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Part 108

 

 

 

Spike took a last look in the mirror, heartily agreed with his own opinion of his magnificence, and checked the clock.  Just time to pump up the inflatable sheep and leave it as a gift for Jake in the spare bed, and he was off to pick up his guys for a night out.  His mind travelled back to the last evening they’d spent at a club, the enjoyment of thumping the bloke picking on Jake, and then Jake taking the blame without a word, as if he knew…  Spike snatched the thought back, smothering it with a mental rendition of Xander’s song for him that featured the novelty of all the notes being covered.

Humming, humming, humming, no thinking, nuh-uh, Spike gave Hamish a cuddly goodbye and headed for the Jag, offering the house the bowman’s salute as it creaked behind his rapidly disappearing back.

Cora greeted Spike with her usual refined effusiveness, and he greeted her with a big kiss that brought a blush to her cheeks.

“My honey in?”

“He arrived back from site five minutes ago.  I think you’ll find he has a few calls to make.”

“Broadman’s Creek?”

“Yes.”

“Nothing wrong with the foundations, I hope,” Spike smirked.

Cora simply returned his smile, and if it was at all knowingly, Spike chose not to notice.

 

Spike quietly let himself into Xander’s office, being met with an admiring smile.

“You look fantastic,” Xander mouthed.

“Will you be long?”

The question was answered by an eye-rolling gesture to the phone in Xander’s hand.  Spike waited a couple of minutes as Xander patiently nagged whoever was on the receiving end of the call, then left again.  Up the hall to Patrick’s domain and, with a cursory tap, Spike opened the door and peered around it into the room.

Patrick was sitting at his desk, head in hands, still and silent, not a breath to be seen or heard.

“Patrick?”

With a jolt the dark head rose, and the man made a frail effort to disguise the air of exhaustion, ceasing his efforts when he saw who his caller was.

“Hey, Spike, come in,” he said warmly.

Spike took his usual stroll around the office, stopping to view the ever growing array of photographs, noticing that he was there in force now, alone, with Xander, with all of them; it gave him the strangest sensation of belonging, and the craving to talk freely with this man grew and pounded in his chest.  But how did you thank someone for saving your life when they would be bound to deny all knowledge of the event?

“This is nice,” Spike said, holding up a new picture of Xander.

“Part of the set for the new promotional brochure.  I have copies of all the photographs for you, I thought you’d like them.”  Spike watched Patrick make the effort to move, and it was an effort, no doubt about that.  The man opened his desk’s bottom drawer and brought out a folder.  “There you go.”

“Cheers, I appreciate it.”  Concerned pause.  “Are you…”

“It’s been a long day, I’m looking forward to getting home,” Patrick pre-empted.

“Don’t blame you.  Back to that darlin’ woman of yours,” Spike said, knowing just how to put a smile on Patrick’s face.

“Yes.  You and Alex must come to dinner soon.  There are a few last arrangements to be made before the gallery opens.”

“We’ll do that.”

Spike crossed to the desk and picked up the folder, standing fiddling with it, feeling useless and speechless and wanting to make some kind of contact but not knowing what or how.

“You’re going out tonight?” Patrick checked.

“Yeah, just here to pick up Xander and Jake.”

“You’ll—”

Spike knew exactly what Patrick had stopped himself saying; he moved behind Patrick’s chair and laid a hand on the man’s shoulder.

“I’ll look after Jake, don’t worry.  And Xander, that’s a given.”

“Yes.  Have a good time.”

“That’s the plan.”

Spike dropped a kiss on the top of Patrick’s head before making himself complete his circuit of the room, arriving back at the door, glancing over to Patrick who appeared, once again, to be…asleep?  Still and silent.  Finally understanding why Xander sometimes woke and, in his half-conscious state, panicked because Spike wasn’t breathing, Spike shivered and left.

 

Back to Xander, who sighed and waved the phone, now in a holding pattern of, ‘Uh-huh, I see, uh-huh’ without doing much apparent listening, and Spike could imagine the load of waffle he was having to sit through.  The vampire dropped off the folder of photos, blew a kiss and ducked out of the office, this time on his way to Jake’s.  Quick rap and he entered, finding the youngest of the partners stretched out on his sofa, smoking his way through a fat spliff.

“Don’t you ever stop?” Spike automatically growled.

Jake sighed contentedly and held out the joint to Spike, who almost accepted the offer before deciding he didn’t want Xander to smell it on him.

“Glad you’re here.  Got some new clothes and can’t decide what to wear tonight.”

Jake casually rose, very deliberately placed the joint in an ashtray on the coffee table, and meandered to the wall, pressing a panel and only just catching the door as it sprang open, leaning against it and giggling helplessly at the prospect of being bashed on the nose by his own cupboard.  Spike cocked an eyebrow at this fit of mirth, and Jake waved his interest aside.  Finally reaching into the closet, he pulled out two shirts, turning and holding them up to his chest.  Spike grimaced.

“They’re bloody horrible.  Were you completely stoned?  Or d’you go shopping with a bag over your head?”

“Nice colours.  I like the colours.”

“Separately, yeah.  Not all on one bit of cloth.  Reminds me of the hideous stuff Xander used to wear.”

“I could lend him one of these for tonight,” Jake suggested evilly.

“No, you couldn’t!  I have to be seen with him.”

Jake held out the shirts and sniggered before letting them drop to the floor.

“I was.  In fact.  Completely.  Stoned.”

Back to the closet, and Jake brought out a dark green, heavy cotton shirt, trimmed with white piping; he looked hopefully at Spike and grinned when he received a resigned nod.

“Xander knows about last time,” Spike told Jake as he watched the young man trying to figure out how to remove his tie without throttling himself.  “So if I punch someone’s lights out tonight you don’t have to get noble, right?”

“Sure.  Ohhh…fuuuck…  Can you…?”  With an amused snort, Spike went to help, quickly working the mangled knot loose before undoing the buttons on Jake’s shirt.  “This is nice, I see why Xander likes it.”

Another snort and Spike was turning to pick up the fresh shirt, just undoing the collar and cuffs and expecting to slide it over Jake’s head.

“Get that off.  Arms up.”

“I need to wash.”

“No, you don’t.  You smell like…”  Spike inhaled.  “Like the bloke who’s been sitting around getting stoned all day while everyone else does the work.”

“Am I insulted?  No, I am not.  Specially when the insults come from big brother’s retro floozy.”

“Nothing of the floozy about me.  One man va—  One man man.  You’re only bitter ‘cause I never fell for your non-existent charms.”

“And are we revisiting the seventies for any good reason?”

Spike smacked an inquisitive hand away from his hair; he preened, tweaked a vertical peroxide tuft.

“Doing requests now, ain’t I?  Xander wants, Xander gets.”

“Looks pretty cool.  Can I borrow…”  Jake waggled fingers under his eyes, referring to the dark liner beneath Spike’s.

“No.  It only looks pretty cool on some of us.  You’re enough of an embarrassment from the neck down without drawing on a clown face.”

“Who are you trying to fool?  You’d do Krusty in a minute.”

“Sod off.”

“Would too.”

Spike flapped the shirt.

“C’mon, you irritating little shite, get into this.”

“Spike and Krusty sittin’ in a tree…”

Spike growled and Jake disintegrated into a new fit of giggles, finally shedding the work shirt and attempting to crawl into the green cotton variety that Spike was holding up for him, unhelpfully wriggling as Spike ‘accidentally’ prodded fingers into ticklish spots, struggling and practically falling over with laughter, until Spike suddenly grabbed him and pulled him upright and into good light, all humour gone from the vampire now.

“Spike?” Jake asked with a frown when he saw the shock on Spike’s face.

“What happened?”

“What?”  Spike tugged the shirt up and off, hands tracing vivid purple-red scars that marred the pale flesh of the human’s right side and back.  “What?”

“Who hurt you?” Spike demanded furiously.  “Who hurt you?”

“It’s…I’m not…”

I will fucking kill them.”

“I’m not…”  Jake tore himself away from Spike’s hold, snatching at his shirt and trying unsuccessfully to unfasten the buttons with hands that shook to match his voice.  “…hurt.  I’m not, it’s…it’s…”

“Tell me,” Spike instructed through clenched teeth, sounding calmer but violently raging inside at the idea of someone harming a member of his family.

“It’s, umm…  An old…”

“I saw you in our pool not a couple of months ago, you didn’t have a mark on you.”

Spike could see the difficulty Jake was having as he tried to think his way through this, and his heart lurched as the young man’s composure continued to crumble.

“It’s…  An…allergic reaction…  Comes out, just…now and then, just…”  He held out the shirt, turning desperate, watery eyes on Spike.  “Can you?”

Spike swept the shirt aside and Jake into his arms.  Family, and he was hurt.  Spike wanted to kill something very badly.

“Don’t pretend,” he whispered as he turned his mouth to Jake’s ear.  “Tell me, and I’ll deal with it.”

With a groan Jake stopped resisting the hold and collapsed against Spike, relying on the vampire’s strength to hold them both up.

“You can’t.  You can’t, Will, you know you can’t.”

“Someone hurt you.”

“But not now.”  Spike shuddered and clutched the trembling form protectively to him.  “Don’t be mad, please.”

“I’m not mad with you, I…”

“Don’t make this harder.  Please.  Please.”

Spike grudgingly nodded, agreeing without understanding, forcing the rage to disperse and pouring the energy into compassion, wishing he could jump back the few minutes to awful shirts and stoned laughter.  After a protracted time huddled together, Spike stood back, rubbing his hands over Jake’s upper arms.

“We still doing this tonight?” he asked stiltedly.  “Go out, good time, forget all this?”

“Can we?  I want to forget.”

“That’s what we’ll do then.  I’m playing at ignoring so much, what’s a bit more?”

“Thank you.”

Jake was slowly released; Spike picked up the shirt and tried to smooth out the creases they’d managed to crush into it.

“So, this…allergy.  It doesn’t hurt?”

“No.  Just looks bad.  You weren’t meant to…”  Pause.  “Spike…  You won’t tell Xander?  Alex,” Jake corrected himself self-consciously.

“About your appalling taste in clothes?” Spike deliberately misunderstood, his own voice none too steady.  “He’s probably already noticed.”

“Yeah.”  Jake gratefully allowed Spike to slip the shirt on for him, then returned to the sofa, sitting, taking up the joint, and drawing deeply.

“You all right for a minute?”  Jake nodded, a shallow, drained movement.  “Just want to see if Xander’s…”  Another nod and Spike left, coming to a halt outside the door and emotionally regrouping, ignoring the shock that was still sending flitters of anxiety through his system.  Next: heading not for Xander’s office but for Rafe’s, bursting in and, finding a solitary and rather surprised surveyor, locking the door behind him.

“Y’okay, Will?” Rafe asked as the vampire rushed to his side, pulling him unresistingly from behind the desk and stripping off his jacket, tie, and starting on his shirt, all to the joked accompaniment of “Why, this is so sudden,” and, “My wife must never know.”

Spike continued his examination in silence, finding shadowy traces across the lightly freckled skin of Rafe’s back that could or couldn’t be the beginnings of what Jake was experiencing.  Just above the waistband of Rafe’s pants and disappearing lower there was what appeared to be a genuine scar; Spike gently touched it.

“Came off a motorcycle a few years back,” Rafe explained amiably.  “Had to have a metal plate put into my hip.  There’s a pin in that thigh.”

Moving to Rafe’s arms, Spike found another reddened trace, but it might’ve been a common or garden graze.

“Do this today?”

“Maybe.  Want to tell me what’s going on here?”

Spike stood back and looked up at the bewildered face.

“I have no idea.”

“But you’re finished?”

“Yeah.”

“I’m relieved.  I wasn’t looking forward to the cavity search.”

“I’ll have you know I do a bloody good cavity search.”

After a moment’s silence they both spluttered into laughter.

 

Back outside Jake’s office and Spike paused, leant against the wall, wished he could pick apart the weirdness he was trying so hard not to analyse, even though he felt like it was not-so-slowly driving him insane.  But there’d be no more badgering of Patrick, he knew that, recalling how close to a state of collapse the man appeared.  Drained.  And Spike was pretty sure that every single one of this family contributed to the draining.  He included himself in that, concerned with how he fit in, what damage he might be doing; if he’d found a whole new way to suck the life out of someone.

Talking of which…  Voices inside.  Had to be Patrick with Jake, which was wonderful, because it saved Spike from having to find a way to deal with that chronically depressed young man, something which was quite beyond him.  This was one of those occasions when he knew he really shouldn’t, but Spike silently cracked the door open and peered in, finding Jake where he’d left him, with Patrick now kneeling before him, clutching both his hands.

“…on as usual,” Patrick was insisting.

“I can’t.  I can’t do this anymore.  And you shouldn’t…”

Jake’s voice faded as Spike recognised the familiar roll of energy from Patrick; no longer did the sensation surround Spike, it became a part of him, and he felt his own body sucking up what Jake didn’t take, experiencing a surge of power which heaved and crackled through him and made his senses sharpen, skin tingle, every hair on his body stand on end, cock hard.  Backing away and leaving the two men to their privacy, Spike hurried to Xander, knowing that his phone call was about to come to a very abrupt end.

Spike watched his companions like a hawk.  If anyone had dared to even breathe inappropriately in their direction he would have been up and cracking skulls, but it was an enjoyable and, thankfully, unremarkable evening.

Xander slowly unwound after the busy day, predictably weary but genuinely having a good time; Jake, Spike observed, was working hard at appearing to have an equally good time.  But where he once would have disappeared into the crowd to dance with any girl who asked him, he now chose to keep close, preferring to stay with his friends, putting on a performance that was good enough to prevent Xander asking difficult questions, and all the while burying his unhappiness beneath layers of booze and drugs and humour.

There’d been times, when Spike was feeling useless, vulnerable, unlovable, that he’d been afraid of Jake’s affection for Xander, terrified that he would lose his lover to this surprisingly appealing character.  The unknown quantity.  The dangerously free agent.  And if he hadn’t been supremely confident in the stability of his relationship with Xander, Spike might have felt the same way now, seeing the closeness, the little touches Jake felt necessary to give Xander, the way he looked at him.  Spike was caught in a quandary over this; it was nice and not nice that Xander was quite so important to Jake but, he admitted openly – well, to himself at least – that he liked Jake better when Xander wasn’t present.

Slow dance, and Spike wound himself around Xander almost to a point of standstill, possessive and permitted and loving it.  Xander’s grip was equally passionate, hot and tight and hands on, and Spike began to purr deliriously.

“Working up to the rest room tango?” Xander laughed against his neck, and Spike would have gone along with that grand idea if he hadn’t made that promise to Patrick.

Patrick, who phoned halfway through the evening – not Spike, but Jake – and Spike unashamedly eavesdropped, hearing Jake fending off Patrick’s concern and demanding to be left alone because the attention was making him feel weaker than he actually was.  It was more convenient for Spike to be honest about hearing the conversation, but there would be no chance to speak to Xander about it until they got home, when he fully expected Xander to deny there was any problem and…  Oh, yeah, more of the same.

More dancing, no fighting, Chinese food on the way home.  Yet more dancing, this time of the verbal variety, as Jake refused to discuss Patrick, and Xander refused to discuss either of them.  The ranks closed before Spike’s wary eyes.

 

“Am I on the outside?”

“Outside of what?”

Feeling ridiculous pursuing this as Xander concentrated on more appropriate activities now they were in the privacy of their bedroom, Spike shrugged and gave himself over to the loving attention.  For all of three minutes.

“I can’t ignore everything, this doesn’t count as…stuff.”

“What?  What counts…”

Doesn’t.”

“…count as stuff?”

“You won’t talk about Patrick, or Jake…”

“Not now, no.  Want to make the most of you before I pass out.”

“Things are wrong, Xander, and…”

“Not wrong.  Just not…right.”

“So you know?

“Hard to miss.”

“Then if…”

“Not.  Now.”

“I just…”

Xander was all over him, kissing his words away; hands that knew his every weakness exploited the fact that he was an absolute martyr to his prick.

Not too much later, and under the guise of a long, slow massage, Spike examined his semi-conscious Xander minutely, finding nothing, not the slightest hint of a new scar or mark, no pink traces that might develop into something more substantial, and after Xander was asleep, Spike moved the vampire-friendly mirror into the studio, switching on the brightest lights and studying himself as best he could.  He suspected the faintest shadow on his neck could be the start of his showing, but there was obviously no way to confirm it and, although it had alarmed him when this was about Jake, enraged him that it might happen to Xander, with himself it became about curiosity, a fragment of the whole he wasn’t allowed to think about.

There was a sliver of light under Jake’s door as Spike returned to Xander; he hesitated, went to knock, hesitated again, prowled around the house, fussed the dog, promising himself that if the light was still on when he returned, he’d check that the young man was all right.  As much as he wanted to help, he knew he didn’t have the words or the knowledge to…

Spike was suddenly reminded of living at Willow’s, when she would have something on her mind and she’d come to him, sit on the end of his bed, and they’d talk the something over until it was resolved.  Maybe only a temporary fix, and a decision Willow could easily have come to by herself, but Spike had liked the unusual feeling of being trusted and valued as a confidant.  He’d taken a little of the absent Xander’s place in Willow’s life, he guessed, and that made him feel as special as it did sad.  Spike gathered his wandering thoughts: what if Jake, like Willow, simply needed a sounding board?  Spike could be that.

The light was still on, and a faint smell of dope permeated the atmosphere.  Spike sighed, shook his head, and tapped lightly on the door.  He heard a scramble inside before the door was eventually opened; Jake still held his joint, and Spike guessed the flurry of activity was about covering his marked body in case this was Xander, rather than worrying about being caught with yet more drugs.  He looked relieved that it was Spike.

“Come in.”  Spike did, chuckling when he saw the inflatable sheep tucked into the spare side of the bed.  “My luck,” Jake grinned, “she has a headache.”

“Didn’t you explain that it wasn’t her head you were interested in?”

“You’re such a smooth talker, Spike, I so see that one working with Alex.”

Spike grinned back at that, watching Jake drop into the nest of pillows and covers he’d made on his side of the bed; Spike grabbed Bonnie the Baa’s ear and tossed her off the bed so he could make himself comfortable alongside Jake.  Once again he considered the offer of a smoke before declining.

“Better not.”

“Why?”

“Trying not to be a hypocrite.  I wouldn’t be happy if Xander was using any of this crap.”

“Gads!  I’m disapproved of,” Jake said with English accent and exaggerated gravity.  “‘O shame, where is thy blush?’”

“You’ve lived in England.”  Jake nodded.  “Can hear it.  Were you there for long?”

Jake shrugged and let his head droop back to lean against the wall.

“Tell me about your time there.”  American again.

“You’ll be off before…”

“I won’t.”

“Not sleepy then?”

“No,” Jake said flatly and unbelievably.

“You’re bloody knackered, you liar, get your head down.”

“I really…”  Jake sat up straighter, put the joint between his lips and drew hard.  Held the smoke; exhaled.  “Don’t want to sleep.”

“Dreams, is it?” Spike suggested knowingly.

“Memories.  Dreams.  Wish I could get drunk enough or stoned enough to…”  With a shudder Jake huddled into his nest.  He glanced painfully at Spike.  “Are you forgetting?  The things that hurt you most?  What those…people did to you?”

Spike wasn’t sure he was capable of coherent thought at that panic-inducing enquiry.  But he did think – made himself think – and the thoughts gradually settled into manageable sequences rather than the more usual explosion of horror.

“Not forgetting,” he admitted when he felt able to talk.  “Learning to deal with it, I s’pose, ‘cause it’s never going to go away, not entirely.  I’m learning to put it behind me.”

“You think…  You think you could cope if you had to go there again?  Had to live it again?”

“I—”  Spike inhaled sharply, fought the fear.  “I might make myself cope.  If I knew it would end sometime and I could have Xander again.  But no promise of Xander and I’d make ‘em kill me, or I’d find a way to kill myself.”

“Anything to not know.  To forget.”

At the quiet, aching words, Spike turned his head and took a long look at Jake, the young, healthy exterior, the unguarded eyes that revealed age and pain and loss.

“What do you have to forget, love?” Spike enquired with all the tenderness he could muster.  “What is it that’s hurting you so badly?”

A brief shake of the head; a longer silence.

“We might have walked the same streets,” Jake suddenly said with a smile.  “In London.  Y’know, I like that kind of permanence, the thought that, if we went back tomorrow or in twenty years or two-hundred years we could wander along the Embankment and…  Xander wants to go.  Course, you know that.  He says he wants to see where you grew up.  See the sights of London.  The architecture, he’d like that.”

“And then there’s the chance he’ll walk the same streets as us.”

“Yeah.  Us.  Paddy.  Beth.  Angel must have passed through London.”

“How do you know that?” Spike enquired, more calmly than he felt.

“The Irish isn’t always smothered, is it?  Heard it creep through, especially when he spoke to you.  Then again, he barely spoke to me.  Yet more disapproval.”  Jake laughed to himself.  “And I’m so fuckin’ harmless.”

Spike finally caught up but really didn’t want to talk about that time after Xander was attacked.  He doubted the memories of it would ever stop feeling raw.

“Think you’ll ever go back?” he reverted the subject to England.

Jake’s face scrunched in distress, still obvious although he turned away to hide it.  More that Spike didn’t understand, but he sympathised, and hated that he only seemed able to make things worse rather than better.  He was cursing his interference for the nth time and wishing he’d headed straight to bed to listen to Xander snore the night away when Jake turned back, focusing his attention very keenly on Spike; the vampire felt the scrutiny in every cell, every fibre, a sensation like…like a bird shaking its feathers at the centre of his being.  Yet no more disturbing than Patrick’s rolling energy, or Beth’s empowering touches; Spike chose not to object, or to fight it, letting his friend discover what he was searching for, whatever the consequences.  Spike witnessed Jake finding it: a spark of hope lit the despondent features as he saw through to Spike’s inner strength and understood exactly what this creature was capable of.

“You could do it.  You have your own power.”  The English accent again.

“Do what?”

“Spike…  Please…  Would you finish it for me?” Jake asked conspiratorially, voice so fiercely controlled that the tremor was almost entirely obliterated.  “If things got so bad, if no-one else could help.  Would you?”

Shock upon shock tonight, and the vampire wanted to be speechless.  He recalled asking Angel for a similar promise when Xander was damaged and dying, and the escalating anxiety when the promise wasn’t forthcoming.  So he reacted with his gut, not his mind, the demon recognising a tormented spirit who needed retreat as much as he ever had.

“If things got so bad.”

The young man gave a shuddering breath, all about relief, and he clumsily stubbed out the joint on the lid of his tobacco tin and put it aside, just as awkwardly turning to Spike and curling up to him, fists tangling in his clothes to bring him close.

“Promise.”

“It won’t come to that.”

Promise, Will.”

Spike put his arms around the trembling form and tried to hug some calm into it.

“I promise,” Spike lied with entirely plausible sincerity.

A further shuddering breath, and Jake was still, too cold for a house this warm; if it hadn’t been for absolutely everything being totally screwy Spike might have been alarmed.  But he wasn’t, or rather he wasn’t beyond the understandable alarm raised by Xander’s best friend taking comfort from a pledge of death from a vampire.

“I knew,” Jake murmured as he drifted off to sleep, the exhaustion finally being permitted to catch up with him as he lay within the secure embrace.  “I always trusted you.”

Spike wondered how long an always Jake was talking about, but Jake was already asleep, leaving Spike knowing he couldn’t move and disturb him, not when this might be the only worthwhile rest he’d have in days, weeks even.  Spike tried to decide if he’d be in trouble when Xander woke up alone and came looking for him, but what could he do?

 

As it happened, Spike was roused a few hours later by the backs of Xander’s fingers rubbing over his cheek, and before he could say a word Xander rested a fingertip on his lips to keep him quiet.  Spike noticed that Xander was clutching something to him, and when he shifted to Jake’s side of the bed Spike realised it was the ingredients to the hex they’d once employed to make his own sleep deep and peaceful.  A few minutes to set up and the spell was efficiently cast, Xander whispering sweet thoughts for Jake to dwell on as he slept; the body in Spike’s arms slumped into complete limpness and the desperately grasping fists were easily loosened and removed now.  Once Jake was tucked comfortably under the covers, Spike ensuring that Xander never spotted the marks on his friend’s body, they silently took their leave.

“That was good of you,” Xander told Spike once they were in their own bed, automatically moving together, Spike far happier to be entangled with this blessedly familiar body.

“He’s in trouble.”

Spike’s words seemed a long time gone before Xander answered sadly.

“I know.”

“Thought you’d deny it.”

“How can I?  The way he’s changed over the last year.  He’s falling to pieces and he won’t talk to me about it, he says he talks to Pat and that helps, but if it does I don’t see it.”

“He’s frightened to sleep; the hex was a bloody good idea, Xan.”

“I hope so.  Y’know…  He helped me so much before you came back into my life, and I hate that I can’t help him now.  Did he say anything to you?  Anything I need to know?”

Spike opened his mouth to speak then snapped it shut.  Jake pleading for Spike to kill him if it was deemed necessary was too freakish to bring into the open; Jake knowing – not assuming but knowing – that Spike was perfectly capable of the deed was, in itself, pretty unsettling.  He knows what I am.  The only conclusion Spike could come to.  One knows, they all know.  They know I’m a vampire.  A quiver of inexplicable excitement travelled through him, and he wanted to share the thought with Xander, but a glance at the troubled face immediately put a stop to any revelations.  It could all wait.  Spike snuggled closer and, instead of blurting out unwanted confidences, he began to purr, drawing Xander’s thoughts back to him with the comforting rumble.

“I never forget how lucky I am, I want you to know that.  I love you so much, Spike, and I’m damn lucky.”

“Hmm,” Spike agreed.

Late the next afternoon Xander lay alongside Jake and spoke the words to break the hex, watching the spell lift and his friend stir, reminded of the many times he had watched Spike emerge from this peaceful state and hoping this measure had given Jake a fraction of the relief it had offered one disturbed vampire.

“Hey, dozy,” Xander smiled as Jake spent a few minutes focusing before unfolding into a luxurious stretch, right hand landing on Xander’s head and patting affectionately.  “Coffee?” Xander asked, pointing at the mug on the cabinet.  “Or are you straight onto crack of a morning?”

“Coffee’s good,” Jake assured, his voice sleep rough.  “What’s the time?”

“Put it this way,” Spike said from the doorway, “if you move fast you might catch the last ten minutes of daylight.”

“Really?  Wow.  Don’t sleep so well at home.”

“Bonnie must’ve worn you out,” Spike grinned as he booted the sheep onto the bed.  “In fact…  You want us to leave you two alone together?  Said on the label anatomically correct but I never actually thought…”

Spike laughed as the two men grimaced, and Xander batted Bonnie away as he asked:

“Hungry?”

Jake thought and looked surprised.

“Yeah.  I actually am.  Can I grab a shower first?”

“I’ll go see what’s on the menu.  Nice rack of lamb maybe.”

Xander took one last admiring gaze at the Mackintosh bed frame and departed for the kitchen.

Left alone, there was a long moment of silence between Spike and Jake, not uncomfortable, more…expectant.

“Last night…” Spike began after a while.

“I was…  Not in a good place.”

Spike accepted that understatement with a nod.

“What I promised…”

“I’m sorry, Spike, I…”

“Is still a promise.”

Long, long pause as Jake took that in; Spike sat on the edge of the bed and waited.

“I guess this is where I’m supposed to say I wasn’t thinking straight, or forget it, or…  Anything other than a plain and simple thank you for that promise.  But…  Thank you.”

“You going to tell me why it’s necessary?”

“I—  No.”

“Okay.”  Spike considered simpler times.  “Y’know…  Xander’d really be pissed off if I tortured it out of you.”

“Yeah, he’s kinda funny that way.”

“I am capable of it,” Spike said sincerely.

“I realise that,” Jake replied with reciprocal sincerity.

“Just so you know what you’re dealing with.”

“I realise that too.”

“So…  You want to tell me what’s going on in your private hell?”

“As opposed to the collective hell?  No.”

“Xander’s worried about you.  Well, we both are.  You need help.”

Jake shook his head, but it didn’t appear to be a response to what Spike had said, more about…trying to shake something loose inside.

“It’s so close,” Jake murmured, mind elsewhere.

“Help?” Spike frowned.  “Or where we’re all headed?”

More waiting.  Then Jake gave a languid shrug.

“Both.  I’ll be fine.  We’ll be…fine.”

Spike reached out and snapped his fingers two inches from Jake’s nose; the faraway look in the grey eyes abruptly gave way to a more familiar alertness.

“You there, mate?”

“Yeah, I’m fine.  Fine.”  Jake sat up and sipped at his coffee.  “Go tell Alex not to cook for me, I’ll get out of your way.”

“Anything planned for the rest of the weekend?”

The cheerful mask slid into place.

“Nothing planned, no, but I thought I might…”

“You’re staying here.”

Jake was obviously taken aback at the offer of company, and Spike saw the pleasure of the invitation warring with the guilt of encroaching on his friends’ private time.

“But…”

“No arguments.”

“No,” Jake agreed quietly, gratefully, and Spike left him to his shower, trying to shake off the empathy, reminding himself there was no more loneliness for this vampire but not quite believing it until he was in the arms of his very own human.

 

“Jake’s staying,” he told Xander when the need for reassurance had passed.

“I’m glad.”

“Phone your folks, get them around tomorrow.”

“What’s happened?” Xander asked, trying not be anxious.

“Nothing.  Just want the poor sod to stop feeling so alone.”  Spike opened the fridge and scanned the contents.  “We’ll go to the mall, get some nice grub in…”

“Spike…”

“What is it he likes?  Sushi?  Not touching that, we’ll have to buy ready made.”

“Spike…”

“Keep it away from the big fellow obviously.”

“Spike!”

“Love?”

“What’s happened?”

“I think…  I think that bloody sheep has dumped him.”

“Spike…”

“Get on the phone now, arrange tomorrow.”

“Spike…”

“You’re going to wear that out.  Look, we’re just doing something nice for him.  Like you’re always saying, we’re lucky, and you’re right, we have each other to buck us up when we’re feeling down.  He doesn’t have an other so he gets this.”

Xander stared suspiciously at his partner’s too-perfectly innocent expression for a few minutes before reluctantly going with the flow.

“’Kay.  But if this turns out to be Josie again, or any other brand of Josie, I’ll kick both your asses.”  Xander left for the living room and Spike leant against the counter, heaving a sigh.  Then Xander was back and he sprang to attention.  “And I don’t care how benevolent you feel, if he’s serious about watching this time, the answer is no.”

Sunday.  Family all together; happy, relaxed, atmosphere that positively thrummed with contentment.  Spike watched Patrick wind up, Jake wind down.  This was perfect peace, and the connection between them all was so strong it was tangible.

It was a glorious afternoon, and they drifted outside, playing with the dog, throwing balls and sticks and, naturally, Mr Squeaky.  Spike stood inside the semi-shuttered conservatory, trapped by the light, watching and wishing and still wondering about the power of warlocks.  A warm hand slid into his and he spoke without needing to check who it belonged to.

“I owe you a sitting.”

“Yes, I believe you do.”

“Now any good for you?”

“Now would be splendid.”

 

Spike had been working on Cora’s portrait for a couple of hours when Xander walked into the studio to find artist and subject being kept company by Beth and Rafe who were sitting on the desk, observing and gossiping, and the wolfhound that had abandoned the garden party to lay at Spike’s feet, an obvious inconvenience that was accepted and worked around without comment.

“Excuse us for a moment,” Xander said to the non-Spike people, taking Spike’s face in his hands and giving him a long, tender kiss.

“What brought that on?” Spike asked with happy bemusement when it ended and Xander leant his brow against the vampire’s.

“Sunshine.”

Now Spike kissed Xander, obliterating the man’s sadness at what his partner couldn’t share.

“Go and enjoy it.”

“Yeah.”  Xander took a deep breath, followed by a good look at the portrait, face breaking into a wide smile.  “You’re so clever.”

“Go.”

“Yeah.”

One more kiss and Xander went.

Spike directed his attention back to the portrait, and as he looked up to study Cora he found her blinking furiously to clear watery eyes.

“What’s the matter, pet?”

Cora looked to Beth before answering, having received a kindly encouraging smile.

“Alex was so lonely,” she explained.  “I never imagined I’d see him happy.”

“But you do?” Spike asked, suddenly uncertain.

“Oh, I do, I absolutely do,” Cora replied smartly, with the conviction that Spike had momentarily lacked.

He drew a deep, settling breath, and carefully laid on the next few strokes of paint.

“Xander says…” Spike said with artfully coy smile, “…that he’s loved me forever.”

And there, exactly as he’d expected, the glance exchanged by Beth and Rafe, the smiles that hid a multitude of secrets that Spike yearned to gain access to.  It was Cora who responded to his admission.

“True love.  Isn’t that exactly how it should feel?”

Spike agreed with a nod, silently adding delicate highlights to portrait-Cora’s hair, inwardly clinging to the unlikely knowledge that, within some crazy set of undoubtedly implausible circumstances, Xander had indeed loved him forever.

 

Evening.

“We have to do this with the girls,” Xander said between songs.  Spike was perched on the edge of the piano stool in his capacity of page-turner.  “Get them here for a day like this.  All of us, this family, that family, and did you know that Craig plays guitar?  Which would be cool seeing as you can’t get off your lazy ass and learn even a few chords…”

“Angelus could sing us the songs of his homeland, provoking sincere and haemorrhage-inducing joy.”

“Uh, yeah, maybe no Angel-singing.  But wouldn’t they love it?  After what they live with all the time, this is just so…ordinary.”

Spike smiled sweetly at his deluded boyfriend, considering the weirdness that he remembered and the weirdness he was sure he’d forgotten, mad Xander who periodically rose to the surface and longed for his William and the sea, Patrick’s indefinable power and the invisible scar that nowadays occasionally un-invisibled on his chin, potentially suicidal Jake with his allergy and a bloodstream that undoubtedly boasted more chemicals than your average pharmaceutical company, the Fan Club and Death Wish Club, Spike’s murder and mayhem, non-flammable humans and vampires, a dog that had happily chowed down on human flesh; the massively scary whatever that was on its way.

“That’s right, lovely.  Just so…ordinary.”

 

 

Repossession 109       Repossession Index       Repossession Notes

 

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