real damage with his earlier, apparently unacceptable, consideration – and that would take some figuring out but…not just now.  Crossing to his own bed, he threw his coat aside and settled down, folded arms comfortably propping up his head at exactly the right angle to observe and take pleasure in Xander’s happiness, and without a single thought of scoring points.

Manifestation 15       Manifestation Index       Manifestation Notes

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