Spike woke as Xander stirred, feeling his partner sit up on the edge of the bed, a tremble through the mattress as he stretched, tell-tale creak from his throat at the pleasurable effort.  A second stretch and Xander was already humming, and how positive a sign was that?

The part of Spike’s brain that followed Xander’s every move, followed Xander’s every move.  Rise and pad pad pad of bare feet across the carpet to the bathroom; thunderous pee, the trumpeting fart of the anally shagged human male, toilet flushing and water running, ablutions, teeth-brushing, gargle, a concatenation of events that came together to indicate one major forthcoming event: Spike’s luck was most definitely in.

“Even through the darkest phase,
Be it thick or thin…”

Xander sang.

“Always someone marches brave,
Here beneath my skin…”

And miraculously…

“Holding a bloody tune!” Spike shouted jubilantly through to Xander, laughing with the laughter that met his comment.

“Hope that doesn’t mean you can’t any more,” Xander called back, and Spike, quite appropriately, continued the song:

“Constant craving, has always been.”

“Oh, yeah, baby, picked it for you.”

Oh, yeah, baby indeed, and Spike was uncapping a non-fang-mutilated tube of lubricant from the bedside cabinet, eager and pre-empting and determined to be ready for Xander to take him.

“Maybe a great magnet pulls,
All souls towards truth.
Or maybe it is life itself,
Feeds wisdom to its youth…”

Xander was in the bedroom and crawling over his lover by the next…

“Constant craving…”

…and letting Spike prepare his already hard cock with swipes of his slicked hand.

“Ready for you, love.”

“Ready for you, sweetheart, going to fuck you sooo nicely.”

Spike tilted his hips and waggled his cock in encouragement.

“Bring.  It.  On.”

Xander dropped his head and looked along their bodies at his own erection.

“Uh…when I push into you…?”

“You’re okay.  I’ve made sure I’m very, very slippery.”

Xander’s cock bounced at that.

“How can a word do that?  One word.”

“Slippery,” Spike crooned, and Xander’s cock jumped again.  “Slippery.”

“And…umm…”

“Take it slow.  It’ll adjust itself, don’t even think about it,” Spike explained as he teased Xander’s foreskin and made his lover squirm.  “Love you this sensitive, Xan.”

“I didn’t expect—  Ah, shit!” Xander cursed as they jumped at the ring of the phone, and he peered crossly at the caller number that showed on the panel.  “Work.  What the…  Spike, what day is it?”

“Wednesday.  Thursday.  Wednesday.  One of those.”

“Work, how could I have forgotten about work?  I haven’t been there for days, and…”  He snatched up the phone.  “Yeah, hi, what’s up?  …  Sorry, I haven’t…  …  He did?  …  That’s right, a bug, we all got it, but I’m fine now.  …  Okay.  …  But why haven’t you got that paperwork?  Have you tried calling…  …  Yeah, that’s the guy, try his other number.  …  Hold on, I have it.”  Xander scrambled off of the vampire, off of the bed, apologetically gesturing to the phone as he backed out of the room on the way to the study.

Spike grinned to himself as he listened to Xander’s end of the conversation, hearing the plans for Xander to pop into work for…

“Half-an-hour, just half-an-hour, ‘cause…”

…and knowing that the travel plans were now on hold, as, more fortunately, was the ‘how the fuck…?’ that Xander had been experiencing.  Good thing too.

“Life goes on,” Spike sighed, reaching out to pat as Hamish rather than Xander leapt onto the bed to keep him company for the remainder of the morning.

Xander hurried back to dress, stopping dead when he saw himself in the mirror.

“Oh, fuck, hair!  Spike, gimme a cut, quick cut, nothing fancy, just…”

“All right, all right, hold your horses.  Wet it.”

“’Kay.”  Xander ducked in and out of the bathroom as Spike dragged himself out of bed.  “Sorry, you wanted me to keep it, didn’t you?”

“I wanted to wrap it around my prick and…”

“Seriously?”  Spike nodded.  “Wow.  Maybe I could…tie it back and tuck it inside my collar today.”

“I’ll cut it, love.  Going to wank in it whether it’s attached to your head or not.”  Xander looked slightly aroused/appalled but disappeared into the bathroom.  “How are you feeling?” Spike asked as he re-emerged, dripping.

“Great.  I’m…great,” Xander repeated with a grin.

The smile was infectious: Spike shared it, kissed it, watched it stick around as Xander chattered on about his work and Spike carefully cut the majority of his hair off in one thick bunch that could be easily tied and kept.

“Hope you don’t have a Samson complex.”

“Nope.  That’d make you Delilah and we really don’t want to go there.”  Pause.  “I noticed you still have bleach.”

“And?”

“I was hoping you’d use it.  Gimme my guy back.”

“If that’s what you want.”

“Do you?  I mean, you want the hair, that’s up to you…”

“But you’d prefer Spike.”

“I love that look on you, it’s…”

“Your guy.”

“My guy.”

Spike studied himself in the mirror, swished the long hair about.

“Only did the bloody stuff a couple of days ago.”

“It’s true then: your hair does keep growing when you die.  Even if you die repeatedly, persistently, consistently…”

Xander’s words disappeared into a shiver as Spike accidentally brushed over the bite mark.

“Xander.  Love…”  Spike hesitated, awkward on Xander's behalf.  “About last night…”

“Oh.  Yeah.  Thanks.  For picking up the pieces.”

“Did the bite cause that breakdown, or…”

“It wasn’t a breakdown, that sounds…bad, and it wasn’t, it was just…  It had to come out.  I’d been kinda numb all day and then being with you like that made me feel again, and…  It had to come out.”  Via the mirror Xander saw Spike nod his understanding and heaved a deep breath.  “You’re not going to use that as an excuse not to feed from me again.”

“No, you’re right, I’m not.”

Their eyes met in the glass.

“It was…”  Xander didn’t have the words.

“It was definitely…”  And neither did Spike.

…

When Xander got back from work at lunchtime he found Spike at the dining room table, the Chronicles open before him, notebook, pen, and a scattering of papers surrounding it.  He also found Spike to be sleek-headed and a bright, shiny blond, and it was possibly quite irrational how much that thrilled him.

“You look fabulous,” Xander complimented, and Spike nodded dismissively, more interested in having someone to gripe to.

“Can’t believe this.  All we’ve gone through, and I still need my bloody glasses!”

“Pat did say we might not experience any changes.”

“Tell that to your foreskin.”

“Although Rafe has your night vision,” Xander admitted, refusing to claim that for himself while Spike seemed irritable about sharing.

“Bully for him!  Why didn’t I get his sodding day vision?”

“There’s always corrective surgery.  Y’know, with the laser.  You’d probably be healed before you got home.”

“Yeah, healed and back to this.”

“Oh.  Course,” Xander said distractedly as he began to read the nearest pages.  “Didn’t think of that.”

“Hope Moira got the fangs after all.”  Spike snatched up his glasses and polished them ferociously, Giles on speed.  “How d’you get on?”

“Hmm?”

“Work.”

“Fine.  Everything they needed to know was right under their noses.”

“Same old same old.”

“Yup.”

“See anyone?  Anyone of ours?”

“Cora.  Obviously.”  Xander couldn’t keep the silly grin off his face.  “That was strange.  Business as usual, but…knowing.  And Rafe had been in and out.  Someone made a crack about the Viking warrior so I guess he’s still got the hair and beard.”

“No Jake?”

“Nuh.  I’m hoping that’s a good sign.”  Xander tapped on the note he was studying.  “This is fascinating.  I’m just going to make some coffee and I’ll be with you.”

“Sandwiches in the fridge,” Spike called after his retreating back.

Xander returned to kiss the vampire, then made a second exit.

“Did you really jerk off in my hair?” Xander asked as he returned with a tray of food and drinks.

“Bloody lovely it was, wish you’d been there.”

“Did you keep your hair for me?  As a memento,” Xander quickly clarified, “not as some…some…”

“Keep going, I’m fascinated to hear the name for it.”

“Drink your tea,” Xander said firmly as he turned to the papers, and Spike snorted in amusement.  “Are these from Jay?  John, the original John?”

“Notes to keep the Chronicles up to date,” Spike explained.  “Letters, too.  There were times when the family was split in two and he’d write to let me know what was happening on Sleat.”

“When you say split in two…?”

“Time that corresponds to us being split up in Sunnydale: one year, then the best part of five years.”

“Spell it out for me – the stuff that applies to us.  I’ll read it all later but for now I want us.”

Spike put on his glasses and gathered his notes.

“Pretty basic really.  Alexander and William didn’t spend much time together as kids, and as teens they hated one another.  No reason apparently, just didn’t get on.”

“How old were you when you started writing the journal?”

“Officially, it was handed to me when I was sixteen.  Unofficially, I started when I was about twelve or thirteen, but until I got to sixteen there are also entries from our mums and dads.  About us specifically…  Beth and Moira write about all the squabbling, and Patrick makes excuses.”

“How about Hugh?”

“Wasn’t much of a writer going by this, but…” Spike’s voice shook slightly, “he writes about his boys.  His…umm…love and…pride.”

“I understand that,” Xander said as he reached over to squeeze Spike’s hand.

“So, us, teens, fighting like cat and dog,” Spike pressed on.  “Up until the time that Beth, Robbie, two dozen of the clan and yours truly left to visit family in Lochalsh.”

“Beth mentioned that, her sister’s family being there.”

“And that’s the year apart.”

“Like the year when you disappeared after figuring out you’d been hexed to love Buffy.  We hated each other up until then.”

“Right.  When we got back to Sleat things had changed.  Essentially, you and I had started to act our ages, and we weren’t so inclined to fight any more.”

“Were we inclined to do other stuff yet?”

“I was, you were playing hard to get.  Sound familiar?”  Xander smiled ruefully and nodded.  “But we got to be good friends, and we were in love, if not lovers.”

“The first time was the night before you left for the five years, wasn’t it?”

“Exactly as we discovered when we made ourselves remember.”

“But that didn’t happen to this us.  We should have made love before I left Sunnydale.”

“Do you remember that night I came in and we played it out?  The what should have been?”

“Yes.  Yes!  And it – it became…real, didn’t it?  I know I had to work really hard at remembering things didn’t happen that way.”

“We felt better for putting it right, even if it was only a fantasy, and however out of synch it was.”

“That’s true.”

“So we had that night, and next day my side of the clan packed up and headed for Glencoe and beyond.”

“Why did you leave?”

“There were rumours about how the king was going to deal with the Lords, but he’d already started on other clans we were allied with.  Patrick wasn’t in a position to leave Sleat for any length of time, but we were, and it was our duty to help out.”

At a flicker of recognition, Xander closed his eyes and concentrated.

“I remember.  I remember people visiting and the agreement being made.  I remember…the day you left, seeing you swinging up onto your horse.  Hamish running alongside.  You were barely an hour out of my bed and…  You looked at me – more than looked, you stared, hard…”

“Trying to hold onto the image of you in case I never saw you again.”

“I loved you so much, why didn’t I tell you?  How stupid was I?”

“I knew.  Xander, I knew.”  Xander turned his head away, struck dumb with emotion.  “That was the start of the five years,” Spike continued, giving Xander time to regroup.  “There are letters from you in here, love, letters never sent but kept for me, and you talk about watching the sea for me, how scared you are that the boat bringing us back will go down like Hugh’s did.  We weren’t meant to be gone so long, and you were in mourning for a lot of that time, thinking you’d lost us.  Me.”

“I…Alexander never stopped missing William.  The way I never stopped missing you.”

“Hardly surprising, you wanting William so much.  My William.  After those years apart, the Alexander in you must have been desperate to have him, and whenever the demon was out of the way…”

“I’m still ashamed about that.”

“No reason to be.”  Xander shrugged.  “Trust me, Xander.”

“I do.  You forgave me.”  Xander’s voice dropped away.  “At least one of us did.”

“It was a necessity.  Everything was screwed up, we were, and the originals were, and…  If Alexander hadn’t found a way to bond with a non-demon William, it’s possible we could still be stuck in that loop.”

“But…”

“No, there’s no ‘but’ here.  You can’t force your sensibilities into a situation that had no place for them.”

However good Spike’s reasoning was, he knew from past experience there was no consoling Xander on this; he went back to their history.

“When we finally returned to Sleat, you and I got together immediately and we were really happy, right up until we died.”

“We didn’t have that long.”

“We were happy,” Spike stressed.  “You saw we were, that little glimpse of us before the battle where we died.”

“Would that – dying – have been reflected…  Those guys attacking me, that was it?”

“Like Jake said, you should have died then.”

Spike half expected a plunge into deeper gloom, but Xander gave a sharp laugh.

“You saved my life.  You fucked over a god.  Taranis must hate you so damn much and he can’t get rid of you.”

“Works both ways.  I’ve been thinking it over and I’m sure there are times when you calling me William appeased Taranis and saved my life.  Like when I pulled you out of that fire on the way back from Sunnydale.  I wondered why you called me William then, and it was as if you knew, on some fundamental level, it was the way to keep me safe.”

“I don’t remember that yet, I can’t…”  Xander tried to focus on that time.  “No, I can’t remember any of it.”

“No rush.”  Spike put his notes aside and pulled the book toward him, looking for a certain passage.  “Here, rough translation, but listen to this.  ‘If there is strangeness to be found, Xander will be at the centre.  Hector...’ - that was a friend of ours – ‘Hector has sworn that there are spirits from the sea that rise to Xander’s presence’.”

Spike snickered as Xander groaned.

“Is there anything in there about me that’s a little less demon-magnetty?”

“Yeah, I’ve marked some passages.”  Spike flicked through to where makeshift bookmarks stuck out from between the pages.  His expression became quite serious.  “This is—  Well, I’ll let you see if you make the connection.  ‘Bethia accuses me of being an incorrigible flirt.  Do I accept the accusation?  I do today, when the repercussions have been brought home to me in the most humbling way.  Xander will not say he covets me, and yet he covets me.  Xander will not act upon his feelings.  Or would not.

“I confess that I have been associating with Gavane, teasing Xander with it, knowing his jealousy can result in terrible rages but wanting to secure his attention and drive him to action.  These pages know of my desire for him – these pages, our family, the entire clan knows – but Xander refuses to know.

“I cultivated Gavane’s admiration, and I used his body to lessen my frustration over my cherished but stubborn cousin.  Xander discovered us today, after a mild act, and reacted as passionately as I hoped he would.

“But he did not cast Gavane aside and have me, as I’d plotted, but he drew his dirk and stabbed Gavane through the heart and chest and groin, repeatedly, until he was exhausted with it.’”

Spike looked at Xander, who’d listened avidly, growing quite pale at the stirring memories.

“I know what you think.  Did you draw him at the time?  Gavane?”  A brief hesitation before Spike nodded, and Xander shuffled his chair closer, staring at William’s sketch, seeing the face of a man who looked too much like Angel for comfort.  “You think…?”

“Not Angel – Liam – no.  But it explains the mindless jealousy you felt.  Or some of it, at least.”

“When I thought I’d killed Angel, I kept seeing blood.  It was this guy, wasn’t it?”

“I’m pretty sure it was.”

Xander swallowed noisily.

“I feel sick.”

“It wasn’t Angel.”

“‘…he drew his dirk and stabbed Gavane through the heart and chest and groin, repeatedly, until he was exhausted with it,’” Xander read aloud.  “I think nausea is the way to go.”

“It wasn’t Angel and it wasn’t this you.”

“Fuck.”

“Xander…”

“What else?  What else is in there?”

Spike found another page, glancing at Xander’s pallid skin and glassy eyes before reading:

“‘It is a year to the day since we left Dunscaith, and I wonder if Xander has forgotten me.  I cannot touch another, and my loneliness is a harsh and callous bedfellow.  If we are ever fortunate…’”

Xander's fingers on Spike’s lips brought the reading to an abrupt halt.

“No.  No more unhappiness,” Xander insisted.

Spike shook the fingers away.

“I go on to say some lovely things about you, things you’d like to hear.”

“Another time.  Can we not rake up any more memories right now?”

Discarding his glasses and pushing his chair back from the table, Spike coaxed Xander into his lap, piling on the affection until the tense body began to loosen.

“Bad bit of misjudgement, me telling you about that bloke.  Sorry.”

“I understand why you did.  One answer I could have done without, but…I’ll be okay.”

“Still queasy?”

“Some.”

Spike hugged.

“Sorry, love.”

“I’ll make some more coffee, and…”

“Let me.”

“I can…”

“I fixed up a little something for you in the living room.  Go and look.”

“What is it?”

“Go and look.”

“Will I like it?”

“Go and look.”

“You want me to go and look?”

“That’s the gist of it.”

Xander kissed Spike and stood, pausing to touch a reverent fingertip to the brilliant white hair.

“You look fabulous.”

…

Xander was nowhere to be seen when Spike arrived with fresh coffee and the pastries he’d had delivered with an order of groceries earlier that morning.  Setting the tray down on the nearest table, he crossed to read the card that Xander had placed in their grandmother’s shrine: in Xander’s best attempt at tidy handwriting was the name he had chosen.  GRACE.  Beneath it was a string of tiny hearts and kisses.

“Bloody hell, I love that man,” barely escaped from a throat choked by emotion, and he turned the ring on his finger around and around and around.

…

“Partly from the poem,” Xander explained as he re-entered the room and saw what Spike was reading.  “‘The ends of Being and ideal Grace,’” he quoted.  “Once I had that stuck in my head, I looked it up, and one of the meanings was divine love and I wasn’t going to find anything more appropriate than that.  So…Grace.  If that’s not too corny, or…or misunderstood or…”

“I think it’s perfect.”

An apprehensive rather than reassured expression met that, but Spike guessed that his partner had something else on his mind.  Xander had gone to fetch his briefcase from the car; he popped the locks and took out some papers.

“It made me think, and…”  He looked at Spike thoughtfully, finally, finally making the decision he’d been dithering over all morning.  “There’s something I want to tell you.  Ask you about.  Tell you.”  Xander stopped and rolled his eyes at his last minute waver.  “Tell you.  I’ve made up my mind, and I hope you’ll support me.  Nothing bad,” he quickly added as he saw Spike’s face turn grim, “you don’t have to look so worried.

“How should I be looking then?”

“Okay…”

“Xander, tell me!”

“Right.  Right.”  He flicked a look at the papers in his hand and back to Spike.  “I’ve found out how to go about it, and I…um…I’ve decided to change my name.  I want to use my real name.”

Xander waited, breath held; Spike mulled over Xander’s intentions, crossing to the sofa and sitting, sipping his tea.  Slowly.  When the pause was sufficiently milked, Spike nodded, and Xander phewed.

“I agree.  You’re not a Harris, you don’t want to be reminded of those pieces of shit.”

“Well…  I still feel I owe those pieces of shit something, so I thought I’d keep the Harris.  Alexander Harris MacDonald.”

“Funny how LaVelle sort of slipped away,” Spike grinned.

“Yeah,” Xander grinned back.  “Complete oversight.”

“Why did you think I’d mind?”

Xander dropped the papers back into his case and hurried to sit beside Spike.

“Because I gave you that name, and you’ve used it.”

Spike snorted a laugh and Xander’s brows lifted in curiosity.

“I’ve been thinking about using my own name ever since I laid eyes on that pen, on the initials.  William’s name.  But I didn’t want to offend you, or make you feel I was rejecting you in some way.”

“No, I think it’s a terrific idea.  And we can’t all be MacDonalds, that’d look plain nasty.”

“Nasty?”

“You and me.  Incestuous.”

“I think you’ll find we were, love.”

“Yeah, but not here and now, none of us are, not in a DNA sense, or…  I fall for it every time, don’t I?”

“Beautifully.”

Xander took the mug from Spike’s hand and set it on the table, keeping a grasp on the tea-warmed fingers and trying to force a seriously now vibe into the hold.

“Is it really okay?”

“Yes, love.  Then again, I wouldn’t care if you decided to call yourself…Pleblifonk the Munificent as long as you kept shagging me.”

“I’m being…  Pleblifonk?  You really want to shout ‘Give it to me, Pleblifonk’ when I’m doing you?”

Spike chuckled and kissed Xander, managing to wind their bodies together and along the length of the sofa.

“Xaaaaander,” he sang, and was nuzzled in a reciprocal show of affection.  “My lovely.”

“That’s William, do you realise?  William mark one.  You call me love, he called me lovely.”

“You mind?”

“No.  Don’t stop.  Although…  It does make me want to call you Will, but if you…”  Spike was unwound and on his feet in a split second, tugging Xander up with him.  “Bed?” Xander asked hopefully.

“Out.”

“Me?”

“Us.”

“Us.  Good.  Where?”

“The mall.”

“The gallery?”

“The gallery and…”  Spike’s finger rubbed over Xander’s healed earlobe.  “…the jewellers.”

Xander’s fingers came up to pinch Spike’s nipples.

“Jewellers.”

Spike hissed in a breath.

“No.  That’s for playing, just the two of us.”

“Uh-huh.”  Gentle now, Xander began to tease the responsive flesh into sharp peaks.  “Could you pierce my ear with a fang?”

“Probably.”

“We’ll do that.  If you don’t mind a little blood?” Xander checked with faux innocence, and Spike unconsciously licked his lips.  “So, baby…  You really want to go out?”

“Umm…do I?  Bugger, pack it in!  Yes, I do.”

Spike seized Xander’s naughtily persistent hands and kept a firm hold as they manoeuvred themselves into the hall, accidentally kissing and rubbing their bodies all the way.  Hamish was sitting waiting by the garage access.  The men looked at one another and shrugged, already half-way to accepting that the hound could read their minds.

…

At the mall they stopped outside the gallery and stared up at the tarpaulin that covered the shop name.

“Beth’s choice,” Spike mused, “and I bet I know where she went with it.  Give us a lift.”

Xander bobbed down and Spike climbed onto his shoulders, trying not to get side-tracked as his groin pressed against the back of Xander’s head, because the memory of flogging his cock to bursting with Xander’s hair was rather distracting.  Xander stood easily, strong frame bearing the extra weight without strain or discomfort.

“Okay?”

Xander suppressed a grin as he rubbed his head against the vampire’s crotch.

“Stop that, git.”

“Was just getting comfortable.”

“I’d’ve believed it once: so bloody sweet, innocent.”

“Get this done and you can take me home and corrupt me.”

“Yeah?”

“You choose the part and I’ll play it.”

“I’ll…uh…think…”

Xander turned to Hamish.

“Warn me if he starts to drool.”

“Oi!”

“Are you done thinking?  ‘Cause…?”

Spike fought his way past the erotic scenarios that had managed to preoccupy his entire brain in seconds – the virgin Xander having his arse ravished by an enigmatic and handsome vampire with cheekbones to die for – and he turned his attention to the gallery, reaching out and tearing down the tarpaulin, letting it fall to the floor as Xander crouched to put him back on his feet.

“’Kay, what have we got?”  Xander stood back to look, sliding an arm around Spike’s waist.  “The Erskine Gallery,” Xander mispronounced as he read from the glossy black and gold-leafed sign.

“Skin.  Pronounced skin.  Er-skin.”

“The Erskine Gallery,” Xander repeated correctly with a smile.  “I like that, sounds…classy.  What does Erskine mean?”  Spike returned the smile shyly, and it all clunked into place.  “That’s you!  My God, that’s you!  William.  You.”

“Me.”

“William Erskine.”  With appropriate awe Xander said his lover’s true name for the first time.  “William Erskine.  William.  Erskine.  It’s…  Is it Scottish?  Or do I just have Scottish on the brain?”

“Scottish ancestry,” Spike confirmed, still a little subdued at parting with one of his unlife’s great secrets.

Now Xander thought of the initials on the pen: WJE.

“And the J?”

“James.  Unfortunately named for the Scottish kings.”

“The ones…”

“That wiped out the Lords of the Isles.  Going to keep that connection quiet.”

“Like they don’t know.”

They stared at one another for a full minute before Spike rushed to unlock the gallery’s door and they bundled themselves into the private space, hugging and rocking, not requiring the bond to know and share their feelings over this: the coming together of the people they honestly were, the men they needed to be.

Eventually they shared a single tender kiss.

“William James Erskine.”  Xander smiled.  “Hi.”

“Alexander Harris MacDonald.  Hi yourself.”

“You hate me knowing?”

“No.  Perhaps…  No.  Be ridiculous, wouldn’t it?”

“I love knowing, gives me the warm and fuzzies.  That any help?”

“No secrets.”

“Except for…”

“Me draining the populace, right.”

“And…when’s your birthday?”

“Sod off.”

“William Erskine, watch your manners!”

Spike dropped his mouth to Xander’s neck, sucking hard enough to raise a hickey and leave Xander trembling in hope of more.

“Do it.”

“Nah.  That’d be bad manners.”

The vampire ducked Xander’s swat and switched on the lights before entering the inner gallery and going directly to the book; flicking the clasps open, he took a moment to enjoy his rising expectancy before opening the cover.  Xander heard Spike’s disappointed sigh and joined him.

“What’s wrong?”

“It’s blank.  It’s really blank.”

“It’s probably…”

“For the future,” they said together.

“Will you do that?” Xander asked.  “Keep up the Chronicles?”

“I should, shouldn’t I?”

“You’d probably enjoy it, and it would be somewhere for all the pictures you keep drawing, the family portraits.”

As Spike thoughtfully closed the book, strains of The Clash emerged from his duster pocket and he dipped in for his cell.

“There we go: every hour on the hour.  Bloody nuisance.”

“You could try speaking to him.”  With a growl Spike stared menacingly at the phone.  “You back to taking it out on inanimate objects?”

“I’m answering the sodding thing.  In my own time.”

“Hey, I forgot to tell you: Buffy called this morning.”

“You’re not singing soprano so she obviously hasn’t found a way to rip a man’s balls off down a phone line.  Yet.”

“No, she was…  Willow did a great job of explaining what’s been happening, better than I could have done, and…she was happy for us.  Sad happy, y’know?  The sad happy that comes with changes that you can’t stop and maybe you don’t want to stop but they still make you—  Answer the damn phone before we develop an overpowering need to rock the Kasbah!”

Spike grinned and pressed a button, bringing the cell to his ear.

“Angelus!  Or can I call you interruptus?  …  Yes, right at it, still there, balls deep and…”

“Spike!”

Spike blew Xander a kiss and laughed at whatever Angel’s reaction had been.

“Course not, what is it, you old fool?”

Listening and uh-huhing, Spike wandered off to recline on the Chesterfield so he could give Angel a difficult time in comfort.

Xander went through into the studio, finding a collection of new pictures on the wall.  Or rather newly placed pictures because, as he examined them, he realised from the distinct style that these had been drawn by various Williams throughout the years.  He’d evidently connected with various members of the family along the way: he’d met Patrick, Beth and Rafe at one time or another, and in those other lives they’d managed to get close enough to him to be sketched.  He found himself, two different eras alongside the first life they’d shared.

“Spike, come in here,” he called.

“Soon as I shut Grandpa up,” came the call back, and while he waited for Spike, Xander let himself be distracted by the unfamiliar wooden chest tucked in the corner that Hamish was investigating.

“Out of the way, boy,” Xander directed and the hound stood back, wagging and grinning.  “You know this?”  Xander knelt and laid a hand on the beautifully seasoned wood, trying to open his mind to see if and where the chest’s emanations led him.

“No, love, you pet the dog, not the furniture,” Spike said lightly as he strolled up behind him.

“This was ours.  Mine to start with but when we got together everything became ours.”

“What is it?”

“Weapons chest.”

“You could have found that out by opening the lid.”

“I wanted to see if I could remember.”

“Can you feel anything, then?  By tou—  Bloody hell!”  Spike had seen the pictures.  “Are these why you called me in?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Oh, darlin’, look at you.”  Xander smiled at the softly murmured words and guessed Spike had found the most ancient drawing of Xander: long hair, beard, great kilt, sword at his side and hound at his feet.  The original existence.

Xander felt a shock when he opened the chest and the first thing he saw was Alexander’s claymore.  Memories flooded in, from his father handing him the newly crafted sword, through skirmishes and bloody confrontations, to the final battle.  Xander dropped the wooden lid, and the bang brought Spike back to him.

“What?”

“That’s for home,” Xander told him shakily.

“Can I have a quick…?”  Xander nodded at Spike’s gesture, crossing to look again at another selection of pictures and documents that had been left on the desk while Spike took a peek inside the chest.  A second bang of wood on wood quickly followed.  “That’d be for home,” agreed the vampire, voice as wobbly as Xander’s.

“There’s a note for you here.”

“Now or then?”

“Now.  From Beth.”

Spike came and pressed himself against Xander’s back, arms around his waist and chin on his shoulder as he scowled at the note Xander held.

“Need my glasses and can’t be arsed,” he whinged.

“’Kay.  ‘Dearest Spike, at last I can remind you that the gallery is something I promised you a long time ago, and not the outlandish idea you’ve imagined it to be since its inception.’  She promised you this?  Spike, you have to try and remember that.”

“Keep going.”

“‘The urge to tell you the truth, about this place, about everything, has been unbearable so please forgive me for the constant stream of nostalgia you’ll have to tolerate whenever we’re together in future.  I hope you and Xander enjoy the mementoes, but don’t be afraid to put them aside for a time if the experiences they resurrect are too difficult to cope with.  One day they will be about truth and not pain – a reflection of your heritage.’”

“She’s right.  Where’s the rush?”

“That’d be me, I want to know it all, even the stuff I don’t want to know.”

“No rush.”

“Finishes…  ‘I love you both, and no words can express my pride in you or my delight at your joint presence in my life.  I love you, my precious son, my Will.  Bethia.’”

Xander let the paper drift back to the desk, leaning back and running his hands over Spike’s arms, resting their heads together.

“No sniffling.”

“I’m not, I’m not.”

“You are.”

“I am, yes.”

Spike turned his head to give Xander a quick kiss, then he chuckled.  Xander made a questioning noise and Spike kissed him again.

“I remember…  Being at a function before I was turned and being introduced to a very elegant red-headed lady who I had a long conversation with, the crux of which…”  Spike laughed and shook his head.  “A mutual acquaintance had recently opened a gallery, and I confessed how much I would enjoy being part of such a venture.  Still sniffling?”

“Can’t help it.”

“Can we see the pictures?” Spike vainly attempted to distract Xander.

With a nod, Xander leant them both forward and picked up some of the sketches from the desk, going through them slowly with varying degrees of happiness and sorrow.

“We have to take these home, find somewhere to display them.”

“Not yet, eh?  Maybe when it’s all a little less raw.  See, this one…  I remember drawing this one; it was only days before we died.”

“’Kay.”

“Incredible, isn’t it?  The way they managed to save these for us.  All these lives, Xander.  Not sure I could watch you die again and again.  No wonder Jake was so desperate.”

“John,” Xander whispered to himself, eyes filling with tears for a countless time.

“All right, love?”

“I have a brother.”

“Yes, you do,” Spike agreed, turning Xander and pulling him into a hug.

“So do you.”  The hug tightened.  “It’s real, Spike.  It’s all real.  We’re together, and we’re safe.  We’ve got always.  It’s real.”

“And you’ve loved me forever, don’t leave that out,” Spike teased.  Xander hid his face in Spike’s neck and tried a few heaving breaths to calm himself down, but a tender whisper was his undoing: “Let it go.  I’ve got you.  Nice bawl will do you the world of good.”

Xander bawled.

…

When they left the gallery, weapons chest slung between them, Spike paused in the doorway and nodded back inside.

“Desk looks good.”

“Thanks, I’m pleased with it.”

“Next time we’re here I’m going to fuck you on it, all right?”

“Uh…yeah.  Yeah.”

“Thought it was a courtesy to let you know,” Spike grinned, appreciating the wafts of pure pheromony lust that Xander was exuding.  “That’ll surprise Beth if she’s there doing the books.”

Bucket of cold water effect.  Xander shuddered.

“Bad enough when she was my friend, now she’s my mother-in-law…”

Spike giggled all the way back to the car.

…

“Was Angel macpissed?”

“You’re going to be disappointed, but no.”

“Damn.  What was the point of any of it if Angel’s okay with it?  I refuse to believe he wasn’t even slightly macpissed about you claiming Pat and the family.”

“He’s remembered everything he’d forgotten, and it must’ve come back right when we were in the middle of that ceremony.  Meeting Patrick on the street when I was turned, the way he and Beth tried to keep an eye on them after the event - that’s something he was pissed off about at the time, he didn’t like being pursued by these should-be humans who made his skin crawl.”

“They knew Angel.  Angelus.  Wow.  I have to ask them how they felt when they met Angel this time around.”

“He didn’t recognise them, but they must’ve been ready for him ‘cause they numbed him down straight off, didn’t they?  Once he’d had some of my bagged blood and Patrick was in him it would’ve been simpler still, the keeping tabs on him, making him forget, whatever Patrick wanted.”

“Angel knows about the blood?”

“Not yet,” Spike smirked.

“We’re not going to tell Angel about him drinking Patrick’s blood.”

“Are you asking me or telling me?”

“I’m asking you.  Nicely.”

“Bastard.  I’m a sodding pushover if you ask me nicely.”

“Probably because you know I always make it worth your while.”

The car paused at a junction and Xander looked a question at Spike.

“The long way.”

“What else did he remember?” Xander asked after he’d made the turn.

“You using the power to scare him off when he was staying with us.”

“Which time?”

“Alexander.”  Xander shook his head.  “No, I didn’t remember either, but he thinks I might not have seen.”

“And did I scare him off?”

“Made him think twice about being so heavy-handed in future.”

“Ha!”

“Want me to drive so you can bounce without kangarooing the car?”

“Done bouncing,” Xander promised, although he continued to bounce until he received a very stern look from the vampire and a grumble from the vicinity of the back seat.

“He talked to Patrick when he couldn’t get us.”

The car swerved.

“Did it turn into a pissing contest?”

“I don’t think it did.  Patrick obviously schmoozed, and Angel wanted to be schmoozed.”

“Inserting a ‘huh?’ here.”

“After a couple of hours of what was obviously nothing more than gossip, whatever slant the old boy wants to put on it, Patrick offered to get Angel’s old place rebuilt as the family’s tribute to the Order.”

“Well schmoozed, that man!”

“Think that’ll help him?  Help Angel?”

Xander quickly adjusted to the subdued mood of Spike’s question.

“Get over what he lost?”  Spike nodded.  “Maybe.  Providing it can be rebuilt as something more upbeat than a mausoleum.”

“We’ll help.  Can we help?”

“We can if he’ll let us.  Buffy will, I know.  Did he go into any details, architect for instance?”

“No.  I think, for all his front, he’s a bit overwhelmed that it’s going to be done at last.”

“I’ll explain the background to Moira and let her talk to him.  She’ll give him all the architectural old-world charm he wants.  Make it something really special.”

They fell into their own thoughts and remained there for the best part of the drive home, Spike embarrassed to be concerned over his grand-sire’s state of mind and analysing their short phone call, line by line, while Xander finally started to put into perspective notions that should have been raked over years before, piling them alongside the here and now and…

“Want to know what the sloooow guy has figured out?”

“Don’t put yourself down.”

“I’m not, really.”

“Well, don’t.”

“I’m not.”

“We could do this all day or you could tell me what you want to tell me.”

Xander hoped he could put this into the right words.

“I was scared, really scared over the ‘burn’, was ready to go straight to denial with it, pretend it wasn’t happening to me.  Not telling you anything you didn’t already know.  But…  I’ve been thinking about Willow and Buffy, and the way they’ve coped, and after all these years I can finally see that they’re not elevated beings that need me to be in awe of them, they’re…humans, plus.  Like I seem to be human, plus.  That make sense?, ‘cause I don’t have a better way to put it.”

“Human plus is good.”

“I’ve wanted to be me, stay the person I always was, and I thought that if anything special happened to me, I couldn’t keep that, but I experienced it yesterday, and thank you for allowing us to pretty much ignore it, that was so much better than talking it over.”

“I know you, Xander.”

“Yeah,” Xander smiled, “you do know me, and that’s something else I thought I was putting at risk if I changed: the ‘us’ dynamic.”

“You experienced it yesterday and…?” Spike prompted.

“And…  It was me.  I didn’t become something other, I was still me.  A person doesn’t become a freak by learning a new skill, or developing an ability.  Or being gifted with a power, whether it’s being the slayer, or having control of enough power to stand up to a god, or…  I understand my friends a lot better today, and I get what Willow’s tried to tell me in the past: they’re not better than me, they’re different.  And if I learn how to control the ‘burn’ rather than pretend it isn’t happening, I won’t be better than the average human, I’ll simply be different.  Human, plus.”  Xander glanced at Spike, who was watching him with definite satisfaction.  “I’ll shut up now, and you’ll sum it up for me in one sentence.”

Spike chuckled at that, but gave it a moment’s thought, and a moment was all it needed.

“It’s not a big deal, it’s just a deal.”

“That’s it!”  Xander beat a drum roll on the steering wheel.  “I feel so good today, so…positive.  I know.  Today I know.”

“Know what?”

“Spike…  I am not the Zeppo.  I’m not…and I never was.”

Repossession 123       Repossession Index       Repossession Notes

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