Xander came to, sprawled out on the sofa in Patrick’s office, eyes slowly focusing on his friend’s anxious face.  A touch to his wrist and Xander was fully conscious.

“Alex?”

“Pat.  Hey.  I’m…  Umm…what am I?  What the hell happened?”

“You passed out.”

“I passed out?”

“In the garage.”

“Why did I pass out?  Wouldn’t be a first, but…  Why?”

“You seem fine now.  Here, let me help you sit up.  Have a cup of coffee.”

“Fucking hell, my life is so weird,” Xander muttered to himself as Patrick eased him into a sitting position and put a mug in his hand.  Sipping the strong brew perked him up; Patrick on the other hand: not so perky, pale verging on grey, dark rings under his eyes.  “Do I look in any way as bad as you?  ‘Cause I may be the one passing out, but you look like shit.”

“Well, thank you,” Patrick chuckled.  “It’s been…”

“…a long day, yeah, we all know that tune.  Seriously.  You okay?”

“There’s nothing for you to concern yourself over.”

“Sure, fine, not concerning myself, but what’s going on?”

“Nothing.”

With an exhausted smile Patrick slumped back into the sofa.  Xander put his mug down and followed suit, leaning against Patrick and accepting the arm that moved to lay loosely around his shoulders.

“Did you call Spike?” Xander asked after ten minutes of restful silence.

“I didn’t think you’d want him worried.”

“No.  No, you’re absolutely right.”

“And…”  Patrick added carelessly, “I don’t like to use the phone when he’s driving.”

“How do you know—”  The surprise seemed to wake Xander up; he jerked forward in his seat as the odour from his clothes buzzed his sinuses.  “That smell…”

“What smell?  I can’t…”

“Burning.”  Xander brought up his arm, pressing his face into his sleeve and breathing in.  “Something…  What was burning, what burned?”

“I doubt that it’s burning, it’s just some smell you picked up from the garage floor.”

Xander rose swiftly and moved across the room, spinning back to confront Patrick.

“I know burning when I smell it,” he insisted tersely.  “Specially nowadays.”

A long, long look passed between the two men.  Xander noticed then didn’t notice a distinct scar on Patrick’s chin.  It was there; it wasn’t there.  Denial became something slippery and evasive and Xander fought to prevent it wriggling from his grasp.  With equal degrees of sadness and resentment – yet without truly knowing why – Xander realised for the first time that he was afraid of his friend.

“What’s going on?” Xander returned to his earlier question.

“There’s no great conspiracy here, Alex.  You simply fainted and…”

“It’s about us.  There’s something about us, Pat, and it’s starting to get to me.  This – you – are starting to freak me out.”

Patrick sat forward, body relaxed, elbows resting on his knees, hands hanging limply together.  Outwardly the epitome of calm.

“Why?”

“Why?”

“Yes, why?”

Okay, not something that Xander had the ability to put his finger on just yet.  But the way Patrick was watching him set off one particular set of alarm bells.

“What are you thinking right now?  When you see me, you think…?”

“My feelings are…  All the things you’re used to: interest, concern, affection…”

“Y’see, that—  Something is not right.”

“My affection is not right?”

“It’s more and it feels…  The way you look at me sometimes. As if…as if…”

“As if I love you?”

“That is so wrong.”

“We all love you.”

“It’s wrong.”

“Why?” Patrick frowned.

“We just…we work together, that’s it, so…”

“Why is it wrong?  I know that you love us, so what’s the diff…”

“It’s very different.”

“No, it’s not.”

“I can love people, but people can’t love me, people don’t.”

“Willow, Buffy, Dawn?”

“Different.  In Sunnydale you didn’t so much love as cling together for salvation.”

“Spike?”

“He’s not…people.”  Patrick smiled and Xander rejected the warmth it offered.  “It’s too good to be true.  The whole package.  Too.  Good.  To be.  True.”

“The whole package.  Start at the top, shall we?”  A further tired smile and Patrick rose, crossing to his desk, clicking into his computer.  “We’ve had this conversation before.  I know what you’re worth even if you don’t.  Want me to show you an estimate for this year?  Calculate your contribution?”

“The money means nothing,” Xander told him angrily.  “And you know that’s not what I’m talking about.”

Patrick abandoned the computer and strolled to the window, leaning on the sill.

“To be honest, I don’t think either of us knows exactly what you’re talking about.”

Xander took a breath to protest but accepted he’d be arguing against the truth.  Which simply made him more irritated, heaping on the frustration.

“What do you want?” he demanded.  “Pat?”  No response and Xander moved a little closer.  “How basic?  Spike says I’m oblivious so have I been oblivious with you?  You want me or something?  ‘Cause if you wanted a fuck you should have made a move sooner.”

“That’s not what I want,” Patrick assured him, resting his head against the glass and closing his eyes.

“‘Cause…  Listen to me.  I would have.  Three, four years ago, you only had to ask because I was so grateful I’d have done anything for you.  You ever wanted some pathetic puppy performing tricks for you, I was your guy.”

Patrick cringed at the suggestion.

“You don’t think I can love you without wanting something in return?”

“No,” Xander snapped, bitter with the wrong person.  “My own fucking parents couldn’t love me, so why should you?”

That seemed to burrow into a raw spot: Patrick moved away, clearly upset, turning his back to hide the expression on his face and pretending to make more coffee.

“Go home, Alex,” he said shakily.

“Pat…”

“Go home.  Spike will wonder why you’re late and you don’t want him to worry.”

“He’s not home, he’s at Willow’s.”

“He’ll be there.  Go to him.”

“How do you know that!” Xander shouted in exasperation.  “Fucking hell, Pat, we can’t keep doing this, I can’t…  I just…  Can’t.”

“Go home.”

Xander suspected that any other time it wouldn’t have taken this amount of repetition to get rid of him: one suggestion and he’d be doing exactly as he was told.  Go home.  Phone Spike.  Jump off the roof: a week ago he’d have been flying.

“How do you know that Spike’s home?” Xander asked, forcing control upon himself.  “I don’t doubt you’re right for a moment, but how do you know?”

“Good guess.”

Patrick’s voice was weak, troubled, and Xander felt a bastard for pursuing answers so doggedly.  This was one of the best friends he’d ever have, and he knew, it seemed perfectly clear, he was going to lose him if this…something couldn’t be resolved.

Xander went to Patrick, stopping close to his back, laying what he hoped was a comforting hand on his shoulder.  Patrick came about to face him, studying Xander’s determined features.

“Trust me.  Please, Alex.  I want you to trust me.”

Xander let out a groan.

“I do trust you.  That’s what makes this so hard.”

“You’ll have your answers soon.”

Patrick reached up and stroked Xander’s cheek, smiling tenderly when Xander accepted the contact.

“Trust me back,” Xander pleaded.  “Tell me what it’s all about.”

A long hesitation before Patrick looked Xander squarely in the eyes.

“You.”

“That’s no answer.”

“It’s the one you’re getting.  Now, go home.  I really don’t have the strength for this.”

An admittedly feeble pulse of energy from the hand on his cheek, and it no longer occurred to Xander to disobey.  Wordlessly he collected his coat and briefcase and left.

…

The ward sparked and sizzled as Spike drove through.

“That’s…new,” Spike said quietly to Hamish, who was already up and weaving impatiently on the back seat.

Spike drove slowly and watchfully into the garage.  Everything looked right, but the general atmosphere seemed somehow wrong.  Hamish was whining to get out, and Spike leant back to open the door for him, expecting the usual swift exit and mad dash into the grounds.  Hamish left the car cautiously and waited a few feet from the driver’s door, staring at Spike meaningfully.  As if he were being observed, Spike made his exit a casual thing, and he strolled out onto the drive, bringing out his phone and flicking it open, automatically dialling Xander’s cell from the memory.  Voicemail.  Which hopefully indicated that Xander was on his way home.  Hopefully.  Business as usual.  Hopefully.

Spike entered through the front door rather than going with his habit of using the garage entrance.  Once again, everything looked right, but it felt different.  A pang of regret speared his chest at the thought of their refuge being corrupted once again; too early to give up without a fight though, even if he had no idea who he was taking on.

His senses were distracting him, the sharpness he thought he’d lost forever was there for a second at a time then gone again.  Hamish remained close to his leg as he walked, pressed closer still when he stopped, hackles half-risen and emitting a barely audible whine.  Spike rested his hand on the hound’s head, scratching into the fur.

“C’mon now, lad, none of that.  You’ve got a pissed-off vampire to keep you safe.  We’ll check the place out, like me and Xander used to when I was hearing things.”  Hamish looked up at the sound of Xander’s name.  “Yeah, he’ll be here soon.  Or he bloody-well better be or the pissed-off vampire…”  The pissed-off vampire took a pissed-off breath.  “Should’ve had the spell done.  Should’ve listened to Xander.  Need to be able to protect him.”  Once again Hamish reacted to the ‘Xander’ and Spike made the effort to put aside his self-disgust.  “Patrol then.”  He began switching on every available light.  “Patrol.”

Spike hated the necessity of this.  Home was about being safe and he no longer felt safe.

Everything was changing. 

…

It felt like travel sickness when it started, cold sweat prickling over Xander’s body, strong waves of nausea, but this was nothing so mundane and he knew it.  Knew that something was spasmodically breaking down or breaking apart, but had no way of knowing that it was the power that had been masking his existence, shielding his thoughts, keeping him safe and sane.

Patrick’s influence may have been faltering, but he was there, prominent in Xander’s mind, but…not Patrick.  Not his Patrick.  He was…

The image, the whole bewildering notion, was gone again.

Xander pulled over to the side of the road, sat with the car idling as he shivered his way through jagged scraps of memories, ideas, emotions that disturbed his thoughts, his vision, his ability to concentrate; jumbled and senseless things, until he came to Sammy.  That brought the deluge to a halt.  Something had happened to Sammy and…  Xander thumped the steering wheel.  Sammy.  He had to find his friend, make sure he was okay, then…  Another thump because everything kept fading to nothing, but this time Xander wasn’t prepared to export the confusion to Denial Land.

He could still smell burning.  He smelt of burning.

And he’d had enough of being scared and being manipulated and he wanted to deal.

He manoeuvred the Jag back onto the road, putting his foot down, wanting Spike and knowing he was home and waiting for him.  Knowing.

Spike first…  Spike, I want Spike.  …and then…  Oh, God, this feels bad.  He’d find Sammy.

…

Xander left the car parked askew on the drive and ran into the house; Spike had still been prowling and growling his way through the house but was on his way to the front door the moment he heard the sound of the Jag.  Xander threw himself into Spike’s arms, almost bowling the vampire over, and he hung onto him as he shook.

“We’re okay, love.”

“I don’t think we are.  Everything is…”

“Changing.”

“You feel it?”

“Feel it, see it, hear it.”

“I keep getting these…these…  Scraps of memory.  But…  Not mine.  Although they seem to be…  And…  You think…?”

“I think…  They’re real, aren’t they?”

“Oh, fuck, Spike,” Xander went back to concentrated hugging.  “I’m so glad you’re here.  Whatever’s happening, I can’t do this alone.”

“I know.  You can’t live without me.”

Xander leant back and stared at Spike curiously.

“You…?  It’s true, isn’t it?  Us being together has never made sense.  However much I love you, however much it’s reciprocated, it doesn’t make sense.”

“Us hating one another made sense.”

“Now…  I can’t live without you.”

“Or you won’t.”

As that remark brought about a prolonged, stressful silence, Spike had a chance to notice the smell that clung to Xander’s clothes and hair.  His heart lurched, fears that had plagued his journey home finally focusing.

“Was there a fire?”

“No,” Xander answered as, once again, he tried to think with a clear mind.  “There was…  I smell of it, don’t I?  I can’t remember what happened, and I’m trying, Spike, I’m trying so hard.  I want to know the truth.”

“Get cleaned up first, and we’ll go through what I remember.”

“You tried to tell me.  That our memories were being interfered with.  Why didn’t I listen?”

Spike shushed him, comforting noises followed by comforting kisses, and their hands wound together as they started up the stairs.  That hold was all that kept Xander on his feet as a bubble of thought popped to the surface of his mind.

“Xander?”

“Sammy.  Something’s happened, we have to find him.”

“You’ve no idea…?”

“It keeps coming back.  Goes and comes back.  Sammy.”

“Right.”  Spike put an arm around Xander’s waist and brought him back down the stairs.  “I know you won’t feel like it, but make yourself a sandwich while I’m getting a few bits together.”

“I really don’t…”

“Keep your strength up, love.  Do it for me.”

Spike pointed Xander in the direction of the kitchen, watching with approval as Hamish followed him.  As soon as Spike began to walk toward the garage and the weapons box, Xander called him to a halt.

“You can’t come with me.”

Spike spun back.

“What?”

“You didn’t have the spell done, you’re vulnerable.  You’re staying here.”

“There is no way on Earth that I am letting you out of here alone,” Spike insisted as he stalked back.

“You think I’d put you in danger?”

“We don’t know…”

“We can’t take chances.”

“Come off it, Xander!  If I don’t go with you, I’ll go by myself.  If the boy’s in trouble I’m not going to stand back and worry about being safe.  Or don’t you know me at all?”

“I don’t want to risk you being hurt.”

“Ah, love,” Spike sighed, wrapping his arms loosely around Xander’s waist.  “We’ll be together.  Invincible together, aren’t we?”  Xander could feel himself willingly falling for the manipulation, he just need one further push.  Spike must have read his mind.  “If he’s been hurt, and it’s humans, we call the police.  We keep out of it if it’s something they can handle.  If it’s other than human…  No problems.”

“Promise you won’t go rushing in like a mad thing?”

“Well, mad and reckless are trademark Spike but…  For you.”

Xander hugged and kissed his partner, knowing he’d been too easily convinced, an absolute pushover in fact, but this felt better, and he almost trusted Spike to keep his word.

“You eat, I’ll tool up, we’ll go and…  Behave like responsible citizens.”

They held onto one another for a long while; the ward creaked with renewed strength and the intimidating atmosphere that had troubled Spike evaporated: the ward creaked again: they ignored it.

…

They began their search at Broadman’s Creek, which they felt was the logical choice.  In fact, for the time being it was the only choice: it had never been necessary to know Samuel’s home address, subsequently neither man had a clue where he lived.

Strange how somewhere so familiar and non-threatening could have its identity completely altered by an event that was unknown, consequences that were merely feared.  Xander let them into the site and stood for a moment, staring at the vast expanse; heavy plant, towers of materials, semi-clad skeleton of the nearest hulking building, a veritable warren that effortlessly accommodated the wealth of nasties a troubled mind or two could summon.

Hamish trotted off inquisitively as Xander and Spike exchanged an anxious look.

“Do you—”  “I don’t—” they began together.

“Remember,” Xander finished alone.  “Any more than I did.  But it’s…there,” Xander waved vaguely at his head, and Spike nodded his understanding.

Spike shoved his axe through his belt, leaving his hands free.

“Hang onto that,” he advised Xander as he was about to do the same with the short sword he favoured.

“Okay.”

Xander hand tightened on the hilt; he could feel the bulge of a stake in the back pocket of his jeans; thousands of dollar’s worth of martial arts lessons, and he couldn’t recall a single defensive move he’d ever been taught.

As they cautiously entered the site cabin where Samuel was usually to be found they were dismayed to discover signs of a struggle.  Big signs, big struggle: not only had all the files and paperwork been predictably scattered, but even the furniture been thrown around, site and office equipment damaged.  Sammy’s most prized possession, the laptop from Spike, lay at the foot of a wall where it had been smashed, the monitor wrenched from the body.

“This wasn’t humans,” Xander said as he picked up a broken wooden chair; the leg had been wrenched from it and it reminded Xander of something Buffy had done many times to provide a makeshift stake.  Spike was crouched, raking his fingers through the dust on the floor.

“Put up a fight though, didn’t he?”

“What have you found?”

Spike brought up a handful of dust and let it trickle back to the floor.

“Ring any bells?”

“Uh…”  Xander concentrated.  Obscure flashes, pictures and thoughts, filled his head but nothing of use.  “No ringing.  At least not this bell.  There’s…”  Xander shook his head and they carried on looking.  “You think they took him somewhere else to finish the job?”

“Why would they?” Spike frowned, taking Xander’s hand and leading him to join Hamish in the doorway, standing back to take in the scene as a whole.

“This is my fault,” Xander whispered guiltily.

“You don’t know that.”

“I do.”  Spike looked sharply to Xander.  “No, I don’t remember, I just…know.”

Spike gave Xander’s hand a sympathetic squeeze, prepared to believe that Xander was the reason for this, but not prepared to utter a single word that might make his partner take the blame.  He refocused on the room, scanning every inch time and again, until…

“There.”

“What?”

Xander followed Spike to the furthest corner.  Spike indicated the faintest smear on the wall beneath a broken window.

“Blood.”  Spike took a deep breath, finally picking up the scent.  He crawled half out of the window in pursuit before falling back.  “See if you can find a couple of torches that are still working.”

It took a few minutes to find functioning flashlights, then they made their way outside, to beneath the window.  No trail of blood or disturbance on the hardened ground.  Spike scented, scanned around.  Hamish evidently couldn’t smell a thing.

“M’lura blood doesn’t last,” Spike explained to Xander.  “Outside the body it evaporates fairly quickly, any odour or flavour would diminish very fast.”

“So, that little bit inside…”

“Could have represented half a demon a few hours ago.”

“Oh, God,” Xander murmured.  “What else do you know about them?”

“They’re hardy little creatures, solitary dwellers, battlers: few and far between ‘cause they’ll kill their own for territory without a second thought.  Tenacious and crafty.  I don’t think we should write him off quite yet.”

Spike’s face slid from human to demon before he began scenting again, circling the area, taking in a few more feet of ground each time.

“But against vampires?”

“I d’know.  That’s one thing the Watcher’s database doesn’t carry: the odds when you pit one demon against another.”

“You were hacking in again?”

“No, this is from when you got hurt, when we found out about Sammy for the first time.  Willow checked out the species for us and—”  Spike froze momentarily.  “This way.”

Xander watched with fascination as Spike – the demon’s olfactory senses more acute than even the hound’s – pursued the scent, keeping low to the ground, gliding smoothly along in a stance that would have a human creaking with discomfort in seconds.  The vampire paused, scented, resumed his path, soon amongst the huge pallets full of materials for the building project, twisting and turning through narrow corridors that masked the last remaining natural light from the moon.  Spike froze again.  Xander fell still too, anxiously waiting.

“Has the trail gone?”

“So…d – dark,” Spike said in a stutter.

Xander hastily shoved the sword through his belt; he pulled Spike upright and close, back against Xander’s front.

“Concentrate on the beam from the flashlight.  That covers what’s ahead, and I’ve got your back, sweetheart.”

“Sorry, love.  Bloody bad timing for a panic attack.”

“No, it’s okay, don’t you blame yourself for anything.”  Spike leant into Xander’s one-armed embrace, taking comfort, steeling himself to continue.  “You’re amazing, Spike.  And this place…Jeez, it’s creepier than our attic.”  Spike chuckled at that, nodding to convey his ability to carry on.  “Let Henry go first.”

“No.  In case there’s something bad in here.”

“Oh, great, you just had to.”

Xander reluctantly let Spike move away, free hand now resting on Hamish’s neck, fingers winding into the fur for comfort.

A few minutes further into the maze the narrow passages opened up into a small room, fashioned from the surrounding stacks of boarding with a tarpaulin fastened just above head height.  In the far corner of this cheerless little spot the beams of their flashlights met and focused on a frail, unmoving body.

“Sammy…” Xander started forward, only to find himself stopped by Spike’s hand around his wrist.

“Let me look.”

“Don’t, Spike!  I have to…”  Accepting that there wasn’t time to argue, Spike released his grip and Xander sped to the young demon’s side.  In the glare of the flashlight there was no colour to Samuel’s skin, and Xander found it impossible to detect any signs of life.  “I think he’s dead,” Xander whispered shakily, stroking over the matted hair that lay on Sammy’s brow.

“They’re hard to kill, let me see him.”

Moving aside, Xander stood back helplessly as Spike assessed the M’lura, pressing his head to the still chest to employ his sharper hearing.

“Poor little tyke’s in a bad way.”

“He’s not dead?”

“Not yet.”  As he leant back up, Spike clicked his fingers at Hamish; the dog immediately came forward, letting Spike lay him beside Samuel, and accommodating as the fragile form was edged closer to the warmth.  “We have to get him—  Where can we take him?”

“Back to ours.”

“Not for care, for healing.  We can’t do that, he needs help.”

“Give him some of your blood, Spike.  It might be enough to cure him, just like it cured me.”

“And if he’s dying this minute it might turn him.”

“You can turn an M’lura?”

“I have no idea.  Too risky though; what would he want?”

“If it’s a choice between death and being a part of your family…  Spike, he worships you.”

“So do you, but you don’t want me turning you,” Spike argued, quite fairly.  “And we don’t know what he’d be like as a demon.”

“If it happened we could help him, Willow could…”

“Xander.  I don’t want to save him just to end up killing him.  That would be down to me, and I…”

A quiet groan rattled from the M’lura’s throat.  Xander fell to his knees alongside Spike and snatched up a motionless hand.

“Sammy?  It’s Xander.  We want to help you but we don’t know how.  Try to tell us.”

The hand in Xander’s flexed weakly, and the demon’s eyes twitched rather than opened.  A rough intake of breath before a single rasped word.

“Max.”

Spike made a rapid check for broken bones, finding several and wondering how the demon had managed to crawl so far whilst disabled and in what must have been terrific pain; taking incredible care, he lifted Samuel into his arms.

“C’mon then, Blue, let’s have you out of here.  It all gets too much you find a way to let me know and we’ll be still a while, yeah?”  Spike waited and after a few seconds Samuel managed to tap a fingertip against Spike’s chest.  “You do that more than once and I’ll know to stop.”  One tap for yes, and they were on their way, Hamish guiding them back through the maze of pallets, Xander lighting the way with both flashlights, Spike manoeuvring as best he could to prevent any part of the M’lura touching the walls of the tight passageways.

Once clear of the supplies they picked up speed, the site’s security lights triggering and flooding the area, allowing Xander to run on ahead and fetch the Merc.  It was quickly agreed that Spike should sit in the back and carry on supporting Samuel, while Hamish sat in the front with Xander.  The hound looked so pleased with himself, seat-belted and alertly staring out through the windshield that neither man could help a smile even in these circumstances.

All settled; Xander started the car and paused momentarily to hand his cell phone to Spike.

“Call Max, let him know what’s happened and that we’re on our way.  The number’s in the memory.”

Xander listened to Spike’s side of the conversation as he drove, able to extrapolate that they were doing the right thing and heaving a deep breath in an attempt to calm himself down a little.  The resumption of the strange flashes of memory distracted him, and then it was all he could do to keep concentrating on the road ahead.

Spike finished the call and put the phone aside.

“Sammy?  We’re on our way to Max.  He said…  You want some blood?  Think you can cope with that?”  A tiny grunt of assent and Spike was slashing open a finger and sliding it between blue-tinged lips.  It was several minutes before the suckling started, just when Spike was beginning to worry that the cut would heal itself before Samuel got the true benefits of this powerful blood in his system.  He let himself grow a little hopeful as he felt the wound speared by a sharp tusk that sprang down from behind the top row of teeth in the young demon’s mouth.  “That’s it, Sammy, take what you need, you stay with us,” Spike encouraged, glancing at Xander when he saw the head-clearing shake out of the corner of his eye.  “Xander?  You okay, love?”

“Uh…yeah.  You may need to drive if it gets any worse, but…  Should be okay, almost there.”

“Keep talking to me.”

“I can’t concentrate.”

“Sing.”

“I can’t…”

“Sing.  No, don’t switch the radio on, just sing.”

“I don’t know a song,” Xander said irritably, “one single fucking song!”

Spike thought about the CDs that Xander had been playing regularly prior the vampire’s trip to Sunnydale and picked a song Xander would know even in this distracted state.  As his foot began to tap a beat on the back on Xander’s seat his partner nodded encouragingly.

“Life is bigger…”  Spike sang, and Xander sighed in instant, happy recognition, joining in and finding that the ploy worked as he doggedly focused his attention on the road and the song words.

“It's bigger than you,
And you are not me.
The lengths that I will go to.
The distance in your eyes…”

Spike felt the tusk withdraw and he worriedly tapped Samuel’s cheek until his eyes opened to slits.

“Stay with us, Sammy.  If you’re daft enough to see me as your master, then take an order, all right?  Stay awake, stay with me.  Take some more blood, c’mon.”

“Spike?”

“I don’t think he’s strong enough even for that.”

“Fuck, we’re gonna lose him.”

“No, we’re not.”  To Xander:  “You, sing.”  To Samuel: “All you have to do is swallow.  One swallow, you can manage that, can’t you, pet?  For Spike?”  Spike dropped his fangs and slashed his wrist, awkwardly opening the M’lura’s mouth and letting the blood pour in.  “For me, for Spike.  One good swallow and we’re in business.”

“You’re risking turning him?”

“I don’t know what I’m doing.  You – sing!”

“Consider this, consider this,
The hint of the century.
Consider this slip, that brought me to my knees, failed…”

The car roughly jerked right to left to right in the road as Xander swerved to avoid something that had materialised purely in his head; Samuel choked, coughed, and the blood in his mouth spluttered out over the vampire.

“Bugger it.”

“What’s happening?”

“Can’t seem to swallow.”

“Rub his throat like I used to do with you.”

Spike tried again, smoothly stroking his fingers over Samuel’s throat.

“It’s not working.”

The car swerved again.

“I need you to drive.”

Spike glanced out of the window.

“We’re minutes away, Xander, it’d take longer to change places than to get there.”

“I know, but if we’re planning on getting there in one piece…”

“You see this guy, this guy’s in love with you,” Spike sang.  The pure love Xander associated with the song struck Xander like a fur-clad mallet and miraculously his mind cleared.

“Don’t stop.”

“You…”

“No, let me listen to you, that’s the only way.”

“Yes, I’m in love.
Who looks at you the way I do?”
When you smile, I can tell,
We know each other very well…”

Spike sang, Xander drove, Samuel…faded.  Two minutes and they were finally at The Dark Place, and Max was outside, waving them into the drive; the car lurched to a halt, Xander clambering out before it was at a full standstill, yanking the back door open and helping Spike out.

“How long since this happened?” Max asked urgently.

“I don’t know, I’m not even sure—”  Flash of memory and Xander was in the parking garage at work; flash and he was staring into Bradley’s smug face; flash and there was fire.  Fire, which brought Xander back to now with a terrified jolt.  “It must have been early this evening, soon as it was dark enough for vampires to be out.”

“That long ago?”

Xander nodded grimly and noticed the concerned look which Spike sent him as he passed by with Samuel, having guessed that something was happening inside Xander’s head but not wanting to ask for details just yet.

Max had already prepared a cot for the M’lura, and Spike carefully placed him down before quickly stepping out of Max’s way.  The older man knelt and began a speedy examination that gradually slowed, gradually stopped.  He looked at Xander, then at Spike, with sadness and sympathy.

“No,” Xander whispered tremulously.  “You can do…something?  Please, I don’t care what it costs, what it takes…”

“Son…  I’m sorry.  We don’t have the power to…”

“He was alive in the car, he was…”

Spike shoved Max aside and fell to his knees, pressing an ear against Samuel’s chest once more.  Listened, shifted uneasily, listened, shifted, listened.  The jagged breath he took as he rolled his head to rest his brow on Samuel’s breastbone was the only confirmation Xander needed, and he sank his teeth into his quivering bottom lip in a vain attempt to hold onto the little control that remained.

Sliding an arm beneath the lifeless body, Spike lifted as he straightened up, hugging Samuel against his chest, Samuel’s head dangling down until Xander stepped in and cradled the back of the matted skull, lifting the demon’s head tenderly and leaning it on Spike’s shoulder, dropping onto one knee to wrap his arms around both Spike and Samuel.

“You boys did a good thing,” Max said softly.  “There for him at the end.  You’re good boys.”

A gentle pat to each of them and they were left alone.

Xander felt the shudders as Spike gave in to his sorrow, weeping quietly into Samuel’s hair as Xander rocked them all.

“I could go that way,” Xander confessed, his voice trembling with emotion.  “In your arms, you singing.”  Xander tightened his grip and kissed Spike’s hair, face, neck, whatever he could reach.  “He must’ve felt safe right then.  With you.  Oh, fuck, Spike, he was just…  This is so wrong.  This is so wrong.”  It was unbearable; the last of Xander’s composure disintegrated and he gave up fighting the onset of agonised sobs.

…

Xander leant against the car as Spike finished speaking to Max, making whatever arrangements were appropriate for Samuel’s…remains.  He could hardly cope with thinking the word, didn’t know how he’d’ve coped if he’d had to be the one…  He glanced over at Spike and Max.  Max was holding Spike’s hand.  A handshake but not a handshake, and Xander could see that Spike’s grip was firm enough to make the skin on his knuckles shiny, so Max must’ve been feeling that, taking the pressure without so much as flinching.  Not right.  Everything was weird, nothing, no-one was what they seemed.  Except for what was undeniably real.  Spike was glossy-eyed, clenched-jawed, visibly hurting.  Xander was drained and numb inside and if Hamish’s head wasn’t beneath his palm right now he wasn’t sure he’d be able to physically feel anything at all.  The wolfhound was real and comforting and Xander slid down the car to hug him, burying his face in the rough fur and trying not to cry.  Sammy’s dead.  How can Sammy be dead?  Undeniably real.

“Come on, love, let’s go home.”

Xander slowly looked up into Spike’s face, yet another wash of tears flooding his eyes as the vampire attempted a smile for him.  Spike reached down and took his hand, drawing him upright and into a hug.

“What’s happening?” Xander asked hoarsely.

“Max will take care of him for now, something to do with an M’lura ritual, the body needs to lay undisturbed for two moons.  Two months.”

“Do they have funerals?  Ceremonies?”

Xander was shaking again, his voice was shaking again; Spike shushed and comforted.

“Max’ll let us know nearer the time,” Spike explained after a while.  “He’s phoning Patrick to let him know about the site.”

“Can we go back?  I want his laptop.”

“It can wait.”

“The account of you and—  You’re on there.”

“Sammy wouldn’t be so careless…”

“He wouldn’t have had time to close files down properly.  He was still writing about you, we don’t know…”

“Get in the car, let me sort it out.”

“I can’t…”

Spike gave Xander no choice, manoeuvring him around the Merc and opening the passenger door for him, forcing him to sit.  He noticed Xander trying not to look over his shoulder.

“The back’s pretty clean.”  There was a blanket on the rear seat to stop Hamish skidding around on the leather, and that had soaked up the small amount of blood that had got past Spike.  “I’ll throw the blanket out.”

Xander nodded and gazed dully out through the windshield, staring at Max’s shop, Samuel’s resting place.  He heard Hamish climb in behind him, felt the snout nuzzling in his hair, put a hand up and found his fingers being thoroughly licked.  Flash of memory: garage.  Flash: Bradley.  Flash.  Then his head was full of Samuel again, and his stomach was emptied as he only just made it out of the car in time to throw up in the gutter.

Spike followed Xander with his eyes but made no move, rooted to the spot by his present quandary: he couldn’t bear to throw the blanket out, couldn’t bear to keep it.  His hand lay over the largest streak of blood, Spike’s more than Samuel’s but it had been Samuel’s for…  Not long enough  He didn’t want to lose that last connection, mourning and wretched and raging inside, wanting to kill, and he would, every last one of those fucking retards who had dared to touch what was his, dared, and…it could have been Xander.  It could have been Xander.  He remembered the expression on Xander’s face before they took Samuel inside and finally found the motivation to move.  Fast.  The blanket went into the trunk and Spike was at Xander’s side, pulling him close, another hug.

“What was it, love?  What did you see?”

“This…” Xander gasped, “this is my fault.”  Xander pulled back to look into Spike’s eyes, confess to his face.  “This is my fault.  I did this.  I killed him.”

“Impossible.”

“It was Bradley.  He wanted me.  It’s my fault.”

“We didn’t hurt Sammy, Xander, we didn’t kill him.  Or do you want me to start blaming myself too?  ‘Cause I never got around to finishing them off?  Kept threatening to, didn’t I, but…”

“I don’t want this, no.”

“So you can’t blame yourself.”

“But…”

“No!”  Spike hugged Xander close again.  “Let’s not make it worse.  We cared, and we’d never’ve hurt him.  And he’s…he’s gone.”

Spike felt Xander’s lips move against his neck, and the words…  It’s my fault.  …he knew without hearing.

For a second time Spike persuaded Xander into the car, very deliberately fastening his seatbelt and giving him a looked that eloquently told him to stay.  Spike didn’t take his eyes off his partner as he walked around the car and climbed into the driver’s seat, using his cell phone to call Patrick and somehow being diverted to Rafe, who was on his way to Broadman’s Creek; he promised to secure the laptop.  That was explained to Xander, who gave the barest nod of acknowledgement.

“I feel sick.”

“Soon be home.”

“I feel so sick.”

Spike gave Xander’s hand a squeeze and started the car; one last glance at the shop, anything but the last lurch in his chest when he thought about Samuel.  Blue.  Blinking away tears, he drove.

…

Close to home but not quite close enough.

Hamish was up and growling; the first streak of lightning shot across the sky, so fine it was barely visible to the human eye, but Spike wasn’t human and saw it perfectly clearly.  This was his greatest fear, that the entity which had pursued and invaded Xander in Sunnydale should somehow follow him here.  A sideways glance showed his partner to be wide awake for once, although understandably preoccupied.  Hopefully preoccupied.  Not lost to whatever the damned thing was.

“Xander.  Xander?”

“Yeah?” came the flat, but entirely Xander, reply.

“Settle Hame down.”

With a nod Xander turned in his seat, tugging the hound close and fussing it, muttering niceties and ignoring the constant gruff whingeing.

“He’s not going to settle.  Want to let him out here?  We’re…”  A glance that discovered the horrified expression on Spike’s face caused Xander to rapidly swivel in his seat, facing front and…  “Oh, fuck,” he whispered.  “Oh, fuck.”  …as he spotted the sphere of lightning hurtling along the road toward them.

“You’ll be safe, Xander.”

“The car will stop it?  The ward?”

“I don’t know.”

“It’s…”

“You’ll be safe.”

“But not you, is that what you’re saying?  Spike!”

“I don’t know about me!  I don’t care about me!”

“Stop the car.”

Flashback to leaving Sunnydale, Xander making him pull over, walking away from him, away and into the flames.

“I’m driving through.”

“If you’re hurt the car will go out of control.”  Fuck!  Logic.  The last thing Spike was expecting.  “It’ll be okay, I promise.  I’m conscious, Spike, I’m aware, and I’m not going anywhere without you.”

Cursing to himself, Spike slammed on the brakes with seconds to spare; as the ball of lightning hurtled toward them Xander threw himself over Spike, covering him as best he could, a hand slipping behind Spike’s head to press his face into Xander’s chest.  They tensed as they felt the heat, the car shaking and screeching back along the road on un-turning wheels, swinging wildly from one side of the road to the other and back, finally coming to a juddering halt against a grassy bank.

“You okay, sweetheart?” Xander asked as they unfolded.

“Yeah.  It didn’t get in here, did it?”

They quickly checked the back seat, finding Hamish squashed self-preservingly in the foot-well and unharmed.  Xander stared around frantically, searching for the lightning, and when it became obvious that it was gone his eyes finally came to rest on Spike’s troubled face.

“I should never see you looking like that,” Xander said tightly, anger growing in his gut and rippling through his body.  “No more fear, no more worry, I…”

“Think it’s safe to go?  You reckon it’ll be after us if—”

Lightning flashed across the sky, scoring the darkness, thin fingers of brilliant blue/white stabbing into the nearby fields and sending up debris, starting small fires.

“Enough.  Enough,” Xander vowed, and before Spike could stop him he was out of the car.

“No!”  Spike leapt out in pursuit, Hamish clambering over the seats to follow.  “Xander…”

“Enough!” Xander screamed into the darkness, stumbling as a tremendous blast of charged air almost took his feet out from under him.

Another streak of lightning screamed through the night, hitting a nearby body of water if the bang and hiss was anything to go by; for an instant it was as bright as day as slivers of light criss-crossed the sky over their heads.  In mindless fury, Xander picked up a rock from the bank at the side of the road, hurling it high into the air; a needle-thin thread of light diverted to strike the rock and it exploded into fragments that rained down on the men, dog and road.  Hamish snapped and snarled at the offending specks, furiously shaking himself to stop the burning in his fur before attempting to run clear of the fallout.  Spike was retrieving bottles of water from the car to soak them all when the next hit came, the air pressure bowling him into the open trunk of the Merc, the ward preventing him from harm.  Scrambling back out he immediately looked for Xander, seeing the man surrounded by smouldering chunks of tar but untouched.  The horror in his eyes diverted Spike’s attention and with another of those debilitating lurches in his chest he spun around, staring at the cratered road.  No signs of life.

“Hame?” he said weakly.

Xander took a step in his direction and suddenly they were in the middle of a typhoon, Spike lost to his vision although he could vaguely hear the vampire calling for Hamish; even the Merc was consumed by the swirling downpour.  Trying to move was a bad mistake, and Xander found himself hurled to his knees in the mud of the gulley that ran alongside the road; another attempt and he was thrown onto his back by the sheer weight of water.

This isn’t happening.  This isn’t happening.  Trapped flat and drowning, witnessing more lightning, hearing the steam, smelling the sulphur as it pursued Spike, then there was a distant cry of rage or pain and with that motivation Xander found the strength, battling the elements and struggling to his feet, coughing up rainwater and staggering along what was left of the road in a bid to get close enough to intercept the threat, protect Spike if the vampire’s theory about Xander being safe was correct.

“Get away from me, get away from here, you fucking murdering cunt!” he screamed at the presence that hovered at the periphery of his senses.  “I don’t care what you are, you don’t get me, you don’t touch Spike!  You don’t get me!  I don’t roll over for fucking anybody!  I deny you, hear me?  I reject you, so…so…”

A last bolt of lightning struck Xander squarely in the chest and he was slammed back into the mud, feeling the electricity coursing through his body like a neural tsunami.  Knowing he must be dead this time.

As Xander lay staring at the sky the freakish storm became gentle rain that stopped as the swirling clouds parted.  Stars.  There were stars in the sky.  Stars in the sky and the fear was gone.  Too exhausted to go looking for Spike but it didn’t matter.  He could feel him.  Feel him.  Spike was a part of him, joined to him, so joined that he was another head or limb or…heart.  Hurt but whole, hurt but already mending.

“I love you,” he told Spike.  And in the answering silence he wept because Sammy was dead and Hamish probably was and through all that he could feel the love that Spike had for him.

Staring at the stars, and it seemed an immeasurable time later when Spike’s face entered his line of vision.

“My sweetheart.”

“Your crispy sweetheart,” Spike grinned, and Xander took a better look at his partner.  Burns on Spike’s right cheek, neck, shoulder and arm; others on his knee and shin.  More ruined clothes; Xander was glad it wasn’t the duster.  “Lucky really,” Spike continued cheerfully.  “No damage to my hands, would’ve hated that.”

“How am I?” Xander asked, and Spike looked him over, smiling at the crackles wherever they touched.

“Glow in the dark.”

“Am I dying, do you think?  I took that last bolt, I must be dying.”

“Not dying.”  Spike ran his fingers through Xander’s hair, letting the static bite his fingers.  “Bit charged.  Have to get you home and see if you can do the Uncle Fester bit with the lightbulb.”

Xander chuckled weakly, and found himself pulled him up and into Spike’s arms, who shivered at the tingles as Xander buried his face in his neck.  Ten minutes comfort, ten minutes building up the courage to ask.

“Henry?”

“Hamish.”

“Hamish,” Xander finally acquiesced in a scratchy voice.

Spike gave him a nudge and he looked up to see a singed, filthy, dishevelled wolfhound sitting at his feet.  Smiling at him.  Xander put an arm out and Hamish stood and limped to join them, grunting as he sat and leant and received his share of the embrace.

“He got blown into the ditch,” Spike explained with evident relief.  “But he’s okay, just bruised and battered, I think.  We’re all just bruised and battered.”

“I told it to fuck off and it fucked off.”

“I heard.”

“It fucked off, Spike.  You think…you think that it could be so simple?  It could be over?”

“No, love.  This isn’t the end.  I think we’ve finally got to the beginning.”

Repossession 114       Repossession Index       Repossession Notes

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