15: Moves I

 

 

A light brush to Xander’s face roused him a little before dawn, and before he could question why, Spike’s finger pressed firmly to his lips.

“Quiet, Xander, and stay calm.  I think we have company.”  Xander jolted a little further toward being fully awake, tightening his grip on Spike, even as the vampire tried to ease himself out of the bed.  “Put me down, you daft bugger, I have to…”

“Don’t go.”

“Can’t keep you safe if I’m hiding in here, can I?”

“You might live longer.”

“Sitting targets don’t have a great reputation for longevity.  I want you up and dressed when I’m out of here.  You know what to do if I don’t come back?”

“Uh…”

“Good.  Won’t be long.”

Spike yanked himself out of Xander’s clutches, dressed in seconds and, after careful checking, slid out of the room like a shadow over a wall.

Xander rose in quiet panic, tried to get both feet in one pants leg, pulled his t on inside-out and had to stop and consider left and right when it got to his feet.  He made himself pause, let himself wake a tad more.

“No, I don’t know what to do if you don’t come back,” he hissed at the absent Spike.  “There has not seriously been a you don’t come back scenario, you jerk!  Why isn’t life like the movies?  You give me a gun and say if anyone walks in, shoot them.  And then…then…you walk in and I shoot you.  Thank fuck you’re idiot-proof.”

Tip-toeing to the door, Xander strained to hear anything from outside, hoping for the sound of any bad guys harmlessly running away from the vampire, but prepared to settle for just about anything other than the dry boof of a demon turning to dust.  Okay, commotion: probably only a three on the Sunnydale scale.  Rising to a four, and…  Nothing.

“Fuck.  Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

More nothing.  No way of telling whether that was a good nothing, or a bad nothing, or…

Xander shot a foot into the air and barely stifled a scream as Spike barged through the door.

“False alarm.”

“Wha…?”

“Couple of winos, trying to break into the room two along.  Gave ‘em a bit of a surprise and they almost disappeared up their own arses in a bid to get away from me.”  Midway through casually discarding his clothes, Spike finally noticed Xander’s pale face and wobbly aghastness.  “Sorry, should have let you sleep.”

“You should have…  Spike!  I have no idea what to do if something happens to you!  What do I do?  And don’t let it happen, by the way, as if you need telling!”

“Calm down, there’s nothing…”

“What was I supposed to do?  Assuming I’d be capable of doing anything other than going into shock after hearing you explode into dust?”

“Y’know, I’d love to think this was about more than your own hide.”

“Of course it’s about more than…than…”

An unhindered view of Spike’s own, now-naked, extremely desirable hide, and Xander was left groping after the point of the conversation and considering groping a whole lot more.  Spike, oblivious of the effect for once, climbed into bed and patted the spot alongside him.

“C’mon.  I know it was a bit of a fright, but all over.  C’mon.”

“Fuck.”

“You know you don’t mean that.”

“As statement rather than intent, I surely do.”

“Let’s get some sleep; we’ll have a strategy meeting later.”

Adrenalin subsiding fast, Xander exhaled and slumped, repeatedly dragged his fingers through his hair.

“What am I worrying for?  If it’d been the bad guys I’d be dead by now.”

“Yes, always a consolation, that one,” Spike agreed wryly before snuggling down in the covers.  “Bloody cold out and I’ve brought it inside with me.  Be a nice lad and come and warm up your poor old Spike.”

My poor old Spike?  Since when my poor old Spike?”

“Promotional offer, didn’t I mention it?  Sign up to save the world and you get a complimentary vampire.”  Xander started to undress.  “And I have been complimentary in every sense, haven’t I, Love?  Specially about your splendid arse.”

“That’s right, make me so self-conscious I have to sleep in all my clothes.”

“Splendid arse, and…your back, you have the most beautiful back, the musculature…” Spike mused, warming to his subject.  “Course, I can’t mention your prick or you’ll get all…”

“Nyah!”

“Yeah, that’d be it.”

“Which part would be the not mentioning part?  Any chance we can cut to that?”

“That’d be the part where I don’t mention it was best mouthful of anything I’ve had in many a long year.”

“Nyah!”

“You even have nice feet, how many blokes can claim that?”

“How many would want to?”

Xander crawled in beside Spike and shuffled close, wrapping his warmth around the cold body and shivering at the exchange of temperature.

“Nothing about me, then?” Spike fished, “that makes you look twice?”

“You’re fucking hot, Mr Armitage,” Xander yawned.  “Remember?”

“Specifically.”

“’Kay…  I find it incredibly sexy when…”

Spike didn’t even attempt to conceal his interest.

“Yes?  When?”

“You’re quiet.”

“I’m…  Git.”

“Shh.”

“Here.”  Spike thrust a fisted hand in Xander’s direction.  “Have this.”

“What is it?”

“You wanted a thousand dollars in your pocket, so…”

“You want to give me a thousand dollars?”

“Well, you’re broke, you…”

“I can’t take that.”

“Course you can.”

“No, I can’t.”

“I told you I raided the petty cash.”

“That isn’t petty, that’s fairly significant.”

Spike uncurled his fist and waved the tightly rolled notes under Xander’s nose.

“C’mon.  Can’t you just smell Angel’s indignation?”

“That isn’t a good enough reason.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, Xander!  Take the bloody money!”

“I can’t, it feels wrong.”

“Expenses, then.  You’re being paid expenses.”

“Expenses,” Xander repeated suspiciously.

“Expenses.”  The money was once again offered, and once again rejected.  “I didn’t think anyone was paying for this job.”

“They’re not.”

“So you have no-one to claim expenses off of.”

“The firm.”

“This is about ripping off Angel?”

“This is about me feeling better if you have few bob in your pocket.”

“’Kay.  Gimme…fifty.”

“Fifty!”

“I have no expenses, you’re picking up the tab for everything as we go.”

“Well, yeah, but still…”

“But nothing.  I don’t want Angel’s money.”

Spike tetchily paced away, twice as tetchily paced back.

“All right.  All right!  This is my money, Xander.  Whatever I’ve let you believe, the firm is a fifty-fifty joint partnership, and this is me, putting my hand in my own pocket.”

“Uh…  Why?”

“We don’t just save the frigging world, you know, we take on legitimate work and we earn decent money, we’ve got a good reputation.”

“And we’re going…where, with this?”

“What have I had to spend it on?  The money’s sitting there doing bugger all, and if I want to…to…”

“You want to spoil me?” Xander grinned wickedly.

“What else can I give you?  You’d turn your nose up at a virgin’s heart, wouldn’t you?”

The grin became rigid before gradually dismantling itself.

“Oh, fuck.”

“What?”

“Ohh…fuck.”

What?

“You’re not trying to buy me, you’re trying to – what’s the word? – woo me.”  Spike stared at his companion, not bothering to correct the assumption, challenging Xander to laugh at the not-so-wide-of-the-mark accusation.  “Spike?  This is where you tell Xander he’s a bloody sodding foolish bugger and…  Spike?”

“Take the money.”

“Spike?”

“For my peace of mind.  We get hit, I’m a pile of dust, you’ve got this: not much security but enough to get you home.”

“Don’t say that.  Getting hit.  You—”

“It could happen.”

Xander remained still and speechless as Spike eased the money into the front pocket of his jeans, not objecting as the fingers rested there, their backs absorbing the heat of Xander’s body seeping through layers of denim and cotton.

“This was our strategy meeting?” Xander asked.

“Good as.”

“What do I do if—”  Xander glanced away, not wanting to tempt fate by putting the fears into words.  “We get separated,” he continued firmly, a fair enough question that touched on the ‘no Spike’ issue.  “What should I do?”

“If…”  Spike stopped and thought, flippant answer usurped by the apprehension on Xander’s face.  “If it’s pre-apocalypse, head for LA, providing you’re still willing to be involved.  Post-apocalypse and the world’s in one piece, and you still feel you need help with the uber-nasty, go to Angel first, your old gang second.  I know you’d resent him for it, but I’m assuming Angel’s demon would serve the same purpose as mine and be able to keep the nasty off your back while a permanent solution is figured out, and you’d need that.”  Xander nodded grimly, and Spike raised a smile for him.  “Or you could just go home.  Wait to see if I…get in touch.”

Implications, thoughts of heaven and hell sped through both minds.  Xander felt no comfort at the thought of Spike getting in touch via Saul and, with some considerable effort, he made himself think about the existing moment rather than dwelling on uncertain possibilities.

“Get in touch, yeah.  Make sure you don’t lose my number.  Or your phone.”

The fingers tucked in Xander’s pocket flexed before bunching the denim and using the hold to bring them closer.

“And you, Love…  Make sure…”  Another good look at Xander, and once again the flippancy stalled.  Xander gave an odd, self-conscious shrug; with a gentle smile, Spike shook his head.  “Old hand at this, aren’t you?  Nothing I need to tell you.”  His fingers loosened and reluctantly slid from Xander’s pocket.  “Doubt we even needed to have this conversation.”

“Yeah,” Xander agreed too brightly, backing off a step.  “No-one seems to be looking for us.  I don’t think running away and hiding has ever been quite this successful before.”

“The plan might be to stop us getting where we’ll need to go.  While we’re not trying to get there we’re low priority.”

“Do you know where the Dead Guy event is due to happen?”

“No.”

“Any clue to how soon yet?”

“No.”

“That’s a good thing.  As in…no inter-dimensional war for the foreseeable future.”

“A good thing, however limited that future is.”

 

Xander took a thoughtful wander over to the kitchenette, and started to distractedly make coffee.

“I’m ready for this, I think.  Ready for the responsibility.  But I’m worried about letting people down.  About what happens if I do.”

“It’s not too late to back out.”

“What if I did that?” Xander asked, and Spike could hear that the question was more idle curiosity than serious intent.

“We’d find someone else to contact this bloke,” Spike told him with a dismissive wave.

“That sounds so simple.”

“It’s not, you know that.  But we’d do it.  And I’d be able to stop fretting over you being in the middle of this.”

“New person to be in proximity of,” Xander tried to joke, “and you may have better luck.  No us in any sense and you’d forget about me, right?”  Xander took a wary look.  “Right?”

“What do you want me to say?”

Another, warier look.

“I don’t know.”

“Well…tell me when you figure it out.”

“Tell you what I did already figure out,” Xander took a brisk tangent.  “You and Angel, fifty-fifty.”

“You didn’t.”

“I did.  No way you’d stick around and simply be some kind of sidekick to that jerk.  Who is apparently not such a jerk, which is another reason you might stick around.”

“Why didn’t you say?”

“’Cause it’s more fun our way.  In the past I’d get lectured for being anything less than impressed by him; with you I can be as cruel as I want and you always think of something worse.”

“So…I did nick his petty cash just to piss him off?”

“Please.”

“You’ll still take it?”

“I’m not—  Okay, yeah, okay.  For the security.  When this is over I’ll give it back.”

“Deal.”

They publicly nodded their satisfaction over the agreement, privately suspected they wouldn’t be around to see it put into practise; Spike couldn’t help the single, light squeeze he gave Xander’s forearm, and Xander couldn’t help appreciating the gesture.  A few moments more of the ‘we’re going to die horribly together’ camaraderie, and Spike darted away to retrieve his duster, digging into a concealed pocket in the tail of the coat.

“That trick you have – touching things and reading the energy – what did you call it?”

“Psychometry.”

“Will you touch something for me now?”

“Be a little more specific,” Xander grinned, and earned himself a smirk in return.

“With your filthy mind I’m sorry it’s not a ring, but…”  Spike won his fight with the duster and retrieved a small object that he polished with his thumb.  “I’ve had this for a while, it was…”

“Don’t tell me anything.”

“Anything?” Spike looked up doubtfully.

“Really, just let me hold it and we’ll see what happens.”

Xander smiled at the way the vampire handled what was soon revealed as an antique brooch; rather than presumptuously take it, the medium waited for it to be handed over, and as he waited he tried not to jump to any conclusions about it being William’s mother’s, but the level of respect and fondness it engendered in Spike seemed to make that irrefutable.

After a few more seconds of reverently staring at the brooch, Spike offered it, and Xander, clearing his mind as best he could in preparation, accepted, his hand curling around the dainty piece.

Xander gasped at the extreme sensations as layer upon layer of memories exploded in his mind courtesy of the brooch’s residual energy, so strong that the experience seemed physical as well as mental; it was as if he were being transported through a vortex in time, swept back and back and crashing to a halt when the brooch was held with affection for the first time.

Xander felt this person, became, relived the thrill of this handsome gift; if he’d looked into a mirror he’d have seen a young girl, perhaps ten years old, long brown hair in precise braids, dressed in an ankle-length nightgown and huddled in an outsized shawl; if he’d looked about he would have seen the trimmings of Christmas and the pleasure, the love in the eyes of devoted parents.  But his focus remained on the jewellery that glittered enchantingly in the candlelight, and…

…the world was turned on its head, with horror and fear and the agony of loss, no more love and devotion as the eyes of the parents became flat and lifeless, and here was death itself: tall and dark and terrifying and beautiful.  The brooch dripped with blood as the throat on which it rested was torn open in a needless frenzy, the killer already bloated from feeding on the child’s kin and having no appetite for food, merely a desire for orgiastic destruction and…

…a darker place, a place of sharing violent desecration, soft covers and cold, hard flesh; the coarse laughter of Angelus as he rolled and played with a dying woman and Xander, in this role, became, put aside his doll and took the brooch from it’s place on his breast, using its pin to wound and torment the victim, pricking out her eyes and sharing sire’s feasting; whining and weeping for more as the pin was used on him, screaming with delight at being abused and…

…bitten, fucked and bitten, and there was Spike – a different Spike – looking on with worship and hatred, taking the brooch from Xander’s outstretched hand, kissing the long delicate, ruby-tipped fingers before twisting and viciously driving the pin into Angelus’ neck and…

…a witness to torture and death, childe and murderess, victim to Angelus and adoring every moment, turning to Spike for more of the same and being dissatisfied with this purer love.  Leading by example and ensuring her childe’s laughably delicate sensibilities were washed away in the blood of the innocent.  Dancing in viscera.  Copulating on a mattress of broken bodies.  Use, abuse.  Use, abuse.  More blood and more blood and more violence and more blood and Angelus…  Sire  …magnificent in his prime, setting his own example and idolised for snatching this broken creature back from the gates of hell time and again as he played his games and…

“Xander!  Let it go, let it—”  Spike practically snapped Xander’s fingers in a final, successful bid to remove the brooch from his hand, breaking Xander’s fall as he slumped the rest of the way to the floor; the distraught weeping and groaning continued and Spike knelt and cradled the semi-conscious man in his arms.  “It’s gone, Xander, it’s all gone, come back to me, come on.”

The drone of anxious words eventually reached Xander and, although aware of what he needed, it was with some difficulty that he fought his way back from the desire to pass out completely and escape everything that he had experienced in what could only have been minutes but felt like…two centuries.  His eye flickered open and he saw concerned blue fill with relief, and all he wanted to do…

Spike fell back as a fist swung furiously into his face, shocked by the connection rather than injured by it, narrowly avoiding the next fist as it whistled past his nose.

“Oi!” Spike grabbed Xander’s wrists, “it’s me, not…”

“I know who it is,” Xander ground out, “you sick fuck, you think that was funny?”

Anger – no, make that rage – gave Xander the strength to break away from Spike’s grasp, and he scrambled to his feet, staring with absolute hatred into the vampire’s confused face.

“What happened?”

“Like you don’t know the history of that thing?”

“I thought…family heirloom, the way Dru referred to it…  Her family, and I was always curious.  Although…”  Spike hesitated, starting to realise what he’d done.  “She was never specific.  You know Dru.”

“Yeah, I know her now.  Intimately.  Her preferences when it came to her victims – particularly young and particularly innocent – I know about her preferences when it came to being tortured and bitten and fucked by Angelus…”

“I tried to tell you…”

“I thought we were friends.  You do that to your friends?  No, you don’t fucking do that, you don’t set them up for – for…”

“I didn’t know this would happen, I wouldn’t have…”

“I thought it was for your mom, I thought the brooch was your mom’s and—  Fuck.  Fuck.”

“Xander…”

“I was there, Spike, I was the child she slaughtered as she stole the brooch, I was her, I was…”  Xander’s face contorted in disgust and his hand went to his lips.  “I can still taste the blood.  I can…  And Angelus.  Angelus.  And he - they…  I can still…  Feel him.  Taste him.  Fuck, I—”

Hand slapped over his mouth, Xander scurried away in the direction of the bathroom, and the sound of harsh retching soon followed.

“I didn’t know,” Spike repeated flatly as he couldn’t help but listen.

“You let me be – be violated, you sick fuck,” Xander screamed at him through the door, angry tears and strained throat hoarsening his words, before the retching resumed.

“I didn’t know.”

 

The ensuing silence was worse than the accusations; unable to find the necessary words to help Xander over this, Spike kept quiet, fixed like a statue, staring at the floor, waiting.  For?

He listened as Xander took a very long shower, didn’t attempt to meet his eye when he came into the room to collect fresh clothes before retreating to the bathroom once again with a  wall-shuddering slam of the door.

He listened as Xander brushed his teeth and gargled with mouthwash for the sixth time.

Still not as much as a suggestion of outward movement, but inwardly Spike was reliving the Drusilla years, trying to see afresh what Xander had experienced and knowing he should be appalled by what the young man had been made to bear, but all that conditioning hadn’t been for nothing: his time with his sire was regarded with longing and affection, its passing was mourned, and even the soul couldn’t produce a sufficient weight of guilt to persuade him that he wanted to lose the memories or sincerely renounce the past in its entirety.

But Xander…  Presently the last person he’d want to hurt, for a variety of reasons, selfish and otherwise.  Xander, who was bowling out the bathroom, snatching up his coat, keys, wallet, and heading for the door without so much as a glance in Spike’s direction.

“I’d rather you didn’t leave.”

The stilted words caused Xander to pause as he seized the handle; his fingers tightened until the knuckles were bone-white.

“I don’t give a fuck what you’d rather.”  The door began to open and Xander, body stiff and awkward, trembling with distress at this betrayal, fought to retain the last of his control.  “You don’t—  You don’t do that to a friend, Spike.”

Xander had noted down the evening’s invitation, along with directions of how to find Jo’s house, in his new diary, and Spike had no compunction about rifling through the volume to find what he wanted.

Spike felt he could safely assume that Xander would keep his appointment because…Xander.  The man wasn’t about to let anyone down.  It was also a fair bet that Spike’s apologies would be made the moment Xander arrived at Jo’s, but that was tough: Spike would be there by eight, with flowers, wine and a winning smile for their hostess, hopefully gaining a chance to be with Xander in neutral surroundings and be accepted once more.

Accepted?  He’d settle for tolerated.

Not much of a distance, and the sharp clarity of the night made it an invigorating walk; if Spike could have dragged his mind away from the afternoon’s events it would have been an ideal time for reminiscing, but the disastrous reading refused to be forgotten: Xander had left and kept his phone switched off since, leaving Spike irritable and lonely.  He’d had too much lonely in recent years, and he should have been surprised at how easily the hollow sensation had been forgotten since he’d set eyes on Xander this time around.  Should have, but he wasn’t.  The man made him feel whole, and alive; without him he was less than whole, less alive.  Xander was the someone who pulled all the past and present pieces of Spike together.  Made perfect sense.

In fact, this all made sense; it was certainly the first time in decades that an emotional attachment measured up intellectually as well as instinctively.  It was doubtful that Xander could be easily convinced though; perhaps sacrifices would be needed.

The brooch was back in the tail pocket of his duster.  Spike hated the thought of parting with that last, precious memento of his sire, whatever its history, but he could probably persuade Xander he’d thrown it out.  And that would definitely make things worse if Xander went looking for it and found it.  Should he just tell Xander to get over it, innocent mistake and all that?  Or…  Did he have to forget finding a way to restore Xander's trust and give him up as a lost cause, screw up after screw up guaranteeing that his acute moral principles would ensure he’d never seriously look twice at a vampire anyhow, souled or not?

Xander would certainly appreciate it better if he backed off.  Or would he?  In the club…  That wasn’t ever going to compute: if Spike had behaved like the kind of bastard Xander couldn’t possibly want, Xander might have wanted him?  Oh, hang on…  Yes, that did compute: Spike the bastard equalled no fear of further attachment.  Obvious.  But that was no good because, once smitten, he couldn’t keep up a bad guy act any better than he’d been able to maintain the overly considerate twat façade he’d initially tried to play Xander with.

Xander liked his honesty.  Spike liked Xander liking his honesty.  He liked to be honest with Xander and see the liking in Xander’s eye at the honesty.  That he liked.  And…where was this going?

Spike stopped and stared at the stately white house that was Rosewood.  He could feel Xander inside.  That’s where this was going.  Xander, and kissing and making up.  Without the kissing.  Possibly without the making up.  So…  Xander.

God, it felt good to obsess.

An affable middle-aged man – Jo’s eldest son, David, if Spike remembered correctly – answered his knock at the door, recognising him as Xander’s companion from the previous night’s meeting and cheerfully welcoming him inside, taking his coat and sending him through to where his mother was greeting her guests.

Jo gave him as warm a welcome as her son, unlike Xander, who glared for a split second before turning his head away.  Accepting the flowers and wine with lots of enthusiastic noises, Jo took them and headed off, explaining that she had the perfect vase for roses.  A glance back at Xander, who was still pointedly ignoring him, and Spike followed Jo to the kitchen.

“I wasn’t expecting you, Xander said you’d be busy elsewhere.”

“Change of plans,” Spike said quietly, appreciating the kind smile he received.  “That all he said?”

Jo obviously thought carefully about how she should answer, and covered the pause by fussing over the arrangement of the flowers.

“He mentioned that he’d attempted a reading for you and it had gone quite badly wrong.”  Spike gave a short, humourless laugh and nodded.  “Xander also said that he thought he was angry with you when he shouldn’t be, but he couldn’t stop being angry.”

“I don’t blame him for being angry.  Honest mistake, but…”  Spike shrugged.  “I know he doesn’t want me here, but I’ve got to do my job, I’m trying to keep him safe.”

“He’s been on edge ever since he arrived, but the moment we heard your voice from the hallway, he changed, I saw him grow calmer.  Even if he doesn’t want you here, I think he needs you.”

“Yeah, not wanted, but needed.  I should be used to that.”

Jo gave another of her well-used sympathetic smiles, and Spike couldn’t help but respond with a smile of his own, frustrated and saddened by his situation but still pleased to hear an independent assessment of his worth to Xander.

“There.”  Jo stood back and studied the roses.  “Beautiful.  Thank you, Spike.”

“Shame they’re forced.  They don’t smell of anything.”

“Then the scent won’t affect anyone’s taste-buds at dinner.  Would you like to take them through and find somewhere that will show them off?”

Spike smirked at his hostess’ ability to say the right thing and, following her directional gesture, took the roses into the dining room, positioning them on a counter behind the head of the table.

“Why did you come here?”

Spike spun around to face Xander’s accusatory tone and expression.

“I was invited.  It wasn’t up to you to un-invite me.”

“If I ask nicely will you remember a previous engagement and leave?”

“No.  I’m doing my job, keeping you safe.”

“Okay,” Xander managed to say despite the clenched jaw.  “Is there a slim chance you won’t ruin the evening?”

“Umm…  Yeah.  There’s always a slim chance.”

Spike smiled provocatively and Xander barely had the opportunity to resume the glaring before the other guests joined them; given the prerogative of choosing their own places at the table, Xander decided not to notice that he ended up sitting beside Spike because it was where he wanted to be, and then overcompensated by very deliberately ensuring that he talked with everyone and anyone rather than the vampire.

Good enough for Spike: it took more thought and effort for Xander to ignore him than it would have to talk to him, so that kind of (lack of) attention was extremely flattering.  His own lengthy conversation with David was carried out, by necessity, across Xander, and it was natural for Spike to turn in his direction, purely coincidental that his knee rubbed against Xander’s thigh, constantly reminding the man of his presence.  His touch.  A touch that Xander didn’t avoid, even after the day they’d had.

The party of eight moved back to the living room after dinner, and there was a tangible air of expectancy, Jo gazing at Xander in hopeful anticipation and making him smile again and again with her show of childlike trust.  It never occurred to Xander for a moment that he was going to let her down and, after a short time by himself in her study focusing his abilities, he returned and asked Jo to concentrate on her late husband.  She bustled about, searching for a photograph, and eventually presented Xander with one that appeared to be from the nineteen-eighties.

“No,” Xander told her with a smile as a strong connection was immediately made.  “That’s Stephen, that’s your brother.  Your husb—  Philip says you shouldn’t tease the medium.”

Spike watched with his usual fascination as Xander acted as go-between for the husband and wife, liking Jo well enough to feel for her, whether it was the moments of happiness or sadness, but the contact gradually changed, and it became apparent that Philip was attempting to bring through another spirit.  Spike tensed as Xander flicked a look in his direction, but it was more about Xander needing reassurance that the vampire was only on the far side of the room and could be beside him in a second, than any kind of panic over where the reading was headed.

“Okay…    Thank you, Saul.  Philip may have to pass some of this message on, the other contact is very weak.”  Xander shut his eye and concentrated hard, trying to understand why this felt so unusual.  When the answer came to him via his guide he was stunned; he turned in the direction of one of David’s colleagues, a woman in her late thirties.  “You have…     Cliff.  Clifford.  Cliff, is that…?”

The woman, Marcie, looked as shocked as Xander had felt, and the others in the room evidently knew her situation because the natural quiet transformed into a deathly hush.

“I, uh…  Yes, I do, but…”  Her voice trailed feebly away.

Xander listened once more to ensure he was getting his facts right then took a deep breath.

“Cliff hasn’t passed over, has he?”  Shake.  “Although…he’s not actually here.”

“There was…”

Xander held up his hand to prevent David from offering any information; the man nodded and kept quiet.

“An accident.  The car, it…  The car hit the central reservation and rolled.    Once…twice.  Cliff seemed okay physically, but it wasn’t until he couldn’t be woken that the extent of his injuries became known.”  Marcie clung to Jo’s hand and nodded frantically.  “He’s…  Cliff…is in a coma, is that right?”  Nod.  “Well…most of his conscious self is in spirit, the bigger part of him has already passed and—”  Xander stopped abruptly as Marcie began to sob, his face openly displaying his level of uncertainty over this particular reading and its extraordinary nature.  “I don’t have to carry on.”

“Please,” came the tearful whisper.

Xander gave Marcie a few minutes to compose herself before continuing.

“This is what he’s chosen, to mostly be with his family in spirit.  There are times when he comes back to you, when…  Do you notice his physical self is occasionally more…  I don’t know quite how to say this.  Occasionally he’s…different.  There’s life in his eyes.”

“Yes, yes, I know exactly what you mean.  Once in a while it’s like he’s there, he’s with me.”

“That’s him, his consciousness, his spirit, visiting you.  He can’t make up his mind whether to pass over entirely, he’s still drawn to this existence.  To you.  He…”  Xander paused again, struggling to deal with emotions of his own that were being stirred.  “He has a hard time accepting that he’ll never get to say a proper goodbye.  He didn’t say goodbye.”

“Not that morning.  He was late, I had the kids to get to school.”

“He’s always…  He’s aware when you’re with him, always.    He’s not at home, but close by, and…it’s a homely environment?  Does that make sense?”

“Yes, there isn’t room in our house for the special bed but he’s with his sister and she’s only two houses away from me.”

“You’re often with him and he wants…”  Another pause and Xander swallowed hard.  “You to say goodbye.  You pick the time to say goodbye and…let him go.”

“No.  No, I can’t…”

“This is…  Philip.  The direct contact with Cliff is gone, but via Philip…    Okay.    Okay.  That’s…  The red phone broke.”  Marcie mopped her eyes, gave a smile that was twisted by emotion, and nodded.  “He said you should replace the red phone.”  A protracted silence followed that last, innocent message.  “They’re gone,” Xander explained softly.  “Sorry, I really need a moment…”  And he escaped to the privacy of the study.

“That was impressive,” Spike told him from the doorway.

Xander sat on the couch, huddled in the blanket Jo had left out for him, shivering despite it.

“It was…difficult.”

“Yeah, I could see that.  Mind if I come in?”

“No.”

Spike shut the door behind him and came to Xander’s side, crouching beside him and running what he hoped was a comforting hand over his hair.

“You all right?”

“Yeah.”  Xander stared at Spike, stared hard.  “Could you do that?  Make that kind of decision for someone you cared for?”

“You mean what’s-her-face letting her old man die?”  Xander nodded, and Spike thought.  Remembered.  “Sometimes…sometimes you don’t have a choice about making a choice.”

“It’s cruel.”

“It is.”

“I tried not to—  Oh, shit, the goodbye thing…  I wish I could speak to Anya, just once, just…once.”

“Shall we get out of here?”

“I can’t…  Would that be too rude?  Freak ‘em out and leave them?”

Spike rose, fingers still twirling in Xander’s hair.

“They’d understand.  Tough if they didn’t.  We were all moved, but you had to bear the…”

“Oh, right,” Xander snapped, pulling his head away from Spike’s hand, wincing as he lost several strands of hair in the process.  “I’d forgotten, how could I have forgotten?”

“What?”

“I get miserable and you get—”

What?

“Let’s say I can see exactly how moved you were.”

Spike did a mental double-take before looking down his body at the telling bulge in the front of his jeans that Xander couldn’t possibly fail to notice.

“It’s involuntary, Xander, I can’t help it if you turn me on.”

“You could try to help how.  You get off on suffering; how do you think that makes me feel?  Can you…  Just get away from me.  I’ve had about all I can stomach of you today, just…get away.”

Spike delicately crossed his hands over his groin, dipped his head to an engaging tilt, and batted his eyelashes in faux coyness.

“Don’t you know it’s rude to stare?”

“Fuck off,” Xander muttered as he sank further into the blanket, covering up the eye that had exposed him.

“Don’t be shy, Love.”  The seductive tone infiltrated the inadequate layer that shielded him, and Xander resentfully imagined the satisfaction on Spike’s face at making him squirm.  How appalling was it that he couldn’t help the squirming?  “Don’t be shy.”  The fingers were back in his hair.  “Not if it’s what you want.”  Xander twisted away, body language screaming about indignation and irritation, and Spike reluctantly withdrew before he pushed Xander too far.  “I’ll be waiting for you,” he threw over his shoulder as he left the room, no more than casually friendly now.  “Gimme a shout if you need me.”

Give you a shout?” Xander grumbled within his woolly cocoon.  “More likely to give you a stake so far up your ass you sneeze splinters.”

 

“Xander?”

The man almost leapt out of the chair in surprise, scrambling to unwind himself and stand, adjusting the patch that he’d shoved up to his forehead the moment he was out of public view.

“Marcie.”

“How are you?” they asked together, and shared a feeble smile.

“That was…” Marcie groped for the word; she couldn’t find it.  Her lips compressed, her jaw trembled, and Xander rushed across the room with his usual offers of comfort, wrapping an arm around her shoulder and letting her lean against him as she fought the surge of emotion.  “It was almost…  I thought I felt him, here, tonight.  With you, in you, is that how it works?”

“Yes, he was here, with me.  I’m glad you could feel him.”

“When I looked at you during the reading, there was a moment, just a moment…”

The tears were swallowed once again and she turned and clung to Xander, accepting his tight, consoling embrace with no more than an overwrought whimper.

“Maybe he wanted you to take strength from that, from his presence.”

“I’m not sure it worked, I – I…”  She leaned back in Xander’s arms and stared into his face.  “I miss him, I wish…  I saw…”

In a clumsy, desperate move Marcie leaned up and kissed Xander.  Jerking away at almost the moment their lips met she stared at him, horrified with herself, and with the circumstances.

“It’s okay, I underst—”

Xander’s words were muffled by another kiss, just as awkward, as frantic, but this one didn’t stop as soon as it started, and Marcie’s hand crept up to cradle Xander’s head as he succumbed to an equally deep need in himself and returned the kiss, feeling sorrow and longing, intense anxiety, misdirected desire and…  Oh.  Fuck.  Spike.  …mourning well up inside him and lodge in his throat until he thought he’d choke, but he couldn’t, wouldn’t stop this.  With an effort he managed to unlock his arms and let his trembling hands caress Marcie’s back, dazed at the rush of this and surprised that it wasn’t a colder, harder body beneath his palms, letting her seize his fingers and unsteadily guide his touch to a softly curving breast.

“Please,” Marcie begged in a fraught whisper.  “Please, stay with me, be with me tonight.”

“I - I—”

“Fucking-well won’t,” was announced frostily from the direction of the doorway.

All kinds of denial crumbled and Xander fell back, relieved and sorrowful to be out of the fevered embrace, turning away from both Marcie and Spike, knowing it was a cowardly move but feeling so fucked up it was very nearly acceptable.

“Spike,” Marcie acknowledged, and Xander could hear the shock and embarrassment in her wavering voice, and he should help her out but…  Nothing.

“Behold the grieving widow,” Spike ground out with predictable venom.  “No, hang on, you haven’t switched the poor bugger off yet, getting in some practise for when…”

Xander’s heart sank lower at the choked sob as Marcie ran from the room, and he wanted to rage at the vampire, but how could he do that when the greater portion of that rage was for himself?  Add a little self-disgust, self-loathing, don’t forget the heavy dose of self-pity.

“You didn’t have to…”

“Yes.  I did,” Spike insisted coldly.  “That was very necessary, and I can barely stop myself beating the sense of it into you.”

“You’re just jealous.”

“Something you need to understand, Xander…”  Spike strolled to his companion, coming to an intimidatingly casual halt when they were mere inches apart.  He waited until Xander braved meeting his icy expression.  “When a demon’s jealous, there’s no ‘just’ about it.”

The human’s face turned hard at the intimidation, guilt giving way to indignation.

“You had no right to come barging in here.  No right to hurt her.”

“Boo-sodding-hoo.”

“And you don’t own me.  Want me to prove it?” Xander challenged.  “I could go after her, accept the offer…”

“Contact Dead Guy from a wheelchair and wonder where your kneecaps ended up.”

“Don’t threaten me.”

“Don’t provoke me.”

You don’t own me.

Xander didn’t notice the hand that rose to his neck, didn’t realise what was happening until fingers reached inside his shirt and Spike pinched the scar that he’d left Xander with after their recent coupling.  The free arm caught Xander as he buckled with the jagged explosion of tumultuous emotions and raw sensations that instantly coursed through his body, and he couldn’t raise the slightest protest as Spike swept him off his feet and settled him back in the chair, wrapping the blanket around him.

“No, Love, I don’t own you.”  Back to affectionately stroking the dishevelled hair, Spike placed the lightest kiss on Xander’s unresisting lips.  “I don’t.  But I could.”

 

 

Manifestation 16       Manifestation Index       Manifestation Notes

 

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