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Part 34 |
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Xander stood in his office, staring out over the view from his window, trying to pluck up the courage to go home. Five weeks since the dinner party, since he’d felt the beginning of what was going wrong with Spike. He had no idea of what had happened that night to tip the balance, but ever since he’d woken alone the next morning life had been taking a steady roll downhill. He’d accepted the vampire’s emotional swings since he’d turned up, but now it was becoming unnerving to deal with. Okay, depression was to be expected under the circumstances, and he could support and reassure, soft talk and cuddle his partner through the worst times, or sadly accept the rejection when Spike couldn’t cope with his presence. But the rages were terrifying and, after what had occurred before, Xander kept a safe distance, leaving Spike notes to assure him of his very real love and devotion but not risking any kind of confrontation. Sometimes Spike would leave a message back. Usually ‘Sorry’, occasionally ‘Love you’, once, ‘Tell me to go’. The vampire was haunted: Xander could see it in his eyes, his body language, the way he always seemed to be expecting, dreading…something. The nightmares were vicious and plentiful. No William though, and Xander thought that this anguish was what William’s intervention had protected Spike from before now. But he didn’t know. He couldn’t find a way to ask. Enveloped in his misery, Spike withdrew. He tried not to sleep, not to feel, not to touch, sometimes he wouldn’t feed for days on end, eventually becoming debilitated and exhausted and letting Xander force blood into him. This morning it had come to a head. Worried to distraction by the vampire’s state of mind before he’d left for work, Xander had felt the need to return home, only to find the shutters all fully open and Spike sitting cross-legged in his favourite spot on the kitchen counter, watching mindlessly as the direct sunlight crept lethally toward him. Mere inches to spare, Xander had dragged him off the counter, into the relative safety of the shady hall, and shaken him so hard his teeth had rattled. Eventually Spike had come back from wherever he’d been, noticed Xander and let himself be hugged but remained aloof and speechless. Acknowledging and despising his own weakness, Xander couldn’t stay with him, closing and securing the shutters in place, taking all the keys for the house, including Spike’s own, and locking the vampire in before returning to work. He’d spent the rest of the day wondering if he would be going home that night to find a pile of dust that used to be the love of his life. Were the morning’s events a deliberate attempt at suicide or simply an example of Spike’s increasingly tenuous hold on reality? “You know Angel is still trying to find a way to help.” “Is he? I guess I’d given up on that.” “Has Spike given up? Is that a part of what he’s going through?” “I don’t know, we haven’t really talked for weeks.” “Because it sounds like he needs some hope. Shall I ask Angel to call him?” “He can try, but I doubt Spike’ll answer the phone if he’s by himself and I can’t get him to take a call.” “Can Angel call you?” Xander hesitated, trying to push aside his prejudice, to remember how good – how easy – it had been to talk to Angel before. Forget the draining, he was never seriously going to drain Spike. Forget how much he wants Spike… “Sure. He can call me.” Less than an hour later the call had come through on his cell phone. “Xander?” “Angel.” “ “Can you do anything?” Xander asked, swallowing his pride in one big gulp. “I’ve been looking into this chip business, but it’s slow going. Guess that’s what comes of murdering all the experts.” “Look, maybe this is wrong, but I don’t care if you spin him a load of bull if it gives him something to hold on to.” “That would be a pretty short-term…” “He was sitting waiting for the sun, for God’s sake! He does that again and I’m not there for him it’s less than short-term.” “Xander, you have to stay calm.” “I’m… I don’t know how calm I can be. I’m…” “I know you’re scared. Me too.” “Why would you—” Xander caught himself before he veered off into the usual insults. “If the relationship that Spike and I share is too complicated for you to understand you’ll just have to take me at face value for once.” “I’m sorry.” Fuck me, I just apologised to Angel. “I know I’m overprotective.” “That isn’t a bad thing. But it can make caring for him lonely.” “You’re always doing this,” Xander snapped. “You’re always… You’re always saying the right thing.” Angel laughed. Actually laughed. “I don’t like you, Angel, I will never like you.” “I know. That’s okay.” “So stop being…nice.” “I’m not doing it intentionally,” Angel assured him, voice full of amusement. Xander smiled. Fucker! “You’re going to do something for Spike?” “Let me see if I can hurry things along. I’ll be in touch regardless.” “Don’t leave it too long,” Xander said mutedly, feeling his defences collapse, knowing his voice gave everything away. “I was so frightened. He was two inches from the sun.” “You’re one of the bravest people I know, Xander. You can cope with this.” Xander tried to protest but his throat closed up and all he could do was hang up on Angel yet again. … Xander had hated locking Spike
in. He put Spike’s keys back on the
table where they usually sat, hoping he wouldn’t have to take them again. The house was silent, and he stood and
listened, tried to feel where Spike was.
Six weeks ago he’d have known.
Six weeks ago he’d have found the vampire in the kitchen playing around
with some new recipe that had appealed to his creative nature. Music would be blaring, or the phone would be
tucked into his shoulder as he gossiped with Dawn or He immediately began to talk to the vampire, knowing that wherever Spike was he’d hear, wanting him to know this was Xander in the house with him, not any of the ghosts he feared. He pulled off his coat and jacket and threw them over the newel post, knowing he’d smell pretty foul to the vampire’s acute olfactory senses after a long day in a cold sweat but not caring if he turned the air green as long as Spike knew it was him, could scent him and be reassured. Glancing into the downstairs rooms and finding nothing, Xander went to their bedroom; Spike was lying on the bed, back to Xander, body far too tense for him to be asleep. Wondering if the vampire would bolt (again) as soon as he got near, Xander carefully slid onto the bed, moving behind Spike and risking contact, hearing a subdued whimper as he drew close and slipped an arm around the thin frame. “Hey, honey, I’m home,” he murmured, and he kissed the nape of Spike’s neck. “Help me.” Spike’s voice sounded raw, as if he’d been… Xander knew. Spike had fallen asleep, woken screaming. “What can I do?” “Help me.” Xander made room and eased Spike onto his back; the vampire’s eyes flitted restlessly about the room. “They’re going to find me. They’ll take me.” “No-one is going to hurt you. I’ll keep you safe, I’ll be here to protect you.” “I’m never safe.” “I’ll be with you.” “You… I was alone. Today. I was alone and… I couldn’t…I couldn’t remember how to make you be here.” “The phone.” “The phone? I didn’t know, I couldn’t…” “Doesn’t matter, I’m here now.” “Help me.” “But what…” “Make it stop. Make it all stop. Please. Now. Make it stop.” Xander understood, had to force himself to breathe, think, speak. “Spike…” “I can’t do this anymore.” “Listen to me. We’ve been happy, haven’t we?” “I can’t…” “We have been happy,” Xander insisted, “and we will be again. If I thought that you were going to stay this miserable I would…do…whatever you wanted. But I know you’ll get over this and I know you’ll be okay. Please, you have to trust me.” “But they’re here. They find me. Can’t you see the blood?” “There’s no blood.” Xander ran his hand over Spike’s chest and held it up. “No blood.” “They hurt me.” “I know. But that’s over.” “They’re here.” “No. Just you and me. Me and my sweetheart.” Spike finally looked at Xander, looked hard. “Xander?” “Yes.” “You came back.” “I always come back.” “To help me? To make it stop?” “To help you. If you can just trust me. And be patient. I’ll get you some help.” “Help me.” “I have to phone “Don’t leave me.” “Come on then. Come with me.” “What if they’re…” “No-one here but you and me. I promise.” Xander slowly led Spike downstairs, and they checked all the rooms before Spike allowed himself to be sat down and given a mug of blood while Xander phoned Willow, unsteadily explaining how much worse Spike had become, literally begging for help and making copious notes from the information she gave him. He jumped in surprise as the table
screeched its way across the floor, tossed aside as Spike flew from the room,
pursued by the unrelenting phantoms in his mind. Xander forced himself to concentrate on what “Answer me, sweetheart,” he pleaded. “Where are you?” He listened, holding his breath, wishing he could tune out the outrageously noisy pumping of his heart. Nothing. “Spike? Please.” A muffled sob and Xander was onto it, straight through to the empty room beyond the study at a run. He entered the room cautiously however, slowly, unthreateningly. Whispering to Spike that it was Xander, that he was safe with Xander. Spike was squashed into the corner, arms wrapped around his head, rocking himself in an accelerated parody of the comforting ritual he routinely shared with Xander. At his approach, Spike tensed, ready to escape, and Xander backed off to the farthest wall, leaning against it and trying to persuade his brain to get past the panic and start functioning in a practical capacity. Spike’s arms dropped away, his head came up, and terrified eyes focused on…nothing. To Xander it was nothing, to Spike it was enough to start a succession of tremors that Xander longed to quell. “No.” One uneven word escaped the vampire. “Who do you see, Spike?” Xander asked, expecting no answer and being surprised when he apparently received one. “You can stop this.” But Spike wasn’t talking to Xander. He watched the spectre close in, step by step, and addressed it with a trembling, pain-ridden voice that endeavoured to be light and jovial. “You’ve had your fun, eh? Give me some peace now. Little tickle with a stake and it’s all over. Do it.” “Spike. There’s no-one there, you don’t have to be…” “You can use it but don’t break it.” A different tone of voice, flatter, almost expressionless, and Xander knew it was a memory, a direct quote. “You can use it but don’t break it.” Xander lowered himself to hands and knees. Crept a few feet nearer the vampire before stopping and sitting back on his heels, allowing Spike to get used to him. That was if… “Do you see me, Spike? Can you see me?” Apparently not. “I’ll be good. Tell me what you want and I’ll be good. I won’t fight, I’ll be quiet. Please, don’t. Please. Don’t—” With a cry Spike’s hands covered his eyes, and Xander understood and his stomach rolled. “It’s in your head, Spike. You can see. Here, now, you can see.” “Think this’ll cure like leather?” Monotone again. Spike’s fingers traced a ragged square on his upper arm. “Need a new watch strap.” In a move that startled Xander, Spike was across the room and backed into another corner, and he was angry, furious. “Get this out. Fight back. Get this out. Fight fucking back. Kill myself. Fine. Bloody fucking fine.” Xander watched, horrified, as Spike let the demon out and used its claws to slice into his scalp, tearing a flap of skin and hair free and digging his fingers into the bloody flesh beneath, grimacing at the pain that soon forced him to stop. At least Xander assumed that the physical pain stopped him. Another wrong assumption. The demon slid away and the tormented human visage was back. “Can’t die. Want to see him one more time,” Spike groaned to himself. Eyes squeezing tightly shut, becoming entirely introspective. “I love you.” The image in his head evidently brought him some relief and the stress and agony etched on his face lessened. “Love you, Xander. Beautiful Xander. Want to tell you.” Xander heard the faintest rumble of a purr as Spike attempted to comfort himself, arms wrapped firmly around his body. Blood from the head wound trickled unnoticed down his neck and soaked into his t-shirt. “Xander. I love you, Xander, I’ll always love you.” “I love you too, Spike.” “You’ll never know. I’m sorry, I’m sorry. Better this way, you can’t want… No-one. No-one can love this. You… I’m sorry. You’re the light in my darkness. You’re sunshine. Love you. Sunshine…” Once again the tone changed. “I’ll show you. Wind the blind up, bring it over. See? They burn.” Wiping his face on his shirt sleeve, Xander knew he had to get closer, break into this nightmare; he crawled another couple of feet and Spike forced himself back into the corner. “Spike, it’s Xander.” “No,” Spike protested to yet
another phantom. “You’re wrong. I hate all of them, they’re just there to
use. More fucking humans. Convenient and soft and thick as shit.” Glaring into the face in his memory. “My sire?
My sire? You mean the
poof? You can do what you fucking-well
like with that tosser, see if I give a…”
Bravado crumbling, sinking back into the corner, arms around his head,
weeping and pleading to deaf gods. “Keep
them safe, keep them safe. Angelus. Sire.
Sire. Be safe. Xander swallowed hard at the bile rising to his throat. He had to stop this and he fell back on what he hated but knew worked. He pushed himself to his feet and stood in the middle of the room. “William,” he said firmly, feeling Spike’s flinch as a blow. “William,” stronger. Another flinch. A sob. “William,” Xander shouted, and Spike was on the floor in front of him, hunched into the position of submission, taking rough, shallow breaths. Xander reached down, grabbed Spike by the upper arms and drew him to his feet. “Look at me.” “Master,” came the weak response from a broken spirit. “No.” A quick catch prevented the vampire’s return to the floor and that degrading pose. “Master.” “Not master. Xander. Look at me.” Shake of the head. Looking was plainly not permitted. Xander eased Spike closer, feeling the rigidity of fear permeate the thin body. “Scent me. Take a long breath. Remember me.” Shake. “Do it.” Shake. “Do it or I’ll skin Angelus and present you with the evidence.” Xander took the weight as Spike’s legs tried to give out, involuntarily this time. “One long breath, Spike, William, tell me who it is.” Spike took the breath. A short, tearful laugh broke free. Another breath. “Xander.” “Yes.” “He’s been here.” “I am here. It’s me, Spike, Xander.” “Xander.” “Yes!” “I dream of Xander,” Spike confided softly. “He’s my dream. My fantasy.” “You’re awake now, Spike. It’s me, Xander, I’m here.” “I dream of Xander. I…I said his name. As I slept. Spoke his name and condemned him. I killed him. Now he haunts me.” “No.” “I killed him.” “Spike, no, I’m…” “I killed him.” Xander tugged his shirt open and pressed Spike’s face to his neck. “Taste me. It’s Xander. Xander.” “I killed him,” Spike wailed against the flesh, and Xander wrestled him close, ignoring the struggles, forcing him to submit to the contact. “You didn’t kill him. Xander is alive. I promise you, Xander is alive and he loves you. He loves you very much. I love you. I love you, Spike. William…” The resistance abruptly ceased. “William. It’s Xander. Spike, it’s Xander.” Cautiously, Spike nuzzled Xander’s neck, cool tongue flickering out to taste. Xander waited a long, harrowing moment. “Xander.” Recognition, and timidly: “Xander?” “Yes, Xander. Alive and here and loving you. You’re safe.” “Safe?” “You’re safe.” “Xander…” Spike collapsed into Xander’s embrace, desperately clutching at him and chanting his name incessantly until the horror emerged in one massive explosion of crying and keening and muted screams. The pair sank back to the floor as Xander’s tired body succumbed to gravity, remaining there as Spike completely exhausted himself and passed out on Xander’s chest, the slow seep of blood from the damaged scalp staining the front of Xander’s white shirt a striking scarlet. Xander lay staring at the ceiling, trying hard to keep his mind away from what he’d heard in the last hour, but the compartment in his head designated for denial could only be crammed so full and it was still packed to bursting with the revelations from their visit to Willow’s. He found himself fixating on one sentence, one quote: ‘Jesus, Spike, you’re one cold…’ He couldn’t finish that even in his mind. He’d never heard Spike use that word. Never, and Spike hated Xander using it although he’d never said but Xander could tell. Bet that’s William. In his defence, Xander used it sparingly and only when he was so mad… Usually Angel. It’s usually Angel, he conceded, and it didn’t bother him. ‘Jesus, Spike, you’re one cold…’ Bad enough… Bad. Just how inadequate a description are we going for here? …that it was ever uttered, and as for context… Xander shifted uncomfortably, squashed Spike closer, buried a kiss in the bloody hair. ‘Jesus, Spike, you’re one cold…’ There was something beyond the obvious that made Xander feel queasy but it wasn’t jumping out at him just yet. If he could think about something else for a while… Work. Think work.
Think…the Gregory Theatre. I want
to build the theatre. I need to talk to
this architect face-to-face and convince him The Partnership are so… ‘Jesus, Spike, you’re one cold…’ This Haakon guy’s pretty reserved on the
phone but if I could meet him I could talk him round. I want to build that theatre, I’ve never
built… ‘Jesus, Spike, you’re one cold…’ Xander was starting to feel like Spike: he wanted
to get up and run, get as far away from the thought as he possibly could before
all the pieces of the jigsaw fell into place and he was left with a
crystal-clear image of someone…someone…cutting into…cutting and… No!
No. We’re going to be crazy before
this is over. This’ll be the house the
local kids come to to hurl rocks through the windows because the scary crazy
guys live there. Hope the chip’s fucked
by then because Spike can eat every one of the little bastards for all I
care. Really give them something to be
scared of. ‘Jesus, Spike, you’re one
cold…’ A subdued groan from Spike;
Xander hoped it was one of the noises he made when he was getting warm and
loving it. He feels light. Well, not light but not as heavy. Got to make him feed more, got to keep his
body healthy even if his mind… Got to
make him eat. With me. Sit him down with me, stop him hiding away by
himself, ignore the looks and the pleas and the tears and… ‘Jesus, Spike, you’re one cold…’ I wish he’d let me touch him and I don’t mean
touch him in that way just…touch him.
‘Jesus, Spike, you’re one cold…’ Spike. Spike. Oh. Fuck. Oh. Fuck.
Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck. They called him William. William not Spike. Only one person would have called him Spike. The one person with
Spike-related history. The one person who would have
vindictively wanted it to get as bad as it got. Oh. Fuck. No time for fury or mourning. A few anxious twitches from the vampire and Xander accepted that it was time to rouse him, couldn’t leave him at the mercy of yet another nightmare, however much he needed the rest. Priorities, always priorities. Riley Finn. Fucking Riley Finn. How much deader would he have to be for me to feel good about it? “Hey, sweetheart, want to wake up?” When he thought back, Xander realised that Spike had been pretty ambiguous about Riley’s involvement beyond the vampire being his choice of victim, and it was starting to feel like that ambiguity was an attempt to protect Xander from the truth. Oh, yeah, that was his Spike. Evil to the core, I don’t think. And Xander hadn’t pushed for more information because he was a coward and hadn’t wanted to know. “Spike. Come out here where the bad guys can’t get you.” Spike stirred momentarily then
pushed his face into the heat of Xander’s chest, emitting another satisfied
creak. Xander smiled; it hurt. Smiling hurt.
A fragment of contentment was a bitter thing when the whole had been
lost. Riley Finn. He was always weird. A little too noble to be believed. Then that business with the vampires. It may be sexy with one vampire, your own
vampire, your own vampire when it’s Spike, but Riley’s way was just…weird. Fucking hell, I talked Buffy around for
him. Sorry, Buff, owe you. How sick in the head do you have to be
to… I want to be wrong about this and I
can’t ask Spike: I can’t talk about this and he can’t talk about it. God help me, I want to be wrong. All at once Spike was awake and moving away, alarmed by the physical contact; Xander grabbed hold of his wrists and kept him close until Spike figured out it was Xander. Which he did with a shudder of relief before his eyes opened wide in horror as he noticed the bloody shirt. “No. Did I hurt you?” Xander relaxed his grip and stroked the thin forearms. “You hurt yourself. Your head.” Spike pulled a hand away and felt over his scalp, prodding curiously and unsympathetically at the damage. “I want to feed you up, make you heal faster.” “I don’t feel like…” “Do it for me? Please? Because you starving yourself scares me.” Spike looked toward the door and Xander knew what was rattling through that troubled mind. “We’ll just be going to the kitchen and there’s no-one there. No-one here at all except for us. You’re safe.” “Am I?” came the uncertain reply. “We checked, remember? Just us. Locked in and safe.” Refusing to let go of Spike’s hand now that he had it, Xander rose awkwardly and started for the door, feeling the vampire dragging back. “Come on, sweetheart. You’ve got to be hungry.” “Tired.” “Because you’re hungry.” “I’m tired because I’m tired. I want to sleep. Deepest sleep. I want the nothing of it.” Spike gazed at Xander beseechingly. “You could help me.” “I will help you. But not in the way you mean,” Xander told him grimly. Step by reluctant step, Spike was coaxed to the kitchen; Xander pushed the table back into its place, sat Spike at it and shut the door, feeling guilty and mean, knowing Spike wouldn’t have the courage to open it again because of what was waiting for him outside, but this was for the best. Or so he tried to convince himself. He switched on the radio, drowning out the non-existent sound of non-existent intruders who Spike knew were there, knew were coming to shatter his bones and peel him and slice his body open so his guts fell to the floor before his broken hands could gather them. “Rest,” Xander gently instructed. An extended pause before Spike obediently lowered his head, laying it on his folded arms. Xander watched, transfixed, as Spike did nothing but did it hypnotically. Should I tell him that I know? That I think I know? Jesus Christ, how much worse did that make it? Being torn apart by a monster with a familiar face, by Riley Finn, that… Hey, Angel, you’ve finally been out-cunted. Xander went to the counter, set Spike’s mug before him, picked out the sharpest knife they had, casually sliced into his arm and let the blood flow. Can’t repossess him the usual way, can’t even touch him, so… This is good. Seeing him take my blood is good. It’s all his, I’m his. Xander stopped the flow when the outsized mug was half full, knowing he had to drive and not wanting to risk being light-headed. He pinched the edges of the wound together and covered it with a blue kitchen bandage before taking his offering to the vampire. Spike’s head rose as he approached, catching the scent of the blood, the essence of Xander in its purest form. Xander pressed the mug into trembling hands. “Drink it while it’s still warm.” “You didn’t have to do this.” “I did. Actually, I did. Drink it.” Spike took a sip and his face showed absolute, unadulterated bliss. Xander observed, fascinated, aroused, deeply satisfied by Spike’s pleasure. Heating more blood, making them both sandwiches, Xander pondered and pragmatically accepted. He would never, never tell Spike what he’d figured out. If the day came when Spike wanted to tell him then so be it, but right now Xander offered Spike privacy and respect. Is it too much to hope that somehow Riley survived? Because Xander was desperate to get his hands – trained hands and wouldn’t that be a surprise? – on the soldier and make him suffer as he’d made Spike suffer. More if it were humanly possible. But Angel had assured him that everyone in the complex was dead, and Angel was one admirably efficient bastard. Xander’d kept an eye on the papers and TV news in the hope of catching some reports, but the incident had been swiftly downgraded by the military and forgotten in favour of the next Senatorial screw-up. Shame I never heard more. Aural gratification. Leaning on the counter, Xander found the notepad under his hand and glanced over the notes he’d made. Then he phoned The Dark Place and asked Max to stay open for him. “You want to come for a ride with me? After we’ve eaten and cleaned ourselves up?” Big-eyed suspicion. “Is it safe?” Xander resurrected the fake supportive smile from the days of William. “Yes, it’s safe.” “I’ll be with you?” “All the time. We have to meet with someone – really nice guy, very kind, nothing to worry about – and you’ll be with me and safe.” “Safe?” “Safe.” … Max greeted them warmly, giving Spike a second look but swiftly turning his attention to Xander’s list of requirements, recognising the spell from the components and discussing it with Xander, ensuring that his instructions had come from a good source. The moment Xander mentioned Willow’s name Max was satisfied and began to collect items from his shelves. Spike waited to one side, attention fixed permanently on Xander. As instructed, he played at being impatient and protective to disguise how he actually felt, all Xander’s coaching in the car paying off because for a few moments he even managed to fool himself. Back in the Merc and Spike seemed less troubled there. “Want me to drive around for a while?” Nod. “Anywhere in particular?” Shake. “Okay.” … It was midnight when Xander helped Spike out of his clothes and put him to bed, trying to ignore the body he adored and the lust it evoked after weeks of no kissing, touching, barely any physical contact at all. But the absolute trust in the unquestioning blue eyes ensured that Xander kept his mind on the spell when all he really wanted to do was drop to his knees and milk his vampire dry. “You want me,” Spike said suddenly, sitting up, arms wrapped tightly around his bent knees. Xander looked a question. “I can smell it on you.” “Sorry. Can’t help it.” “You want me.” “I want you, yes. But more than that I want you to get well.” “You can if you like,” Spike continued as if he hadn’t heard Xander’s words. “Fuck me. Any time. Just…roll me over and help yourself.” “Ah, no, Spike, don’t say that. You honestly think I’d use you like that?” Spike scratched at a non-existent flaw in the sheet, refusing to look at Xander. “Just saying you could. Rather than…” Xander waited. “Rather than…” Xander waited again but that appeared to be it. “Rather than what? You think….? What do you think? That if I don’t fuck you I’ll forget how to love you? That if I don’t fuck you I’ll find someone else to fuck? That it?” No response. “I’m not going to use you, or abuse you, and I’m certainly not going to replace you.” Spike risked a glance, saw from Xander’s face that he was intensely serious. He tentatively reached out a hand, drawing a shuddering breath as it was grasped and kissed. “I don’t want anyone but you, Spike. I want to help you, get you better, have you for the rest of my life. And however much I smell like I want you - which I do, I’m not going to deny that – however much I want you, it has to be us. Not me using you. It has to be us. Believe that.” “If…” Xander did more waiting. “If you decide…” Spike turned glistening eyes on Xander, whose grip on the vampire’s hand tightened. He nodded for Spike to continue. “If you decide that… That this has been a mistake…” Xander bit his tongue, knew he had to let Spike finish what he was trying to say. “If this has been a mistake… Xander, please… Don’t wake me up again. Finish it. Leave the curtains and shutters open and go to work and it’ll all be over when you get back and you won’t have to…” “No!” Xander was beside Spike, pulling him close, disregarding everything he’d learnt in the last few weeks about Spike not wanting to be touched because he had to hold him, he needed the comfort for himself. “Don’t think that, it’s not going to happen, it’s never going to happen. We’re going to get you better and we’ll be happy.” Xander felt Spike’s discomfort and relaxed his grip, letting him back away. He only went a few inches, staring into Xander’s face, unable to believe the honesty he saw there. “I can’t live without you, sweetheart,” Xander assured him, voice shaking. “I can’t and I won’t.” With an unconvinced nod Spike laid down, let Xander help make him comfortable. “It’ll be okay.” “Okay,” came the subdued reply, and Spike forced the ghost of a smile for his partner before closing his eyes, entire body tensing at the onset of darkness. The spell itself was as simple as Willow had promised, and all Xander had to find for himself were the words that would comfort Spike within this hexed, guaranteed dreamless, sleep. “You and Xander. Together. Safe. At peace in sleep,” he whispered, repeating the words until Spike was unconscious. Xander pressed his lips to the hand he held and set it down on Spike’s chest, feeling a tremor of loss but knowing this was the best solution he could find for the moment. Let the vampire rest and recuperate, free from the memories that tormented him. Xander was planning on giving him days as opposed to hours, by which time maybe, maybe, maybe, Angel would have Plan B figured out. Wearily considering food versus sleep, Xander shook his head at himself, stripping off and climbing in beside Spike, settling close enough to rest his hand over the vampire’s. An hour passed, and sleep was no closer despite his exhaustion. Too upset to sleep, he finally acknowledged. His mind was stuck on a carousel of whys and what ifs and, however incredibly irritating the knowledge was, he knew that if he made one call he’d be put at ease. More sobbing down the phone. What the fuck happened to the boy who didn’t cry? Swearing at himself wasn’t helping much, nor was the prospect of having to leave his lover’s side, but Xander got up, pulled his robe on, and went down to the kitchen. Hot chocolate made, topped up with a large shot of whiskey, he stared at the phone on the table and, with a degree of irony that wasn’t wasted on him, brooded. It hurt to feel so alone: he missed Willow and longed for their early days of togetherness; he missed Patrick, which was ridiculous because he saw him five days out of seven and why the hell should one man’s affection make such a difference to his well-being? He missed Spike. He’d missed him for weeks. Xander’s eyes prickled and he laughed at himself. “Primed to bawl, make the call.” He knew he had to talk to Angel, couldn’t figure out exactly why he did, or why he needed Angel to tell him that he’d done the right thing with the spell, but there it was. He sipped, he sighed, he dialled.
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