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| 32: Reality |
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I guess if you’re
reading this, the event went pretty much as I thought it would. I swear to you I didn’t go in with a death
wish, it’s just the way I feel at this moment (I’m editing this with a couple
hours to go). I don’t mind dying. Well, I do mind, but not so much for me. I hope I didn’t screw up, and I hope we saved
the world. Wherever I am right
now I know I’ll be more worried about your state of mind than I will be about
myself, because if you’re reading this then you didn’t die too, and if I died
alone you’ll be blaming yourself like crazy, I know that. Even without knowing what happened to me, I know
you don’t have to blame yourself, cos if anyone was going to do their best to
take care of me it was you. Even if it
meant keeping those promises you didn’t want to keep. You thought I wasn’t
listening, but I was, and I heard and believed you. Even with the whole ‘big picture’ thing going
on you were always going to do your best for me. Thank you, Baby. Hey, how weird does that look written
down? Should I change it? No, I damn well shouldn’t. BABY!!! I have so much to
thank you for, Spike, an immeasurable amount.
Stop thinking about my death and give yourself credit for letting me
live a little before I went. This has
been fun. Even getting beaten up was
okay cos of the fuss you made of me afterwards.
You may have scared me at times (go on, enjoy that, you know you want
to) but I’ve felt more alive over the past month than I have in years. You’re a great guy to be with, you know
that? As friends and more. Friends speaks for
itself. Want a list as long as your
arm? No, I’ll just say you were polite
to Walter Battin for me, how terrific a friend does that make you under the
circumstances? The ‘more’? I’m glad that I told you it wasn’t just sex
for me. However great the sex was it
wasn’t as great as what I got to feel for you, and from you. I guess dying right now is good timing, cos
any longer and it would be me threatening you with the scary over-possessiveness. The thought of not being with you, and if I
say physically I don’t mean that kind of physically I mean on the
physical plain, hurts, I admit it. But
I’m convinced that one day we’ll meet again.
One more thing I choose to believe rather than know, maybe, but I do
believe you’ve done enough good to outweigh the bad. We’ll meet again and I can’t wait to hold you
and kiss you, cos if I can’t kiss you it won’t be heaven. I should be
embarrassed writing that last line, shouldn’t I? Well I’m not.
Take the smush like a man, damn ya! Does it matter that I
should forgive you for all that obnoxious stuff? Once again I’m editing this knowing we’re
leaving soon, just so you know the timing, and I forgive you completely
(despite still not really understanding).
I trust you enough to know that however bad it felt you were doing it
because you believed you had to, for the right reasons. I trust you enough to know that I should forgive
you with all my heart, and I do. This letter is very
difficult to write, so I’m sorry if there are things you want to hear that I’m
not saying. I hope there’s nothing that
I do say that you don’t want to hear. I know I’ve written to
them and you’ll make sure all my friends get their letters, but please tell
them I was thinking of them and I love them, it will mean more hearing it I
think. And being equally practical and
probably making you roll your eyes in despair at the choice, I have to tell you
what I want played at my memorial service (yes, I demand one, don’t just sweep
what’s left of me under a rug). Up to
you whether you blame Simone’s love of musicals or the re-runs of Quantum Leap,
but I want The Impossible Dream. You absolutely
can blame Simone that it’s the Peter O’Toole version. For years I assumed that song was about
attaining a goal, but it turns out to be about fighting for a goal that’s
unattainable, but you still keep fighting.
What does that sound like to you?
Who and where? I guess I have to insert
a ‘Yay! Sunnydale!’ here because, what a crazy life I’ve had! My girls will love the song and you’ll hate
it. Feel me smiling? I bet you do. I’m becoming too aware
of time passing, and I’m getting increasingly lost for words so, in
(inadequate) conclusion: Spike, you are (as was correctly observed and I’m
laughing now) FUCKING AWESOME!!! That I
came to care for you so much after the past we had is incredible, isn’t
it? What does that say about the
exceptional person you’ve become? Tons
of stuff I can’t begin to write down.
Can I say I love you in a non-threatening, you’re presently the best
thing in my life way? Cos I’ve always
been good at loving my friends and you’ve been a wonderful friend. Also in conclusion:
the spell checker in the laptop deserves a medal. If I end up where I
should (and deserve after this life GODDAMMIT) I will pass on the messages to
your mom and family, and tell them how proud they should be of Spike,
not just William. Now I have to go
meditate and get ready for The Event. <— Note the
capital letters, I’m taking this seriously.
Or even Seriously. I hope
to God I don’t let you down. I also hope
that at some point tonight I’ll pluck up the courage to kiss you silly while I
still have the chance. Before it’s over
when it’s over. Thank you, Spike. BABY.
Thank you. Xander |
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Spike read the letter for what had to be the several-hundredth time. Today the reference to Walter Battin rattled him in a new way and, rather than feeling gutted about small gestures becoming big deals, he went through Xander’s possessions until he found the crucifix the medium had been given at Lestor. Ignoring the pain in his fingertips as he removed it from its box, Spike pushed up his sleeve and with great deliberation pressed the cross to his inner arm, concentrating on the relief this deserved pain offered. As he watched his flesh smoke and burn his mind flashed back to the early days of the soul, embracing a cross in a church, and how much Xander hated him back then. Spike recalled that he couldn’t even be bothered to hate Xander back because the boy had been too insignificant. Xander. Insignificant. How was that possible? “Spike!” came from outside the room, the direction of the elevator. “Oh…fuck.” “Spike, there are lights flashing, if you set off the sprinkler system…” Spike peeled the crucifix from his charred and clinging skin just as Angel barged into the room. Latest complaint undermined by what he witnessed and the open sore left on Spike’s arm, his grandsire looked on in complete exasperation. “Why?” “Because,” Spike muttered, returning the cross to its box, and the box to exactly where Xander had placed it. “That’s no answer.” “It’s all you’re getting.” Spike removed the unwashed t-shirt that lay on top of Xander’s possessions, unable to resist holding it to his face and inhaling. “It’s all I’ve heard for three weeks and that’s not right.” Angel spoke softly now, despite having tried every possible kind of approach and knowing not one worked better than any other. “You need help. Talk to somebody. Better still, listen.” “No.” Angel took a step forward and Spike defensively put the t-shirt away. “At least answer your phone. People are trying to do what Xander asked them to and…” “Go away, can’t you? I’m not in the mood.” “I understand if you can’t talk to me, but Willow is here, in the building, so is Giles. Buffy and Dawn are in town. Henry has called, Simone has called, Doug…” “I can’t talk to them.” “Xander wrote them: look after Spike.” “I know,” Spike whispered, choking on the emotion that he couldn’t seem to release, however tortured he felt. “And, Spike…” “I know what you’re going to say.” “Do you? You know I’m going to tell you to change your damn clothes because, apart from stinking, you walking about covered in Xander’s blood is upsetting people? If you know that why don’t you do it?” “I don’t care if I upset people.” “Xander would care.” Spike was across the room in a flash, pinning Angel against the wall by his throat. “Don’t you fucking dare!” A gesture so futile it wasn’t even a distraction. Defensively, Angel was doing less than nothing, he hadn’t even tensed against the attack. Spike gradually released his hold, turning away, head hanging in misery. With a resolved sigh Angel reached into his own back pocket and drew out one of life’s little necessities. “We need to move on, Spike.” “How can I when…” “I’m not having this conversation again.” “He died, you can’t just brush that aside.” “That’s not what I’m suggesting.” “Then what—” Spike crumpled to the floor as Angel’s metal-clad knuckles thudded into the back of his head. “What I’m suggesting…” Angel explained as he heaved Spike’s inert body over his shoulder, “…is a sharp dose of reality.” … Spike struggled to wake, then finally came to with an uncoordinated jolt, practically tumbling himself off the seat he was slumped in. Gazing around, he was unimpressed to see Angel frowning at him, Zooza, wearing a slightly more sympathetic face, and one of their doctors, a granite-faced English woman with a buzz-cut, who went by the wholly incongruous name of Bunny. Zooza stepped forward and squeezed Spike’s shoulder. “How’s your head?” Spike glared at Angel. “Sore.” A sudden memory of Zooza with a machete wedged in his skull struck Spike, and he realised he hadn’t even asked after the mage since they’d returned from the barn. “How’s yours?” “Fine, absolutely fine. You know me: fast to heal.” “Yeah. Lucky you. Right…” Spike wobbled to his feet and in the direction of the door. “If you’re not about to hose me down…” “Spike!” Angel snapped; Zooza whacked his arm. “Be nice.” “Spike doesn’t respond to nice.” “Spike, respond to nice,” Zooza tried ordering. “Bollocks.” “See?” “Then what will you respond to?” Zooza crossed to Spike and forcibly took his hand. “What do you want?” “What do I want?” Spike repeated incredulously. “I should be dead. I want what I was due.” Angel reached for Spike. “Angel, don’t you dare kill him!” “Don’t tempt me.” In a swift move, Angel grabbed Spike and heaved him against the wall that separated this room from the next, forcing his face against the observation window. It took a while, but when Spike finally looked through the glass, it was all Angel could do to keep him on his feet. Nudging Angel aside, Zooza took Spike from him, supporting the traumatized vampire in a much gentler hold. “See?” “I don’t…” Spike whispered. “It can’t be…” “Seeing, dear friend, is believing. It can be.” “No.” “Yes. See. Believe. At last believe, and you’ll heal too.” “But…how?” “Bunny,” Angel cued. “Spike,” the doctor began. “As I have tried to tell you on numerous occasions, after we operated, Xander was coherent enough to agree to this treatment, and subsequently we’ve kept him heavily sedated to allow his injuries to heal as quickly and least traumatically as possible.” “He’s dead.” “I think I would know if my patient were dead,” Bunny said crossly. “Think of it as a nice, safe, healing coma,” Zooza suggested. Spike looked to Angel. “He’s dead.” “Xander died, yes. The appropriate medical intervention, whatever the hell it is that Zooza does, and…” Angel gestured into the next room. “And… And…” Spike peered at the familiar form in the next room, taking a moment to watch the chest rise and fall of its own volition, not a machine to be seen. “And… Nobody told me?” Amazement predictably gave way to anger. “Nobody told me! You bastards! You didn’t think to tell me!” “Actually, I am gonna kill him,” Angel said quite reasonably to Zooza. “Can I kill him after you?” Zooza replied in the same tone as Spike furiously shrugged him off. “Be my guest.” Bunny stepped between the various factions and fixed her beady stare on Spike. “You were told. Repeatedly.” “I—” “Spike, you were told. Shock and denial are powerful reactions, and the combination…” Spike was shaking his head incredulously and Bunny took a deep, highly irritated, breath. “I am a consummate professional, not given to lying. You, on the other hand, have suffered severe trauma and are not accountable, on this rare occasion, for your unreasonable behaviour.” She pointed at the glass. “The medication keeping Xander sedated will be wearing off today, and at some point he will wake up, quite naturally. I hope for his sake that you manage to pull yourself together by then. And, incidentally, if you ever call me a bastard again, I will remove your bowels with a meat hook. Good day.” The men watched Bunny leave. Zooza patted his hand over his heart. “How I adore that woman.” He rushed to follow her. “I’ll be back. Or not. Don’t wait up,” his voice disappeared down the corridor. Spike once again turned to the wall, leaning on the glass with both hands and staring at the unbelievable sight of an apparently living Xander in the next room. Angel joined him, and they remained in silence for ten minutes. “He’s alive?” “Yes.” “He can’t be. Angel…” “Go see for yourself.” “You think… Should I go in there?” asked Spike warily. “Yes, you should. And you could have been here all along.” “But…he died.” “And he lived.” “You told me?” “We all told you.” “I wouldn’t listen? I don’t remember not listening.” “As Bunny said, shock and denial…” “Would that be enough? Really enough? When it’s something I’d want to hear?” “I’ve said it before, Spike, and I have to say it again, preferably without you deliberately taking it the wrong way this time. You need to get out of this business. Every time we lose someone, we lose a little more of you too, and, however much you infuriate me, I don’t want to watch your sanity being gradually eroded. For all your bravado, the person you are now isn’t cut out for this life.” “I can’t stop what I do. If I stop… I can’t, it’s out of the question, too much suffering will have been for nothing.” “Okay, then… Be selective. If you can’t, then let me be selective for you.” “Wouldn’t work.” “Something has to change. You try your best to be blinkered over the people who work for us, but what happens if you see me dusted, or Zooza killed?” Spike tried to stop the involuntary shudder. “Couldn’t happen.” “You can’t take that for granted.” Spike drew breath to protest but, in the face of such undeniable truth, gave up on any futile argument and simply offered a shaky nod. “Think about it. Get some rest. Spend some time with Xander and…” “I don’t know if I can, if—” “If?” “You weren’t there. Back in Sunnydale. You didn’t see Buffy when they yanked her out of heaven. All she wanted was to be left in peace rather than brought back to a life she discovered she hated. Xander was dead. We’ve just done the same for him.” “This is different.” “You weren’t there.” “Minutes rather than months. And I was there when Buffy died and Xander brought her back after minutes rather than months. She had no regrets, I promise you.” “What if he hates me?” “Then…he’ll tell you, and you’ll know.” Spike fell silent, and Angel took that as his cue to leave. Frightened to take his eyes from the still unreal vision of Xander, it took Spike a long time to get as far as the corridor. A disturbed glance from one of the orderlies reminded him of the state he was in, and that motivated a move: he found himself a room where he could shower, borrowing a set of pale blue scrubs to replace the clothes that reeked of dirt and rotting blood. He tried to flatten his wayward hair, but without gel it was impossible, and besides, if Xander woke up to see him like this… The emotion that had remained bottled inside him for weeks welled and, once again, became painfully and debilitatingly trapped in his chest. He’d have screamed it out if that were possible, but the only way to deal with this grief was for Xander not to be dead. Xander…wasn’t dead. Composing himself as best he could, Spike made his way to Xander’s room, needing several attempts before he could walk inside. Needing a while longer to move to the bedside and take a good look at the bandaged and braced, but peacefully unconscious man who lay there, unknowingly the reason for Spike’s meltdown. Spike cautiously touched the back of his fingers to Xander’s cheek, almost collapsing in relief when it was warm rather than freezing cold, as it had been in the barn. He stroked the smooth skin, face and neck, every inch that wasn’t covered, and then he ran his fingers over the bandages too, a reminder that he had to find Bunny and familiarise himself with what damage Xander had sustained and the repercussions. Any ongoing problems and he wanted to be the one to tell Xander. His fingers drifted back to Xander’s cheek, and it was only then that Spike realised the obvious, that Xander had been shaved recently, and his urges became less desperate and more basic: he wanted to hurt, very seriously, whoever had dared touch this man so intimately. A possessiveness that tilted toward murderous. That felt so much better. But first… Spike leaned forward and pressed his ear to Xander’s chest, listening to the slow and strong, rhythmic drumming of Xander’s heart. It couldn’t be real but it was real. Xander died. “I know. I was there.” Xander lived. “I know. I’m here. He’s…” Spike leant up and tapped Xander’s cheek. “Xander, Love. Time to tell your old mate whether or not he’s hallucinating. Xander…” A few more taps and Spike gave up: Xander waking up today didn’t mean sooner rather than later. “Git,” Spike told him. “Selfish git.” He touched his lips to Xander’s in farewell, the lightest kiss, something to console him but not offend Xander too badly if there was any post-resurrection hatred to deal with. It took a further ten minutes to get back into the corridor; Spike leaned against the wall with a sigh and reviewed what next. Firstly, locate Bunny, get the lowdown on Xander’s condition. He also needed to speak to Zooza. Then… Back here? Or try a little resurrection of his own, revive the real Spike and fall back on the booze, brawl, fuck mentality of old. The latter option, Spike told himself belligerently, and when he eventually returned he’d be ready for Xander being awake and dumping him with a hasty over when it’s over and a protracted glare that accused him of snatching away heaven. Booze, brawl, fuck and Xander would be bound to know, would certainly dump him then, even if he’d had the kind of change of heart that was apparently only ever acceptable from a fickle bloody human. Booze, brawl, fuck. Yes. Bottle of the best, and then maybe he’d kill someone just because he could, prove his strength in the wake of Angel’s molly-coddling. And the fuck would be female, blonde, short, weak, scrawny, two eyes, and ugly, the total opposite of Xander. Then maybe he’d kill her too, because he could, and because he wasn’t losing it, or going soft in his old age. Booze, brawl, fuck and he’d jump at the next assignment, ready to prove he was able to do the worst of this job standing on his head, or, better still, standing on someone else’s. Catching movement from the corner of his eye, Spike looked around to see the squat, streaky-mopped vision that was Dylan loping along the corridor toward him, twirling a set of car keys on his finger. “Hey, Boss,” the young man cheerfully greeted him. “Like the hair.” “I could cripple you with one finger, Short-arse. Don’t tempt me.” “Now you’re getting me all excited,” Dylan grinned, tossing over the keys. “New car, bay six, Big Daddy says don’t break it.” “Buffy broke the last one,” Spike griped, but Dylan’s attention had already wandered to the occupant of room three. “He’s cute,” Dylan observed, nose pressed to the window. Spike refused to be drawn. “He with you?” Spike silently studied the car keys. “’Cause if he isn’t, I’ll…” “Touch him and you’re dead,” Spike said under his breath. Dylan’s attention switched to Spike, and his large grey eyes were brimming with humour. “You are so sexy when you’re homicidal.” “Do me a favour, Pet? Sod off before I’m obliged to break your legs.” “Hey, at last! The Spike we know and are terrified to love. Welcome back.” “Been that far out of it, have I?” The nonchalance was betrayed by the anxious look Spike shot Dylan. “Kinda. Like when Hennessy died and then some. Major then some.” “Did they tell me about Xander?” “Sure they told you, we all tried. You just weren’t…here. They said you were out of it before you’d even left the scene. They said you gave up. I don’t wanna believe that.” With an abrupt change in mood and a friendly smile, Dylan took a step closer and squeezed Spike’s forearm. “Glad you’re okay now, Boss.” A horrible thought occurred to Spike. “Who isn’t?” “None of the immediate crew were hurt badly,” Dylan reassured. “But a couple of the guys we brought in were seriously injured. And…um…Paolo Roski died.” “Paolo?” A well-known face flashed through Spike’s mind: scarred brows, bent nose, cauliflower ears and broken teeth. An absolute thug with the sweetest nature and sunniest disposition. “He lived with his mum, didn’t he? He was all she had.” “Yeah. Big Daddy and the Zooz went to see her. It was…difficult, I’m told.” “Paolo died?” Dylan squeezed Spike’s arm again, gave him a sad nod, and wandered off. So much for the booze, brawl and fuck scenario. Sliding too easily into a daze of remembrances and losses, and unable to find the will to move, Spike was still propped against the wall when Bunny came looking for him some time later. “Spike. We need to talk.” “Yes. I suppose we do.” “God, you look like crap. If I fill you with blood and coffee, think you can hold it together for this conversation?” “Maybe. Dyl told me about Paolo.” “Very sad,” Bunny agreed without any hint of sympathy, seizing Spike’s elbow and frogmarching him in the direction of her office. “But life goes on. Sick as you are of hearing that.” “You don’t really give a monkey’s, do you. Ever.” “Surely you recognise professional detachment?” “And beyond that…?” Bunny considered. “I don’t really give a monkey’s.” Bunny pushed Spike into the guest chair by her desk and brought him a flask of blood which he rapidly gulped down, realising this was the first thing he’d consumed since before the barn. He felt his energy returning and some of the depression lifting, perfect timing if he found any reason to break Bunny’s figurative balls over Xander’s treatment. More blood, and an ultra-strong coffee blend for that extra lift, and he and Bunny faced one another across her desk. “Tell me about Xander. Put heavy emphasis on the life goes on.” “Certainly.” Spreading open Xander’s case notes, Bunny gave Spike her renowned velociraptor smile. “Xander, yes. Xander has proved…fascinating.” “Fascinating? Is that good, or…?” The velociraptor smile widened. … “I know where the tree’ll be,” Spike told Xander as he wandered the room. “I had a think and, near where I grew up, there’s this public green – bit of grass, few trees, shrubs, puddle that we affectionately called a pond – and I used to go there when it was sunny, sit and compose my sadly lacking little verses lauding Mother Nature’s finer gifts. Francis actually used to refer to it as ‘William’s Patch’, so…obvious really. I’d be happy to show you. The Patch, our house, the street where Francis and his folks lived. Assuming the houses haven’t been demolished. Assuming the green wasn’t built on. If they bulldozed my tree I think you’ll let me terrorise someone, so that should be fun.” Spike fell still, stared at Xander, willing him to wake. Nope. He wandered. “It’s been a funny old day,” he sighed. “If I’d stopped beating myself up long enough to think about it I’d’ve known, wouldn’t I? Who on Earth – or otherwise – can kill off Xander Harris? Seen better attempts than Escolet’s if I’m honest. Didn’t have a lot of style, did he, Love?” Spike threw a wry smile at Xander’s snoozing form. “Love.” He shook his head and moved on. “Bad case of what you fear consuming you, I s’pose. Zooza’s said that to me…oh, about…several hundred times over the past few years. Don’t let your fear consume you, he says. First time he said it I thought he was calling me a coward so I punched him out, but it made me think. Think, but not take it to heart, obviously, otherwise I’d’ve been in a fit state to listen when they told me you’d been revived.” Moving to the bed, Spike laid his hand over Xander’s and started to squeeze, quickly snatching his hand back as he tried to figure out which of Xander’s palms and fingers had the scars from clutching the dagger’s blade. Left. Yes. Left, not right. He squeezed Xander’s hand – the right. “Heard your heart stop. Felt you leave me. Xander, I—” A caught breath, another squeeze, no reaction, and Spike once again paced. “You should be dead. You should be dead, but Zooza… He has this ability to jumpstart a heart and hold it in rhythm until the purveyors of modern medicine deign to shift their collective arses and take over. He can’t cure a body, but he can keep it hanging on. I’ve seen him do it before, but never with a human, and it never occurred to me he’d manage it this time. I was…consumed by fear. He can be a right bloody know-all.” Spike leaned on the frame at the foot of the bed; for a moment, it seemed to be all that was keeping him upright. “For all our wittering on the subject, this is whatever it takes, isn’t it? Whatever it takes to get you better. Get you back. Not sure you could walk past a magnet factory without kicking yourself to death now, but… Wonder if you’ll be the same Xander. No-one knows what Escolet did to you. Beyond the obvious. Think he quite fancied me for a moment back there in the barn, maybe that’ll… Or maybe not. I know you think it’s irrational, when I’m honest about how much I want you, and I agree with you, one-hundred percent. Completely irrational. Completely. We’re right about that but…I can’t find it in me to care.” Spike leant forward and prodded the lump in the bed covers that was Xander’s foot. And again. Prod, prod, prod. Nothing. “No dreams, at least. I can see you’re at peace. Still think you might hate me for letting them drag you out of heaven, and I don’t care what Angel says, he doesn’t know you.” Spike’s voice dropped to a gruff whisper. “He doesn’t know you once stepped in front of a car to get away from this life. Hope it was once. Course it was just the once, what’d be the point in you telling me you tried to kill yourself, but then lying about how often you tried?” Spike cleared his throat and prodded the foot again. He affectionately rubbed it. “Who knew? All of them, or any of them? Bet Medusa knew. I know the type. Oh, yeah, she’d have it out of you. I’m not criticising that, can’t afford to, can I? Not while I’m avoiding Dawn, ‘cause she’d have every detail of our trip out of me in about ten minutes.” No answer to that, naturally, but Xander did shift his head slightly before getting right back to some more heavy-duty sleeping. Spike crossed to the cabinet beside the bed. On it sat the tiny stereo. “Would music work, you think?” He began flicking through the tracks. “Need something with a bit of punch to start your engine. Christ, you have some shit on here, you should be ashamed of yourself. What’s this? ‘Folder two.’ Missed that before. Maybe there’s some— Neil Young? You have Neil Young? No wonder you felt you had to hide it.” He went back to flicking, shaking his head. “Neil Young. Next it’ll be— No, not even going to joke about it.” Spike paused in his search, shuddered, and very deliberately deleted the Traveling Wilburys. “Should’ve let you die, Petal, it would have been an act of mercy.” More flicking and Spike stopped abruptly as a song title and memory collided. He went back to searching, but… “‘Every breath you take’,” he unconsciously sung under his breath. Xander stirred. Spike froze. Waiting.
Xander gave a contented sigh and slept on. Spike grumbled to himself as he tossed the
stereo back onto the cabinet and returned to prowling, suddenly breaking into
song. “‘A wandering minstrel I, Prowl.
Glances. Memories. “Tell you what else is pertinent?” Spike asked,
voice soft now. “The French song that
you called oral sex? You wanted to hear
the English version and I wouldn’t sing it for you.” Back to the foot of the bed and Spike gripped
the metal bar of the footboard. “‘Too
depressing for words’, I said at the time.
Can’t get any more miserable than I am right now, so…want to hear a
bit?” Spike drew breath to start singing
but hesitated. “You could wake up and
tell me to shut it,” he fruitlessly prompted.
“Xander. Xander.” He banged his fists
against the metal, taking the strength out of the blow at the last moment. “‘If you go away, as I know you must, Spike took another breath, deep and hoarse, all about dealing with those undealable emotions raging inside him. He gave Xander’s hand a single stoke, then sat on the edge of the bed, back turned on his… Friend? Partner? Lover? He swallowed hard. Ex? “‘I'd have been the shadow of your dog,” he murmured the remainder of the verse, “‘If I thought it might have kept me by your side.’” Spike slowly shook his head at himself. “Let you down, didn’t I? Start to finish. He – Escolet – told me I’d guided him to you, made a gift of you. Which is what you accused me of at the Stokes’, remember? I was too up myself to even consider the possibility, just wanted the job done and didn’t care at what cost. Didn’t care then. I knew how much I cared when you died, when I…I killed you. I killed you. Damn, that’s… You asked me, feels like a long time ago, if I ever got scared any more. I was scared then, that dagger in my hand, your blood on it. It wasn’t about me losing you, I don’t have any right to think that. Feel that. It was just about you being…lost.” Spike paused. Thought about Xander liking his honesty. “It was about me losing you.” Tears pricked at Spike’s eyes but that was as far as an emotional outburst went. “Keep this up and you’ll refuse to come round, eh? Wretched company, I know I am.” Xander shifted; the anticipation of his waking swiftly came and went. “Right.” Pause. “Right.” Pause. “I should have brought something to read to you, shouldn’t I? Bunny says this is good, a familiar voice being a stimulus. Course I know lots of better ways to stimulate you, but I think you’d need to be at least semi-conscious for those to have the desired effect. Talking of reading, I went through those reports you left for Willow, tidied ‘em up a bit like you asked me to. You raise more questions than you give answers to, so we’ll have to have another editing session before you hand them over. See, you shouldn’t assume anyone knows anything about anything when it comes to your work, spell it all out like the reader’s an idiot. Nine times out of ten, they probably will be.” He inched a little further onto the bed, feeling a vague sensation of heat. That was nice. Consolation. Xander’s latest shift was ignored on the off-chance it would mean moving away. “I enjoyed it, working on your reports, and not just because it made me feel closer to you. I enjoyed it and it made me want to write something of my own. Not, you’ll be relieved to hear, poetry, been there and done that. But something similar to what you’re doing, sharing experiences and, in my case, blowing my own trumpet, ‘cause…well, me, innit? Y’know, must have been about a year or so before I was turned I read A Study in Scarlet – Sherlock Holmes, even you must know him – and even if I was sniffy about it in public, being above that kind of thing, naturally,” Spike rolled his eyes at the thought of William the poet’s snobbery, “secretly I was so excited by it. I read the rest as a vampire so I was past hiding the stories as if they were porn, but… I wonder if I could write something like that. I could nick all the details from our cases so I wouldn’t have to think too hard about—” Spike stopped, frozen in place by overwhelming, choking relief as Xander’s hand floppily tapped against his back. “Jeez,” Xander croaked, “love the sound of your own voice or what?” “The doctor told me to,” Spike replied, equally as croaky though for different reasons. “Said if I kept talking it’d help you to wake up and…” “Tell you to be quiet.” Xander cleared his throat. “Yeah, I can see how that would work.” Spike risked a glance, to find Xander blearily trying to focus on his surroundings. “Can I get you something? Water?” “That mean I have to wake up? Can’t I just roll over and go back to sleep like the good old…er…recent days?” Spike stood as Xander pointlessly tried to turn onto his side, and there was a deal more blinking as he looked down his semi-sheeted body, studying the uncovered limbs that were encased in metallic braces. “Oh. My. God. I am Locutus of Borg.” “Are you raving?” “Nuh.” Spike accepted that with a single nod. “The whole of your left side got banged about. All mending well though.” As Xander prodded the bandages on his head, Spike fetched some water, helping Xander to drink before begrudgingly buzzing for the doctor. He stood back and watched in edgy silence as Bunny and one of her minions performed their checks; when it came to Xander having blood drawn, Spike couldn’t even bear to look. “Hey. Hey. They’re gone. Spike?” Spike dragged his fixed gaze away from the floor and gave Xander a strained smile. “You okay? Spike?” “Yeah, I’m okay.” “You don’t look okay.” Spike shrugged. “Have you stopped eating, you’re…” Spike shrugged again and deliberately turned the question around. “More to the point, are you all right?” “Tired,” Xander yawned, and wasn’t aware of dozing for ten minutes. Spike was still standing watching him when he opened his eye again, not having moved an inch. “Other than tired?” Spike asked. Xander attempted to stretch whatever body parts were still flexible; he rolled his head and flinched. “My head hurts.” “It will for a bit, apparently.” “But everywhere else… I’m okay.” He ran his hand over his abdomen. “Wouldn’t know I’d been…” “Don’t.” Xander peered at Spike, worried now. “Spike, I want you…” “Can we…y’know…another time?” “Y’know? Y’know is pretty sweeping.” “Talk. Another time.” “Sure,” Xander yawned, and yawned again. Xander put out his good hand and urged Spike closer. “You look exhausted, haven’t you had any sleep since this happened?” Taking the hand that gestured to him, Spike’s fingertips crept over it until they felt the pulse at the wrist. “Spike? Have you slept?” “No,” Spike muttered, “no, I haven’t.” Xander tightened his grip and pulled. “C’mon then.” “You mean…?” “I always sleep better with you.” “Xander…” “Do this for me.” “I…” “Come on.” “I shouldn’t. You’re…” “Fine. No playing softball with my head and I’m fine.” Xander tugged. “C’mon. You know how it goes: resistance is futile.” Spike allowed himself to be persuaded, giving up the pretence of reluctance and cautiously joining Xander on the bed. Far less delicately, Xander manhandled Spike to where he wanted him, not happy until the vampire’s head was on his chest, arm around his waist, and his own, un-caged arm was wrapped around the disturbingly thin shoulders. He finally relaxed with a weary sigh. “That’s better. Isn’t that better?” “It is,” Spike conceded, exhaustion rapidly catching up as he was mesmerised by the steady beat of Xander’s heart. “You’re alive.” “Sure am,” Xander agreed as he once again began to doze. “You’re alive.” “I decided. Heaven…” Yaaaaawn. “Heaven can wait.” … “Boss.” “Mmm?” “Boss.” “No.” “Boss.” Spike growled at the hissing in his ear and, with extreme care, removed himself from Xander’s embrace. Dylan stood waiting, beaming smile upon his cherubic face. Grabbing a handful of shirt, Spike dragged the young man to the door and thumped him against the frame. “What do you want?” Dylan’s arm rose to reveal a compartmented carrier containing six flasks of blood and a tube of hair gel. “No need to thank me,” Dylan joked, peering past the grouchy face for a better look at Xander. “Do I get an intro—” “No, you don’t. And winding me up isn’t funny, Git.” Dylan sniggered and looked back to Spike. “Big Daddy needs you to go talk to the Vree’vathets.” “Not a chance.” “I told him, but he’s not reasonable like you.” Spike stared at the contained amusement on Dylan’s face and dared him to smile again, but he’d trained the man too well: the mouth didn’t so much as twitch. “I’ll speak to him. Later.” “Sure thing, I’ll pass that on and bear the brunt, as usual.” Dylan gave the container to Spike, threw a glance at Xander and followed it up with a provocative wink. Fortunately, Spike had a hand spare to throw him from the room. As Spike was finishing the fourth flask, Xander stirred and managed a stunted stretch, feeling Spike’s weight on the bed and nudging him with his knee. “Where am I?” he asked with a sleepy chuckle. “I always wanted to say that.” Spike set the flask aside and turned to Xander, patting his good leg. “This is where I recovered when I had my hands chopped off.” “But… Didn’t that medical unit belong to the law firm that you guys took down?” “We managed to hang onto certain facilities when it went belly up. This was much too valuable to let go without a fight.” “You ever going to fill in the blanks of…” “No.” “’Kay.” Xander’s attention switched to his left arm. Through the spiny metal exterior he examined where the pins went into his flesh, holding the damaged joint in the correct position as it healed. “They discuss this with you before fitting it? Say what was wrong?” “I thought they’d told you. After you were operated on.” “Uh… I guess they did. Yeah. Yeah, they did.” “And what did they tell you?” “That the…um…the blah blah that connects the blah blah to the blah blah blah…” “You think they should’ve waited for you to wake up fully before…” “Oh yeah, they should have.” “Bunny’ll be in eventually to talk to you, you can…” “Bunny?” “The doctor.” “Doctor Bunny? Is Doctor Bunny an eight foot demon with pink fur?” “No, she’s an old cow with a bad attitude.” “What a waste.” “I can fetch her now if…” “No, no, it can wait.” “How’s the head?” “Achy. Hey, what if it isn’t anything to do with what happened with Dead Guy, what if it’s caffeine withdrawal?” “I seriously doubt it.” “Haven’t you learnt anything? That’s supposed to send you in the direction of the nearest coffee shop. And I think…oh, yeah…oh, yeah, no doubt about it, getting the doughnut deprivation shakes.” Spike gestured toward the drip feeding into Xander’s arm. “All the nutrition you need.” “Until there’s a way of introducing caffeine straight to the vein…” “In a bit, all right?” “Can you send the little guy?” “Little guy?” “The one who was here when I was waking up. I think his name was…git, but that’s a fairly common name for the people around you.” “Dylan.” “Can you send…” Xander was presented with a tumbler of water and a bent straw. He discontentedly sipped. Water finished, the tumbler set aside, Xander took a good look at Spike. Less exhausted, yes, and less starved, but the vampire looked…anguished, that was the best that Xander could come up with. Anguished. Xander was trying to find a way to ask what had happened in his comatose absence, worried that Spike might have lost friends and colleagues at the Dead Guy Event and wondering whether or not he’d want to share that, when Spike suddenly forced a smile and made An Effort. “I sent the presents. Wrote cards and everything.” “Thank you, I really appreciate it. I hope you made light of what happened to me. Did you tell them I was okay?” “Umm… Angel or… I think Willow might have spoken to them at the time.” “Not you?” Xander frowned. “Haven’t felt too talkative,” Spike admitted, and Xander could see that was still true, that every word was a struggle. He reached out his right hand, tapping Spike’s elbow. “Hey,” he said softly, “you’re not right, are you?” “I don’t know what you mean.” “What I mean… Since I woke up, you’re…” Xander took a deep breath and leapt in. “What happened to you after Escolet left?” Spike paused, in thought or otherwise; an audible swallow was followed by barely audible words. “You died.” “Yes. But what happened to you?” “You died.” Xander shuffled the tiny bit closer to Spike that he could manage, running his hand over a cold forearm, trying to instil a little comfort but instead finding something that made him feel quite queasy. He pulled Spike’s arm toward him and studied the slowly healing sore, very definitely in denial over its familiar shape. “What’s this?” “Nothing much.” “Spike.” “I burnt myself.” “That’s nasty. How did you do that?” “By burning myself.” “Okay. I guess that’s something else you don’t want to…” “No.” Xander took Spike’s hand and coaxed him a little nearer, finally persuading him to turn in the appropriate direction, but still unable to make Spike look at him. “Anything you do want to talk about?” It took some time, but eventually Spike braved the question that had been haunting him. “Where were you?” “When?” “When— You know when.” “When… Oh, when I died.” Spike looked away again and Xander tugged at his hand until he looked back. Anguished. “I didn’t go anywhere,” Xander explained. “Outside my body for what felt like a few seconds, then back in it. Not even time to high-five Saul.” “So…” “This isn’t like Buffy coming back. That was a monumental foul-up. Well, that’s what I’m supposed to think but she’s happy now so I feel I can be selective over whether I regret it or not. Not. But this isn’t like that. Spike. Baby,” Xander finished with a grin. Not so much as a hint of a smile from Spike. “Did you have some kind of premonition about…dying?” “I don’t have premonitions. What makes you ask?” “You seemed resigned to your fate.” “Did I? Maybe…maybe it’s because I’ve always thought that’s how I’d go, caught up in something creepy and unnatural, and that was probably the last time it’d happen.” “I promise you that will not be the last time,” Spike insisted in a suddenly passionate outburst. Xander questioningly raised his visible eyebrow. Spike thought. “That didn’t come out quite right, did it?” Xander smiled. “I get the point.” “You’ll be around for a long time yet.” “And that would be the point I got, yes.” Spike rose as Bunny and her sidekicks bustled in. “I’ll leave you to it then.” “Can I have coffee?” Xander asked the medical team. “And doughnuts? Especially doughnuts?” “Go ahead,” Bunny told him breezily. “My work is just about done, I won’t be the one watching you die from clogged arteries.” “Cool. Spike…?” “Right. Coffee. Doughnuts.” “Twinkies. Chips. Couple slices of pizza…” “Coffee and doughnuts.” “Sprinkles. And jelly. And…” “Be nice to the sawbones,” Spike interrupted. “I won’t be long.” He hesitated before leaving, and Xander privately enjoyed the fact that, from his expression, Spike obviously wanted to kiss him before going but didn’t feel able to because of the audience. At least, Xander thought it was the audience preventing him. Hoped it was that. Unless they’d arrived at over when it’s over and no-one had told him. Although…hadn’t he insisted on it before the Dead Guy Event? Because…because… There had to have been a good reason at the time and it was sure to come back to him, but here, now, and Spike. Spike kisses. Spike cuddles. Better than coffee and doughnuts, and…and… The train of thought chugged to a halt as an uneasy feeling crept over him. Uneasiness closely pursued by panic. “Can you be quiet a moment,” he snapped, ordering rather than asking the people around him, adding a belated, “Please,” to take the edge off his rudeness. He was, he could tell from their faces, indulged, and in the ensuing quiet, there it was. Nothing. Xander was so used to the zone that he’d taken the silence for granted, with Spike being so close. But Spike had gone, and he’d taken the zone with him. No Spike zone and...no voices. With growing dread, Xander desperately tried to find Saul or Jesse, but there was nothing other than an impenetrable silence. For the first time in years his mind was his own and…he hated it. Feared it. “No,” escaped him in a distraught whimper, “this can’t be happening.” The joy of his saved life was snatched away from him in an instant as he was confronted with an existence that he saw as ultimately pointless, the life he had led before the first voice sounded in his head. As tears squeezed past his tightly clenched eyelids and began to roll down his face there were concerned murmurs, questions, reassuring touches that were struck away. “Xander…” There was no possible reassurance, no consolation as the enormity of this revelation hit home, and if he’d been alone, Xander would have screamed with the horror and misery, the rage, the sheer injustice of it. Habitual self-control, no screaming, and the pain turned inward, straining his body and causing human muttering and technical beeping. “Xander, you have to tell me what’s wrong,” Bunny urged, and Xander felt his hand taken and squeezed, the weight as someone sat beside him on the bed. “Xander. Talk to me, let me help you.” Xander whooped in a breath and made himself look into the woman’s face, and he fleetingly wondered what was in his expression to cause ‘an old cow with a bad attitude’ to look so disturbed. “You should have let me die,” he forced past the emotion constricting his throat. “That’s what’s wrong. You should have let me die.” “Oh, good grief, not you too! Now, I want you to tell me, calmly, why…” The words were unwanted and ignored, grating until they faded from Xander’s hearing as he concentrated his attention beyond this mortal plain, pushing a mind that no longer seemed able to function in such an unlikely way, straining to reach his beloved guide. He snatched his hand back and folded his arm over his face, the only privacy he could find as he tried to deal with a pain far greater than a blade slicing into his gut. His mind felt dead and empty, and the loss was unbearable. Self-control wasn’t cutting it. He gave it up. He screamed.
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