Xander had a plan.  Not a grand plan in the scheme of things, just one that involved getting to their room first, into the shower, luring Spike in and seeing how it felt to have that spectacular body wet and soapy and sliding deliciously against his equally wet and soapy skin.  Purely coincidental that he’d be able to wash the gel out of Spike’s hair under the guise of foreplay.

No part of the aforementioned plan involved entering their room and being snatched into the darkness before he could find the light switch, momentarily struggling against a less than human intruder but soon freezing as the cold hand covering his mouth was joined by another holding something unpleasantly sharp to his throat.  Xander vainly clutched the intruder’s wrist, feeling the strength and doubting he could prevent his throat being cut if that was the serious intention.

A flurry of disjointed thoughts rushed through Xander’s terrified mind, coming to a screeching halt when the Spike factor was introduced.  Was Spike’s presence what this assassin was waiting for?  The vampire had to witness the murder for some perverse reason?  It would destroy Spike, Xander knew that, and all the pretence about degrees of closeness was temporarily abandoned as a streak of fury shot through him at the thought of being used to emotionally wound…  His Lover.  The anger gave Xander energy and impetus, and he noisily renewed his struggles, assuming that if he were badly hurt Spike would turn him, and they’d get the job done that way.  Turned and he’d learn to cope, fight for his soul, never have to see Spike’s face when—  Xander whimpered as the knife sliced into him, and the following seconds were lost primarily to shock, the understandable panic of not knowing how severe the cut was, and secondarily to being hurled aside to painfully collide with the wall, an action which coincided with an explosion of vampiric fury as Spike arrived and dealt.

Xander curled up where he landed, clutching his bleeding neck and thankful that the wound felt worse on the inside than it did on the outside.  There was crashing about in the darkness; there was snarling that raised every hair on Xander’s body; there was…silence.  Suddenly.  Almost.  Not quite silence, not with Spike’s breathing filling Xander’s acutely tuned-in senses, not with the voices that had rushed in when he’d been freed and…  When he’d been freed?

Well…fuck.

Xander picked himself up and groped his way to the light switch, and as the room was illuminated he found exactly what he’d assumed he’d find: Spike and Angel facing off, both a little battered from the fervour of Spike’s rescue attempt.

“You’re getting careless,” Angel said grimly, flicking his switchblade shut and dropping it into his pocket.

“I’m—”  Spike’s retort was reduced to a glottal catch when he saw Xander, and he rushed over to inspect the damage.  “You cut him.  You fucking cut him!”

“Not intentionally.”

“I’m okay, Spike.  Really.”

Xander saw the anguish, the need in Spike’s eyes to put this right, and knew if they were alone Spike’s mouth would already be on him; if he hadn’t wanted to kick Angel into next week prior to this moment he certainly did now.  But he simply waited patiently as a fleeting examination assured Spike that the cut was superficial.

“Yes,” Spike muttered, “yes, you are okay.  Bear with me, Mate,” Spike told Xander, playing at less than they were, approving of the disgust on Xander’s face when he repeatedly wet a finger with saliva and smoothed it along the cut.

“What are you doing here?” Xander demanded of Angel as he played along, barely tolerating Spike’s attention.

“Finding out how easy it would be to kill you,” Angel told him conversationally as he strolled over to view the results of Spike’s ministrations, stopping short at a snarl from his grandchilde.  “And…very easy, I’m afraid.”

“You’re right,” Spike admitted, thinking back to a clumsy boy in a cinema restroom, his interest going undetected thanks to Spike’s infatuation with his current obsession.  “I am getting careless.”

“Smells like you’ve had other things on your mind.”

Xander tensed but Spike gave him a surreptitious, reassuring pat.

“Night out, that’s all, we needed it.  Pictures, club, couple of drinks, couple of girls, all harmless enough.”  Spike turned to confront Angel.  “Both of us have had a bad feeling about this case and we thought we’d like to live a little before we died.”

“That’s a poor excuse.”

Xander edged past Spike, crossing to the room’s tiny kitchen area to make coffee, semi-escaping Angel’s apparently too-knowing scrutiny.

“It’s my fault,” he insisted as he went.  “Spike’s humouring me.  I can’t cope with being trapped inside twenty-four/seven, and…”

“Of course it’s your fault,” Spike snapped accusingly at Xander before turning on Angel.  “He’s an absolute pain in the arse.”  And here came the cruel smile.  “How about you take a turn in the field?  Spend some quality time with the git and…”

“Hey!” Xander protested.  “If anyone is a git around here it’s you.  Followed closely by him.”  Forsaking his preparations to glare at Angel, Xander pinched his bloody shirt and held it away from his body.  “You realise if I tell Buffy about this she’s going to relocate your balls.”

“Not stopping, are you,” Spike told rather than asked Angel.  He swung a kick at a newly arrived duffel bag before counting off Angel’s supposed ‘to do’ list on his fingers.  “Deliver breakfast; antagonise the business partner that actually does the bloody work; slice up the hired help…”

“You got anything new for us?” came Xander’s timely interruption.  “Anything about the prophecy?”

“A fresh translation.”  Angel dipped into a pocket and brought out a folded page that he handed to Spike.  “No revelations.  We’ve noticed that several of Escolet’s acquaintances have disappeared over the past couple of weeks, although…”

“Escolet?” Xander said curiously.  “Is that Dead Guy?”

“That’s the man we need you to contact, yes.”

“Dead Guy has a name,” Xander said to himself, surprised that it was a surprise.  “Escolet.”

The remainder of the conversation drifted past Xander as he washed away the worst of the blood from his neck and hands, made his coffee and absently put mugs out for Spike and Angel, then went to sit as far from the vampires as possible.  He gave Dead Guy’s real name to Saul, and between them they searched for connections or references, sifting through the voices that surged with a little encouragement.

“Okay,” Xander abruptly said aloud, securing Spike’s and Angel’s attention, “bring them through.”

“Who?” Spike asked, barely able to keep a straight face as Angel’s eyes widened in alarm.

“Not Dead Guy, but…victims.  Escolet’s victims.”  Xander listened.  “Okay.  …  Okay.  This is Ezequiel Escolet, right?”  Angel nodded.  “Because his family is responsible for a lot of deaths.  …  Ezequiel, Saul, just him.  …  Okay.”  More concentration and then Xander was shaking his head.  “If he’s there no-one’s about to help him come through.  And…it doesn’t appear possible to find anyone who was associated with Ezequiel alone, the family…  …  Yes, thank you.  …  Savages.  …  The family’s power came from them being together, they didn’t have individual victims.  Victims individually, I mean.”

“Could be why those blokes who tried to nab you were so inefficient.  If it was the family and they’re weakened by being separated…?”

“There’s very little information I can get this way, and no sense of contact with Escolet at all.”  Xander turned to Angel.  “Maybe if…”  He stopped talking and chuckled.  “You don’t have to look so worried.”

“I’m not worried.  This…”  Angel vaguely gestured in Xander’s direction.  “…makes me…uncomfortable.”

“Funny.  It doesn’t bother Spike,” Xander genially taunted.  “But then again, I guess it’s down to strength of character.”

“No worse than Dru,” Spike added helpfully.  “But then again…you could control her, eh?”

Angel ignored the implications and pressed on.

“The Escolet family is immaterial to this case.  Ezequiel is the only one with the information we need.”

“Doesn’t that strike you as odd?” Xander asked.  “The family is that close yet only one of them knows this stuff?”

“This wasn’t family business.  Each individual within the family has their own sideline, and Ezequiel liked to buy and sell information.”

“What do the others do?”

Angel went to speak, then hesitated.

“You don’t want to know.”

Xander’s imagination ran riot for several seconds before he accepted that advice with a nod.

“Any idea how soon now?  The Dead Guy Event?”

“No.”

Both relieved and disappointed, Xander went back to his voices.

“Done here?” Spike demanded of Angel, putting the page aside and shrugging off his duster.

“Will Xander be alive when we need him?”

“Yes, he will, you’ve made your point.”

“Then I’m done here.”

“Good.  Sod off.  And just so as you know: hurt my charge again and it won’t be Buffy relocating your balls.  And I’m talking interstate.”

Angel gave them both an infuriatingly obliging smile.

“Sure.”  He indicated the duffel.  “Blood for you, Spike.  Clothes for you both, books, money.  Letter for you, Xander.”

“For me?  Who from?”

Angel ignored the question and headed for the door.

“Wait,” Spike stopped him.  “I have something for you.”  Angel watched with interest as Spike probed the pocket in the tail of his coat, bringing out the brooch and holding it up for Angel to see.  Xander shifted uncomfortably in his seat.  “Recognise it?”

“Dru’s,” Angel said quietly.

“Yeah.  I thought it was from her family, an heirloom.”

“No.  I remember when she came across it, it was…”

“We know.  I was stupid enough to let Xander hold it and we know.”  The harshness in Spike’s voice made Xander cringe.  “In fact Xander had a crash course in Aurelian history, one that didn’t do him any favours, so…”

“Spike…”

This time it was Spike ignoring Xander, fiddling with the brooch before offering it to Angel.  The older vampire held out his hand and grit his teeth as Spike drove the pin into his palm; Xander looked away as the point emerged through the back of Angel’s hand, blood beading and ready to drip.  Angel studied the brooch with a grim smile.

“I’ll treasure it.”

“Fuck off,” Spike growled, stalking to the door and flinging it open.

“Goodnight, Xander,” Angel threw over his shoulder as he started to leave.

“Angel…”  The vampire paused, not bothering to look back.  “Do you remember Florence MacMahon?  ’Cause she remembers you.”  Xander enjoyed the way Angel’s entire frame tightened in discomfort.  “She says…  Go dtachta an diabhal thú,” Xander carefully, phonetically, repeated the message he was given, noticing Spike’s smirk and grinning at Angel’s less than sweeping exit.

The two men barely moved until they heard Angel’s car drive away, then they turned to one another, strangely awkward in the wake of Angel’s visit.

“What did that mean?” Xander asked, for the sake of having something to say.

“‘May the devil choke you’,” Spike said with satisfaction.  “Nice turn of phrase.”

Pause.

“You had no idea…”

“No idea at all that he’d turn up.  He’s right though, I have been getting careless.”

“That’s my fault.”

“I know my own mind, Xander, and it’s been my choice to let it be full of you in the wrong way.”

Another pause, slightly tenser, feeling like it was going somewhere.  Or at least Spike was: he hurried over to Xander and dropped to his knees, prising Xander’s thighs apart and pressing close; not about lust this time, it was about Spike being able to properly tend to the cut on Xander’s neck, and Xander simply leaned back and relished the attention as Spike’s tongue trailed over his damaged skin, licking away the last traces of his blood.

“I should be freaked, but…  It’s like I’m slipping back into Sunnydale mentality, taking this kind of thing in my stride.  Sometimes I look back and I can’t believe the shit we took for granted.”

“If this’d been worse I’d’ve ripped his heart out, I swear.”

“Hey…  Don’t get upset, I’m fine.”  The licks became kisses that inched up Xander’s throat, over his chin, onto his mouth.  Xander avoided a couple to ask: “Think he knows?  About us?”

“Why should he?”

“You tell me, you’re the one with the heightened senses.”

Spike stopped his pursuit of Xander’s lips, and sat back on his heels.  He stopped breathing for a full minute before inhaling deeply.

“We smell like we should.  Like we’re living together, we’ve been in a new car, been to a pub, danced with a couple of girls…  Problem would have been me smelling of you so lucky you used that rubber.”

“You don’t smell of me?  Y’know, that way?”

“’Cause of that very nice rub down you gave me I stink of my own juices.  Did I thank you for that?”  Spike smiled provocatively.  “I should thank you.  Thoroughly.”

“Would it have given everything away if I’d hit him?  ‘Cause I so wanted to hit him.”

Spike’s gaze flickered onto the cut.

“Don’t blame you.”

“No.  It’s what he did to you.”

Smiling at Spike’s confusion, Xander reached out and caught the neck of Spike’s tee, drawing him into more kisses, in turn letting himself be drawn, to his feet, toward the bed.  He winced as Spike lowered them.

“What’s wrong?”

Xander flexed his shoulder several times.

“Just stiffening up in the not so much fun places.  Where I hit the wall earlier.”

“Sodding puny human,” Spike growled, grabbing and tugging and turning the bedclothes inside out to cover Xander up without moving him.

“I’m okay.”

“Yeah, you’re always bloody okay.”

“Well, I am.”

“Sometimes okay isn’t enough.”

“Isn’t enough for…certain practises, is that what…”

“Yes.”

“Umm…sorry?”

Spike tried not to smile as he snuggled.

“Shut up and go to sleep.”

“Want me to…”

“Shut up and go to sleep, yes.  Don’t worry about me.  I doubt this hard on will kill me seeing as I’ve survived all the others.”

“You don’t really want to take that risk, do you?”

Now the smile was unstoppable.

“What do you want?”

“To watch while you jerk us off together.”

“Like that, don’t you?” Spike observed as he deftly freed them from the confines of their jeans.  “To experience it from all angles.  Watching my cock leaking all over yours.  Touching where your prick is buried in my arse.”

Xander groaned and tilted his hips, hoping to encourage a firmer grip than the fingertips delicately trailing over his rapidly growing erection.

“I’d love to really watch us.  Sit back and watch us fuck, and still be able to feel what we were doing.  I wish you showed up in mirrors.”

“The laptop.”

“Huh?”

“Has a camera.”

“Oh, fuck.”

“It’d be…art.”  Spike pushed the covers aside and straddled Xander, holding their erections together with one hand and joining Xander in admiring the view.  “Or…  We could buy some ribbon, wind it around our pricks and bind them together like this, tie a nice bow.  Take the picture and there’s the personalised Christmas card.”

“Art,” Xander laughed breathily, doing his best to fuck Spike’s fist.

The fingers of Spike’s free hand dabbed at their swollen glans’, encouraging the pre-come that he transferred and mixed and arranged in glossy threads that clung to and joined their bodies.

“Art.”

Spike offered his fingers to Xander, who predictably hesitated, then unpredictably accepted, signalling with a tilt of the head for Spike to continue.  Utter torment for Spike, really, penetrating Xander’s body in any way other than the one he’d been promised before they left the club, and as Xander closed his eye and happily fellated Spike’s fingers, Spike smoothly changed position, laying along Xander’s body so he could grind their cocks together and they could share kisses that carried the barest tang of their sexual juices.

“Let me see,” Xander was gasping before too long, and Spike obligingly held himself on one arm as his hand resumed its previous hold and determinedly pumped, and they watched, transfixed, as the vampire’s actions speedily brought them both to climax.

Slumped in a tangle of covers and disordered clothing, Xander repeatedly stroked his fingertips through the few movable strands of hair at the nape of Spike’s neck.

“Spike?”

“Sleeping.”

“You must be disappointed.”

“Mmm?”

“You didn’t get what you wanted.”

“I did.”

“You…  Did I miss something?”

“You always miss something,” Spike said as he shuffled into a position that was far more conducive to intense snuggling.

“Always?”

“Mmm.”

“What did I miss this time?”

“The truth.”

“And…what was the truth exactly?”

“What I told that little tosspot at the pictures.”

Spike was left to fall asleep in peace as Xander thought back, slowly reconstructing that sentence word for word.

‘Xander, on the other hand, is bloody gorgeous, thrill-a-minute and, whether he likes it or not, presently owns me, body and soul.’

Xander let himself be shocked.  He let himself be scared.  He let himself be moved.

But not for a moment did he dare let himself believe it was the truth.

…

Barely four hours sleep, but Xander was awake and doing his best to escape from Spike’s clutches without waking him.  Not the baddest of bad dreams but this one had left Xander feeling prickly and anxious and he wanted a long shower, strong coffee, the local paper, and most crucially, some alone time.

Shushing Spike’s grumbles with promises that he was just visiting the bathroom, Xander achieved the shower, cutting it short because every minute he spent in there gave Spike more chances to wake up and confine him to quarters.  He did however spare a few seconds to stare at his neck in the mirror, impressed that the wound was virtually healed, and vaguely glad that he was too preoccupied to put any real effort into his renewed dislike of Angel because it took energy he simply didn’t have.

As he picked his way through the scattered remains of the fight between Spike and Angel, Xander paused, staring at the car keys and wondering if he dared take the Cadillac.  He balanced the thought of Spike freaking out when he realised Xander was gone, versus Spike freaking out when he realised Xander was gone but seeing the keys and being reassured that he hadn’t wandered far.

Into the duffel that Angel had brought along, and Xander found his letter, along with the usual roll of dollar bills; he took two fifties and guiltily tucked them into his pocket.  Expenses.  Fine.  No.  Not fine.

Back to stare at the keys for several minutes, starting to leave, returning, staring.  Taking them and leaving fast.

…

How Xander saw it, his return could be reacted to in either of two ways.  One: he’d walk in and Spike would be furious and explain that in no uncertain terms.  Two: he’d walk in and Spike would be so angry he wouldn’t even be able to look at him, let alone speak to him.  The third option, the ‘Spike welcoming him with a concerned hug and quietly ensuring everything was okay before not making a big deal’ didn’t cross Xander’s mind for a moment.

Good thing too.

“Are you fucking insane!”

Proving the validity of Xander’s distinct lack of enthusiasm as he plodded over the threshold.  He offered a flat:

“Hi, Spike.”

“Where did you go?  What was so important that…”

“Leave it, huh?”

“No, I will not bloody leave it!”

As Spike paced and ranted, Xander returned the car keys and eighty-seven dollars, shrugged off his coat, kicked off his shoes, and found himself a little space off of Spike’s circuit.  He knelt down and made himself as comfortable as possible, still troubled by the bruised shoulder and side but knowing he could tune those aches out, given a little calm.

“Hey.  Spike.  Hey!”  The shout did the trick: Spike interrupted the tirade to turn and glare.  “Think you can be quiet?  I need…”

“Tell me what happened,” demanded Spike.  “Before you head for fairy cuckoo land, you tell me…”

“Ah, yeah, that sure presses the caring, sharing button.  I’ll talk to you after I’ve meditated, if I feel like it.”

“You’ll feel like it, I promise you.”

“Spike…  Give me some space,” Xander wearily sighed, “give me some peace.  Please.”  Spike seethed for a few seconds then stalked over to Xander, sitting cross-legged, directly in front of him.  “That’s hardly space.”

“Yeah, but it’s peace.”

“I didn’t mean that kind of peace.”

Xander warily let Spike take his hands, confused as to why he’d want to, but Spike had unexpectedly ping-ponged from loud and obnoxious to quiet and thoughtful.

“Not that kind of peace,” Spike mused.  “If it’s not about the voices…”  He gave Xander the most curious little smile.  “It’s about the company.”

Xander squeezed Spike’s fingers, tried to meet that troubling smile with a more positive one of his own.

“I meditate, we talk.  I need to do this.”

“Are you getting ready to tell me you’re walking away?  Did Angel put the wind up you?  Did I?”

“I’m not going anywhere until we’re done.”

“I’d be shockingly understanding if you said yes.”

“No.  I’m saying no.”  Xander waited to see if that was reassurance enough for Spike, and if he’d find something else to occupy himself with for a while.  No chance.  “Want to give me some space here?”

“Can’t you do this later?”

“Now.”

“I’m bored, I want company.”

“If you’re bored, how about you tidy up in here?  Really quietly.  Or try to get the blood off the wall.  And the doorframe.  And the…”

Spike rolled his eyes and finally moved away, not likely to clean up the room but at least prepared – however grudgingly – to respect what Xander needed.

…

As Xander prepared to re-engage with the real world the silence told him that Spike was close.  And the rush of voices that swept back the moment Xander gave signs of re-engaging told him that Spike had scooted away before he was caught being the state’s most considerate stalker.

When Xander opened his eye Spike was comfortably ensconced in the armchair, reading the paper Xander had brought in, giving his best impression of having been occupied with this for hours.

“Fraud,” Xander smiled.  Spike looked over, eyebrow querulously raised.  “You’re not fooling anyone.”

With a snicker, Spike tossed the paper aside and slid out of the chair, crawling across the floor and stopping when he was nose-to-nose with Xander.

“You back?”

“I do seem to be.”

“Gi’s a kiss.”

Xander obliged, briefly closing the gap between their mouths.

“Get me up.”  Spike’s hands instantly went to Xander’s fly; with a chuckle, Xander caught Spike wrists.  “I meant all of me.  Sodding puny human seems to have set.”

Spike sprang up and carefully hauled Xander to his feet, proceeding to gently massage the stiff shoulder joint.

“He’ll pay for this.”

“Good.”

Spike’s fingertips glided over the healed flesh of Xander’s neck.

“For everything.”

Xander looked around with a growing smile.

“You cleaned up.”

“He’ll pay for that too.”

“I appreciate it.”

“Him paying or…”

“You doing this.”

Pause.  Spike gestured encouragingly.

“Come on.  You’re supposed to say you appreciate it…”

“I did.”

“…and then…show me how much.”

“Later,” Xander dismissed, and Spike muttered discontentedly.  Xander studied the last faint traces of the bruises on Spike’s face.  “Were you surprised that Angel went so soon?”

“No.  We successfully work together, but that relies on us avoiding being in the same room at the same time, as far as it’s humanly…demonly possible.”

“So he’s not likely to come back?”

“That something you’re worried about?  Being sprung by the bogman mid-shag.”

“No, it’s not—  And that’s a whole new horrible thought.  Thanks, Spike.”

Mindful of the aches and pains, Spike gave Xander a chary hug, pleasantly surprised when it was returned with gusto.  Time to abuse the good mood Xander appeared to be in.

“Want to tell me what happened this morning?”

No dismissal, no bluster, just a sigh that told Spike he was getting his way.  Xander crossed to the bed, stacking up the pillows and lounging; Spike followed, sitting at Xander’s feet and massaging his sock-clad toes.

“This morning…  I had a bad dream and…”

“You had a bad dream!  I dreamt that I woke up and you were gone and it wasn’t a bloody dream!”

Xander paused.  Spike shut up.

“I had a bad dream and…”

“You should have woken me.”

“I didn’t want to wake you.  I’m not a child, Spike, I can cope with bad dreams, I’ve been doing it all my life.”

“This one had me in it then?”

“Not everything is about you.”

“Did, didn’t it?”  Nothing from Xander, and that was answer enough.  “Past?  Present?  Considering what we had in mind for when we got back here, something to do with what happened when I…  When I didn’t rape you?”  Nothing from Xander.  “Why d’you run away?  I’m not about to force you…”

“I know that,” Xander snapped crossly, “you think I don’t know that?  Can you not start pandering to my subconscious?  And I didn’t run away because of that, it wasn’t running away, period.”

“Where did you…not run away to?”

Xander creakily shrugged.

“Just outside of town.  Somewhere I could get out of the car and walk without being disturbed by any voices that weren’t in my head.”

“Still sick of the sound of my voice,” Spike grinned.

“I take it back, it is all about you,” Xander replied in kind, finishing with an enormous yawn and fidgeting into a more comfortable, more prone position.  Spike was alongside him before Xander registered movement, head propped up on one hand, the other stroking Xander’s stomach.  “If I live to be a hundred, anyone ever touches me like this I’ll think of you.”

“’Cause it’ll probably be me.  Ferrying you between the changing table and the anti-senility drugs.”

“Since you showed up at the Stokes’ it’s been…what?  Three weeks?  If we’re still alive in another three whatever there is between us will have burned itself out and you’ll never want to see me again.”

“Bollocks.”

“I’m serious.”

“So am I.”

“At times this seems so…unreasonably intense…”

“Don’t mind if I change the subject, do you?  Before you plummet any further in my estimation.”

“Yes, I do mind.”

“Tough.  I’m not about to let you give me notice.  You wait and dump me when the time is good and proper, not a moment before.”

“I wasn’t talking about dumping you, and besides…  Dumping you implies there’s more to this than you having just sex, and me confusing just sex for…whatever.”  Spike shuffled a little closer, sharing the pillows, kissing the skin below Xander’s ear.  “Don’t say anything nice now,” Xander warned.

“Not even…”

“Nothing.”

So Spike kept quiet, just carried on nuzzling and stroking, expecting Xander to be asleep in minutes but gratified when he wasn’t, even if it did mean he had something unsettling on his mind.

“I was…” Xander started, faltered, thought a while longer.  “I’ve been trying to raise the courage to ask Jesse about being a vampire.  I thought, earlier, that I was ready to do it.”

“But you didn’t?”

“I’m scared that I might remind him of something that he shouldn’t remember.  Or maybe telling him would…  I don’t know, change things for him somehow, where he’s entitled to be.  What if the knowledge alone sent him to that – that…purgatory you thought might exist.”

“Then you were right not to say anything to him.”

“I was…!  I’ve spent hours and hours thinking this over and you give it two seconds thought before brushing it off.”

“Very occasionally things can be black or white, Xander.  Not everything has to be all shades of grey and methodically picked to pieces because of it.”

“You don’t think this is about me being a coward for my own sake?  ‘Cause I am frightened that it would force him away from me if I…  I’d have to tell Jesse that I…what I…”

“You’re no coward.”

“You called me a coward last night.”

“Yeah, for effect, it wasn’t meant.  If you thought it was best for Jesse to know who staked him you’d tell him.  But it shouldn’t come to that.  Leave the poor bloke in peace.”

“But he might give us a clue about what would happen to you.”

“That’s not his problem, Love, is it?  Or yours.”

“It feels like it is.  Mine.”

“No, it’s not.”

“I can’t…”

“Who was the letter from?” Spike very deliberately interrupted.  “I was sorry you took it with you, I fancied a read.”

“You’d’ve read it?”

“Yeah, no scruples about violating people’s privacy.  Can I read it now?”

“No.”

“Who then?  Red?  The Bit?”

“No.”

Spike eased himself away from Xander before turning and picking up speed, zipping over to Xander’s coat and rummaging through the pockets.  Xander thought about protesting, but not for long.

“Medusa?  How the bugger did she manage this?”

“It’s in there.  H’s card was hand-delivered and she caught the guy doing the delivering and made him wait while she wrote that.”

Spike was nodding along with the explanation, having already got to that part of the letter, and as he continued to scan the page he was touched by what was easily readable between the businesslike lines.

“She loves you,” Spike said quietly.

“She’s my friend,” Xander replied, very simply, because what was a revelation to Spike made very simple sense to him.

“It never occurred to me.”

“Why?”  Spike didn’t answer; he read and re-read the letter.  “I didn’t give up when I lost what I knew,” Xander eventually said, knowing he was venturing onto shaky ground.  “I can’t be like you, cutting off when…”

“Yeah, about that…”  Spike tucked the letter back into Xander’s pocket and hurriedly returned to the bed, snuggling up tight, letting Xander hold him, however awkward it was with the achy shoulder.  “When I lost my people…  I didn’t make a choice to give up, it wasn’t a conscious decision.”

“You’ve consciously made the choice to change now.  That’s good.”

“No.  It’s you.  Just you.  And…”

“I’m an original,” Xander remembered from their earlier conversation on the subject.

“Still what I need.”

“That’s okay.  I can be that.  I won’t let you down.”

Spike marvelled at how easily Xander made that promise, and shocked himself with how equally easily it was believed.

…

Xander prodded the remains of his half-eaten dinner around his plate and sighed.

“I keep finding myself fantasising over the memory of Simone’s vegetarian lasagne.  Think there’s any hope for me?”

“Good cook, is she?”

“No.  By her own admission she’s crap.  That makes it twice as tragic, I guess.”

“Sounds more like an appetite for home.”

“If we’re not done…”  Xander braced himself.  “I’m going home for Christmas.”

“Am I invited?”

Xander…blinked.

“You’d let me…  You’d want to come home for Christmas?  With me?  Come home, with me, for Christmas?”

“Any one of those, yes.”

“That’d be—”  The happy face turned sour.  “Ah.  Okay.  Not about to happen, right?  You’re just…”

“No sign of Dead Guy and you get Christmas at home.  It’s a promise.”  Xander nodded, head dipped down to cover what he feared was rather childish excitement.  Spike watched, didn’t miss a thing; his booted foot poked Xander in the shin.  “What kind of Christmas is it?  With Medusa and—  Here, does she do the cooking?”

Xander rearranged his features and looked up.

“No,” he chuckled, “H cooks, and the rest of the family help when they arrive.”

“Big family?”

“A son and a daughter, both married, both with kids.  Sometimes a niece or nephew, and...there’s a couple I still can’t figure out, but they’re all good people.”

“Anyone got their eye on you?”

The instantaneous denial was brought to a halt by a memory that made Xander grin from ear to ear.

“I do have a not-so-secret admirer.”  The coffee cup in Spike’s hand creaked.  “Yeah, she’s gorgeous, she’s fun, and she’s four—  No, wait, she must be five now.  Obviously.  Kirsty.  Last year I let her draw fake tats all over my arms; she either thinks I’m a really cool uncle, or a badly misshaped colouring book.”  Spike hmmed grumpily.  “She’ll like you.”

“Why?”

“’Cause she likes pretty things,” Xander teased, enjoying the turnaround as Spike visibly preened.

“You’ll need presents.”

Xander’s face dropped.  A moment’s realistic thought and he shrugged.

“They’ll understand that I can’t…”

“Expenses’ll cover it,” Spike said casually, waiting for objections when Xander figured out that these particular expenses would undoubtedly be covered by Spike rather than the firm; he saw the moment come and go, Xander guessing, and Xander quickly coming to terms.

“It wouldn’t cost much, just…y’know…token gifts, nothing…”

“Whatever.”  Xander glanced away and swallowed hard; Spike hoped that it wasn’t the man’s pride that was proving so difficult to get down.  “How d’you usually manage?  You were broke when we started, you’re twice as broke now.  No plastic in your wallet so no trips to ATMs; don’t you get paid?”

A deep breath and Xander turned back.

“It isn’t like that.  Most mediums have jobs and they work for the chapel in their spare time.”

“You said you still did some carpentry.”

“I do, but it’s not…”  Xander stopped, sighed, turned a grim, self-conscious smile on Spike.  “I’m different.  ‘Cause of the voices I can’t keep a job.  I’ve tried, and I get distracted, I’m always tired, and…  The carpentry is for friends and parishioners who understand that I take twice as long to get stuff done as…normal people.  So…I’m the chapel’s charity case.  They let me live in a house that was left to them by one of our congregation, they pay the bills, Simone stocks the fridge, H leaves some cash in the kitchen drawer in case I need it.”

“They know you’re special enough to warrant it.  That’s nice.”

“It’s nice, yes, nice and…humiliating.”

“After everything that you’ve done for mankind, don’t you think they owe you?”

“I can’t see it like that.”

“Yeah, I’ve noticed that blind side of yours comes in pretty handy.”

“It’s one of the reasons I don’t drive the Mustang.  Why should they have to pay for the gas?”

“They begrudge it?  Any of it?”

Xander hesitated.

“No.”

“And neither do I when it comes to buying Christmas presents for your friends.  Splash out, eh?  None of this ‘token’ nonsense.”

“I…appreciate it.”

“That’s right, do that.  Don’t have to like it, just…appreciate it.”

The twinkle in Spike’s eye forced a half-hearted smile from Xander, but it didn’t last long.

“While you’re feeling generous, I’m going to tell you something that you may not like but you’re not going to make a fuss over, how’s that?”

“Hmm, I’m intrigued.”

Xander once again braced himself.

“’Kay…  I’m going back to the chapel tonight, and you’re not coming with me.”

The cup in Spike’s hand cracked down one side.

“You may want to rephrase that.  Try something like: ‘Please excuse my being a moron, I’ve suddenly recalled the point Angel was making and will not be going anywhere alone as I don’t want to die just yet’.”

“The most danger I’ve been in was the supposed good guy with a knife at my throat.”

“Someone tried to kidnap you, have you forgotten?”

“And because of that I’ll be on my guard.”

“Forget it.”

The conversation took an interlude as their waitress stopped by and mopped up the coffee from Spike’s leaking cup.  Spike deliberately ignored her, rudely turning away to prevent any chance of the interest that seemed to stir Xander’s insecurities about his own looks.  Spike needn’t have bothered: the girl took away the old cup, brought a new one and topped it up, but it was Xander she smiled at, every step of the way.  It was a shame that Xander didn’t notice, eager for her to be gone so he could resume his argument.

“You hated being there last night, it was offensive to you.  You had to wait outside until I was done.”

“That wasn’t about being offended, it was—”

“Yes?” Xander prompted, trying to glean a clue from Spike’s less than telling expression.

“What sounds less damaging?  Jealousy or possessiveness?”

Despite wanting to slap Spike for his stupidity, Xander tried his best to inject a little compassion into his voice.

“I do understand the possessiveness, but you only have to share me for a couple hours.”

“And can’t you stop cuddling people?”

“Hugs are a part of the way I do my job, Spike.  Some people need that contact, they need comfort.  That’s all it is.  Comfort.  Anything else…”  A tiny burst of self-conscious panic came and went.  “Right now, and however it’s defined, I’m…I’m…with you.”  Xander barely paused for breath before quickly adding, “Not what iffing, just getting on with the here and now.”

“With me,” Spike said to himself.  “With me, and terrified anyone will find out.  How…familiar.”

“Not anyone, I just didn’t want Angel to know.”

“Why?”

“Do I have to spell it out?”

“Apparently.”

“Bastard.  I know his opinion of me,” Xander stated crossly, “and I don’t want him thinking you’re an idiot.”

Spike’s mood lightened a little.

“You’re saying…we go to yours for Christmas and you’ll tell everyone about us?”

Xander paused.  Thought.  Spike appreciated that the reply was considered.

“With my friends…  I’d have to force myself not to tell them.  Hey, if by some miracle the Dead Guy thing is done by the end of the week, and even if we’re over when it’s over, still come home with me?  Just for Christmas?”

“Might be fun, I s’pose.”

“Yeah, will be.”

“Better than being stuck in LA.”

“Few days, that’s all.  You can survive the boredom for that long.”

“No-one’s shared that bed with you?”

Xander shook his head.

“Would that have been a problem?”

“I was thinking more along the lines of…after Christmas, every time you looked at that bed, you’d remember I was the first person to have you there.”

“Oh.  That.  I’d…umm…  Like that.”

Xander’s rather breathless understatement made Spike tingle in all the right places; the night promised to go very well for him once the visit to the church was over and done with.

…

This wasn’t so bad.  Sitting closer to the front than usual, a little to the side, Spike had a good view of both the proceedings and the people who had unwittingly pissed him off on his previous visit.  He divided his attention between watching the mediums at work, and fantasising how he’d like to kill various individuals, giving his imagination an invigorating workout and wearing some kind of giveaway expression on his face if the way Xander kept glancing disapprovingly at him was anything to go by.

Just time for a last warning look in Spike’s direction, and then Xander was introduced to the congregation.  The first reading was mundane by Spike’s standards – one elderly chap wavering between tears and laughter as Xander passed on messages from his late wife was much like the next – and Spike found it more fulfilling to watch the audience and their reactions to the newest medium on this particular circuit.  Spike swelled with pride for Xander as he witnessed the rapt attention and unguarded emotion, every face full of hope that the next contact would be one of their departed loved ones.

A latecomer arrived and sat at the back of the nave; Spike’s heart sank when he saw who it was, and he quickly checked to see if Xander was aware.  No indication of anything other than a complicated evidentiary statement occupying the man’s thoughts, but Spike knew it was only a matter of time before life turned a little more pear-shaped.

…

“John Randall’s outside.”

Xander peered from the folds of his blanket and gave Spike a sympathetic smile.

“I know.”

“Yeah, I know you know.  If I thought you didn’t know I wouldn’t be telling you.”

“Mmm, I kinda know that too.”

Spike poured some coffee and brought it to Xander, his hand brushing Xander’s as he handed over the hot mug and feeling the post-reading chill that seemed to exude from his companion.  He gave in to the need to rearrange the blanket to cover more cold body.

“I’m warmer than you and I’m dead.”

“Seems worse today.  Maybe the heating’s not so good in this building.”

“Frosty night.”

“Yeah.”

The small talk ground to halt and Spike dragged a chair over and sat beside Xander.  They both knew what he was about to say, but Xander waited patiently as Spike worked his way around to it, wasting a few seconds with more tucking in.

“He wants to talk to you.”

“Did you remind him he’s in a building full of mediums?  Most better than me.”

“He doesn’t want to talk to anyone local.  And they’re not better than you.”

“He’s already outed himself just by turning up here, so…so…”  Xander stopped and sighed.  “I’m sorry, Spike, but I really want to talk to him.”

“You’ve already said you don’t know how to help with his case.”

“Just because I don’t know doesn’t mean I can’t find out.  I doubt that Randall would want me to talk to Walt about this, but I could call Doug.”

“Every assurance you give me is worthless, isn’t it?  Next place we stop you’ll behave, low profile…”

“This is about a young woman’s life…”

“And it could be about yours.”

“I don’t need reminding.  Look, Spike, I just want to talk to the guy, it’s—”

Spike was already gone.

Minutes later he returned with John Randall, ushering him in without a word but with an attitude that guaranteed Xander that, boy, he was going to pay for this later.  The undersheriff seemed smaller, older, out of uniform and unofficial, and Xander felt the same sympathy in person as he had when viewing the man on TV.  He rose and crossed to him, warmly shaking his hand.

“Hi, Mr Randall, how’re you doing?”

“It’s John.  And…not so good.”

“Sit down, let me get you some coffee.”

Randall sat and Xander appropriated Spike’s unused coffee mug for him; Spike stood at the window, back to the proceedings but watching through the reflection.  Xander handed over the coffee and sat back in his chair, waiting for Randall to make his intentions clear.

“I hope you don’t mind me coming here.”

“No, of course I don’t mind, but if you didn’t want anyone local to know you were talking to a medium you could have called, you have my cell number.”

“He wanted to check you out,” Spike interjected.  “Make sure you were the real deal.”

Evident really, and Xander was disappointed that it hadn’t occurred to him.

“Is that right?”  Randall gave a slow nod.  “And…am I?”

“I think you may be able to help,” Randall said after a moment’s pause for thought.

“You don’t have to be so guarded,” Spike told him impatiently, “Xander’s one of the good guys, he’s not going to sell your every word to the press.”

“It’s okay, Spike,” Xander assured, “it’s not a problem.”

“It is a problem, it’s called due respect, and if you don’t get it…”

“Real deal,” Randall stated firmly, evidently appreciating Spike’s stand.  “I was very impressed.”

“There are more experienced mediums here.”

“The communities within this area are pretty close, everybody knows everybody.”

Randall didn’t really need to say more, and Xander remembered the atmosphere when the congregation had prayed for Tania Varley’s safe return at the beginning of the evening.

“I still may not be the right person to help you.  Have you any idea what you want me to do?”  That stumped Randall, and he gave Xander a rather hopeless look.  “And that’s exactly how I feel,” Xander told him with a kind smile.  “Let me talk to my mentor at the Stokes’ and then I’ll get in touch with you.”

Randall agreed with a shallow nod, but rather than taking that offer and leaving, he sat and quietly finished his coffee; as Spike observed, he understood the whole comfort thing a little better, and it wasn’t as obvious as it sounded.  Xander did nothing more than keep Randall company, sipping his own coffee, and so relaxed it was reassuring; that seemed to filter through to the undersheriff, and Spike could see the worst of the superficial tension draining away.

Nothing more was said until Randall stood up to leave.

“Thank you for this,” Randall said, somewhat ambiguously, and Xander shook his hand again, holding it within both of his own for a few seconds.

Healing, Spike thought, healing hands.  He didn’t know if that was true, but he didn’t want to ask, didn’t want to be disillusioned if he was wrong.

As Xander saw Randall out, Spike picked up the business card the man had left, tapping it with his thumbnail as he considered ripping it up.  That wouldn’t stop Xander, naturally, it would be little more than a minor inconvenience when he needed the telephone number, but Spike was into gestures, grand or humble, providing they made a point.  No point to make here: Xander’s face when he re-entered the room said it all, that he knew how Spike felt about this, that he was sorry for being the cause of those feelings, but he had to follow his conscience.

Xander tried to take the card from Spike but it was quickly tucked away in the back pocket of the vampire’s jeans; Xander attempted an apparently un-winning smile and felt the hefty weight of Spike’s disapproval.

“We going?” Spike asked flatly.

“Yeah.  Just fetching my coat.”

“Are we coming back?”

“Umm…  Right now, I have no intention of coming back.”

“Very slippery.”

Xander began to move away but swerved in Spike’s direction, snatching up his hands and moving in close, pressing his cheek to Spike’s.

“Please, Spike.”

Unsure what the please was about, but suspecting it was more a plea for support than permission to carry on with the latest insane plan, Spike couldn’t respond as Xander wanted him to, so he didn’t respond at all.  Xander’s head turned a little, his lips brushing Spike’s skin, again and again as they made their way to his mouth, and the contact became about need rather than support or permission or any other ridiculous notion.  Spike kissed Xander back, hard and possessively, wanting to own him in this place, longing for this ownership to be witnessed, wishing someone…

“Oh, goodness, I’m so sorry to interrupt.”

…would prove that wishes…could indeed come true.

“I’m sorry, Hillary, we shouldn’t be doing this here,” Xander apologised as he extricated himself from Spike’s grasp, desperately hoping that Spike wasn’t going to overreact to any overreaction.

“You’re only young once,” the round little woman dismissed as she came to Xander and threw her arms around him in a mighty hug.  “I was worried I’d miss you and you’d leave before I got a chance to say goodbye.  It’s been wonderful to meet you, thank you for visiting us.”  The hug transferred to a rather stunned Spike.  “You too, Spike, I hope we didn’t make you feel too uncomfortable.”

“Er…no,” Spike lied, completely undermined by this show of affection.

“Xander, you must see Walt before you go.”

“I’m on my way now.”

The hug returned to Xander for a last squeeze, and then Hillary and Spike were left alone.

“Xander has such potential,” Hillary immediately enthused.  “You must encourage his belief in himself and his abilities, he has it in him to be very special.”

“Special, yes,” Spike agreed with an uneasy smile: it was difficult to judge just how much encouragement would get Xander killed.

…

The visit by Hillary had thankfully managed to shift the inevitable fight over helping Randall onto the back burner, and the short journey to their motel was filled with discussion over the night’s readings, and Spike’s derogatory assessments of the other mediums.  It felt completely disloyal, but Xander was still laughing when he climbed from the car and wandered off to stare out over the open land that flanked the motel.

Spike saw Xander’s fingers twitch in the familiar gesture of encouragement, and he strolled closer, always hoping for a visit from his mother but never allowing those hopes to build too high.  Xander was aware of his approach, and moved away, step for step, keeping a greater distance than usual between them, unconsciously indicating to Spike how precarious this contact was.

When Xander eventually fell still, Spike waited a full five minutes before approaching.

“Xander?”

“Paige.  Covington.  Willis,” Xander slowly spelled out.

Spike thought that over and shrugged.

“Tell me then,” he prompted.  “Who or what is Paige Covington Willis?”

Xander hesitated momentarily before turning a devastated expression on Spike.

“The second victim.”

Manifestation 22       Manifestation Index       Manifestation Notes

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