The Torchwood graphics on this site are by Lazuli and are not shareable.  TYK

 

 

Part 51

 

 

 

“You need to get some rest.  Rest and blood.  Soon you’ll be too weak to help him.”

“I’m fine.”

“No, Spike, you’re not,” Willow insisted as she tried to prise the vampire away from Xander’s side.  “As soon as Angel gets back he’s taking you home and the pair of you can get some sleep.”

“Where is he?”

“Oh, you know,” Willow lied poorly, “just out and about, seeing the sights…”

“He’s looking for the people who did this?”

“Not exactly.”

“What then?  Exactly?”

“You’ll have to ask him.  Which you can do at home.  Between feeding and sleeping.”

“I’m not leaving Xander.”

“Don’t argue with me when I’m trying to do something for your own good!  Just this once can’t you listen instead of being the biggest pain in the—”

“Family row or can anyone join in?” came Patrick’s voice from the doorway.

Spike gave him a weary smile and waved him into the room.  He moved to Xander’s side, immediately picking up the hand that wasn’t attached to Spike.

“Patrick, tell Spike to go home,” Willow beseeched.

“That’s a good idea.  Go home, Spike.”

This time Spike didn’t even attempt to protest, just sighed and nodded, shrugging off Willow’s touch as she tried to loosen the rigid muscles in his neck and shoulders.  He glanced up at Patrick’s face; this place was awash with guilt.

“Hindsight, eh?”

Patrick looked from Xander to Spike.

“Hindsight,” he agreed.  “He called me, I should have gone with him.  If I’d met him there maybe he’d have come back with me afterwards and—”  Patrick stopped himself, recognising the futility of what if.

“He’s out of danger,” Willow reminded the two men.  “We have to look forward, we can’t keep…”

“That’s fine coming from you,” Spike snorted.  “Have you moved on a day since…”

“Don’t you dare!”

“Hey, stop.  Stop,” Patrick quietly but insistently squashed the burgeoning fight.  “Not here.”

Willow threw Spike a filthy look and was deliberately ignored.

“As I was saying, Xander is out of danger and you two have to stop blaming yourselves for something you had no control over.”

“Out of danger,” Patrick repeated under his breath.  “Miraculous.”

His eyes met Spike’s and the vampire saw and refused to see the gratitude there because there was no way that Patrick could know.

Angel walked into the charged atmosphere and did some ignoring of his own, heading straight for Xander, as had become his custom, touching the young man’s face in an understated greeting.

“Hey, Xander,” he smiled, the only one in the room fooling himself that Xander was aware.  “Looking better already.”

“Angel, can you take Spike home?  Make sure he gets something to eat?”

“Look, woman, I don’t need taking anywhere,” Spike protested.

“How about you come too?” Angel suggested.

“I’d rather…” Willow started.

“You’re as bad as him.  You can’t live in a waiting room, Willow.”

“I’m managing.”

“Get your things.  You too, Spike.  Go.”  The older vampire watched as his side of this family said goodbyes with caresses and kisses before tearing themselves away from Xander’s presence, then returned his attention to the man in the bed.  “Giving you a break, Xander.  Thank me whenever you’re ready.”

Angel felt a warm touch on his back, Patrick’s hand resting between his shoulder blades.  He ignored the gesture, understanding that he was being checked out, assessed for the fifteenth time in three days.  The first few times had bothered him but now he accepted the benign interest.  Knew he’d been marked and accepted into the circle and, although he wasn’t as comfortable as Spike, he felt strangely okay with it.  Or he would, after a few pertinent words with Patrick.

The hand dropped away and Angel said goodbye to Xander, promising to keep Spike safe and sound for him.  He walked as far as the doorway and gestured Patrick over.

“I remember.  Where I’ve seen you before.”

Their eyes met and an understanding passed between them, the human choosing not to question the vampire.

“You won’t say anything,” Patrick stated rather than asked, calm and self-assured.

“Why shouldn’t I?”

“You won’t say anything.”  There was a substantial pause and Angel zoned out and in and wondered what he’d missed.  He frowned at Patrick.  For a third time Patrick said, “You won’t say anything.”

The frown deepened.

“About what?”

Patrick smiled.

Spike felt amazing affection and relief when they drew up outside Cedar House, and he appreciated Willow’s enthusiasm and awe, remembering the first time he’d seen the property.  He let them in and switched off the alarm, standing in the hall and inhaling the multitude of scents that exclaimed home and Xander, feeling quite weak from more than lack of sustenance.

“This is fabulous,” Willow was still in mid-babble, “I never got the impression from the pictures that it was so big and it is really, well, big and…  What’s in here, do you mind if I…  Oh, this is great!”

Angel followed Spike into the kitchen and they exchanged a glance when they smelt blood.  Not anonymous, fresh-from-the-plastic blood, but Xander Harris, from-the-vein variety.  Everywhere was spotless though, and Spike so badly wanted to accept that his partner had simply slipped with a knife while preparing food that he made himself accept it.  The scent was so intense and in other circumstances Spike’s mouth would have been watering, especially being this hungry.  But now his stomach rolled with panic and he wished he was alone so he could indulge himself with a healthy screaming fit, wanting to rage at Xander in his absence about being careless enough to get caught by those fuckers and stupid enough to spill his precious blood and too stubborn to pick up the fucking phone or answer an e-mail.

Obviously no blood in the fridge, so Spike took several bags from the supply in the freezer, calling to ask Willow what she wanted to eat.  She appeared as he was defrosting the blood.

“I don’t expect you to cook for me.”

“I’d like to.”

“I’m not really…  Something simple, maybe.  No, nothing.  I’m too tired to eat and you haven’t slept for three days and…and…”

“I’ll make up the beds.”

“Show me where everything is and I’ll do them.  You want me to change the sheets in your room?”

“No!” came out far harsher than expected.  “No.”  Calmer.  “I want to be able to smell Xander.”

Willow gave her most understanding smile which made Spike feel so much worse for raising his voice to her.  Spike tried, but couldn’t raise an apologetic version of the smile for her; he gestured to Angel to take care of the blood, gestured for Willow to follow him.

“It’s working,” Willow said as she trailed behind him up the stairs.  “The blood.  Doctor Brooking can’t believe Xander’s progress.  She’s got this extraordinary patient who’s apparently fixing himself and she doesn’t know whether to panic or publish.”

“I told her Xander’s always been amazingly resilient, and then she said it to my face for the first time.  Said he should be dead.”

“That’s a good sign, isn’t it?  They don’t normally say that if it’s going to happen.”

“Like she never says he will wake up?”

“She doesn’t say he won’t,” Willow offered, not even able to convince herself.

 

They entered the main bedroom; Spike breathed deeply.  Xander.  He suddenly laughed.

“What?”

“Something I just remembered, something I liked.”  Willow waited, an expectant smile forming.  “It was early one morning, he was getting ready for work, I was more asleep than awake.  He came in from the bathroom…”  Spike gestured.  “…and got really close and whispered, ‘I want you to wake up and lick me.’”

“Spike!”

“No, no, no.  That’s what I thought at the time.  Hoped.  But I looked and he was holding a finger to his chin where he’d cut himself shaving.  You’d think he’d know not to sing and shave at the same time.  Anyway, I licked it, he healed.  He had this smug grin and…”  Spike’s words jerked to a halt, his hands came up to cover his face as he sought to hide.

Willow stepped forward, stepped back, juggling comfort versus privacy.  She’d needed privacy.

“I’ll – I’ll see how…  I’ll just be…”  And she withdrew.

Minutes passed, Spike remaining like a statue, before he finally broke apart, falling onto Xander’s side of the bed, burying his face in his lover’s pillow.  Screaming.

The house was quiet, in semi-darkness, when Spike emerged later.  He heated some blood, drank it as he set the alarm and checked the security shutters were closed and locked in place.  Another mug-full as he wandered from room to room, loving the familiarity of his home, hating the unfamiliarity that was Xander not being there.  He’s the heart of this place.  When he’s home the heart will be back.  He stopped in the living room for a while and studied the picture Xander had put on the wall, wondered why he hadn’t hung the painting he’d given him for his birthday.  Up to the attic – it still took a fair few minutes intensive self-therapy to go in there without turning into a neurotic wreck – and to the far end, behind a pile of empty packing boxes.  There was the painting, still wrapped, still with the card.  Disappointment vied with confusion: he’d planned this so carefully, why…  Oh, fuck me sideways!

Back downstairs and into the study, impatiently waiting for the computer to boot up.  Quickly in and Spike went straight for Outlook.  Locked out.  He tapped into the security programme he’d installed to keep Xander away from his birthday surprise and the log told the whole stupid story.  You dozy sod.  You dozy, dozy sod.  Why couldn’t you just…  When Xander had tried to find the photographs he’d fooled around enough to activate the security system into protecting anything that carried Spike’s ID.  Half-a-dozen passwords later and Spike was able to go back to Outlook and download six weeks of mail: every letter that Spike had written to Xander during his absence, the scraps of gossip, photos of LA and the buildings and himself and even Angel looking suitably uncomfortable, words of love, corny poetry, the highly detailed ‘When I get home can we…?’ sexual fantasies.  To let Xander know he was loved and wanted and that Spike was thinking of him.  Over sixty messages.  Every single comforting gesture inaccessible to Xander.  All here because Xander had told him to fuck off and not to phone, but how could Spike not keep in touch?  He clicked on the appropriately dated message and there were the effusive birthday wishes and the instructions on how to find his present.

At the end of every message was the same phrase: ‘You told me to go and I did.  The moment you tell me to come back I will.’  Spike had waited, not so patiently, hoped that he hadn’t blown it completely by leaving when he had, all the while growing more fearful that Xander had finally tired of him and had decided to make a fresh start.  Meantime Xander would have been here, feeling equally miserable, thinking he’d been abandoned.  So.  Fucking.  Typical.  Spike shook his head.  Us.  Always us.  He laughed at the stupidity of the situation, too worn out for temper tantrums and histrionics.  And he sang:

“Born under a bad sign.
I’ve been down since I began to crawl.
If it wasn’t for bad luck,
I wouldn’t have no luck at all.

Bad luck and trouble’s my only friend,
I’ve been down ever since…”

“Spike?”  From the doorway.

“Angel,” Spike acknowledged with a weary smile.

“What’s going on?”

“Nothing.”

“Why aren’t you sleeping?”

Do I have to say it, you heartless bastard?  Bad enough feeling it.

“Don’t think I can.  Without Xander.”

“Come back upstairs.  I’ll use the hex,” Angel told him in a voice that promised Spike would lose any argument on the subject.  He started to leave.

Oh, fuck, fuck, now or never…

“Sire…”

Angel turned back just as Spike arrived by him, the younger vampire’s hands winding in the front of his open shirt and pulling him close.

“Spike?” Angel frowned.

“I know what you want from me.  You can have it.  Just find the bastards that did this to Xander and let me watch you torture them until they die.  Let me taste their blood.  Give me that and you can have anything you want.”

Spike tried to kiss Angel, really tried, but all he could think of was how it wasn’t Xander.  There wasn’t the warmth, the scent, the flavour of the man he was addicted to.  Cool lips barely met before he realised that this was impossible.  But he’d underestimated the response of a sire’s demon to its childe: as Spike pulled back Angel went with him, demon to the fore, covering his mouth in a brutal kiss, growling possessively as he swung Spike around and pinioned him against the nearest wall with bone-creaking force.  Spike barely noticed the fangs in his neck or the claws in his flesh, mentally withdrawing to a safe distance and searching for William, determined to smother his awareness, protect him from the brutality that was bound to follow.

William was stirring, drawing Spike with concern that was rapidly transmuting into fear.  Spike let his demon protectively envelop the other consciousness, hoping William’s love for Xander would allow him to accept the inevitable.

Nothing new, is it, Billy-boy?  We’ve turned full circle, back to Angelus.  Just another rape, but this time we get something we want in return, we get justice for Xander.  You hide yourself away now, leave me alone with this.  It’ll be over soon.’

‘This is wrong, Spike.  He must be stopped.  This is very wrong indeed.’

‘For Xander.’

‘Xander would be appalled.  You surely cannot believe he would condone this act of – of barbarism.’

Spike felt William’s fear turning to anger, realising with shock that his milquetoast companion was about to forcibly break through to the surface of their shared host in a foolhardy bid to protect his demon.  Authority over the body shifted between the two of them, back and forth several times before Spike finally wrestled control away from William.

“Spike?”  Spike was dimly aware that Angel’s touch had changed: gentle, stroking over his shoulders and upper arms.  “Spike?”  Unease in his voice.

‘Respond,’ William urged his demon.

Spike reluctantly turned his attention outward, opening his eyes to meet an Angel who was panting heavily as he forced himself to calm down, returning to his human guise with some difficulty.

“Spike?”

“Can’t do this,” Spike murmured as his head sank weakly onto Angel’s shoulder, and now it was perfectly natural for the older vampire to wrap his arms around his grand-childe in a hard, possessive grasp that offered comfort rather than the promise of violence.  Angel let his sharp yet involuntary arousal fade to nothing, having rapidly come to the conclusion that one admittedly sensational fuck would be the quickest way to lose Spike forever.  After a few minutes he slowly withdrew, ruffling the hair on the back of Spike’s head, keeping the contact light and platonic.  He chose not to mention the bloody marks he’d inflicted on Spike’s skin.

“Spike.  If you ever want me because you want me you can have me.  But you don’t need to prostitute yourself on Xander’s behalf.  You don’t have to bribe me to take care of my own.”

“You’ll do this for me?”

“I’ll do this for all of us.  If I can find them I’ll kill them.  I’ll make their deaths slow and bloody and excessively painful and you can share every glorious moment with me.  It will be a pleasure.  Our pleasure.”

Spike took Angel’s hand, pressed his mouth to it in a long, grateful kiss, then pressed his brow to it in a gesture of his subservience.

“How low have I sunk if you’re being kind to me?”

“Will you answer me something truthfully?”  Spike nodded, relieved that his position masked his distinct apprehension.  “How’s William?”

There was a strained pause until Spike stood straight, looked Angel directly in the eye.

I’m William.  Your childe, William the Bloody.”

Angel looked satisfied, and Spike returned to the desk to close down the computer, glad that the very conscious William in his head knew the appropriate responses to manipulate demons other than his own.

Midday, and Spike finally got off the phone.

“No change.”

“It took an hour to find that out?”

Spike gave his grand-sire a bemused look, shaking his head.

“You still don’t understand humans at all, do you?  They need to talk, makes them feel better,” he spelt out.  “Makes me feel better,” he added under his breath.

“These friends of Xander: how far do their feelings matter to you?”

“Why?  Do you have a problem with them?”

“No,” Angel replied after a slight but highly suspicious pause.

“Jealous?” Spike smirked.

“Cautious.”

Willow wandered into the living room, still bleary from sleep, and dropped onto the sofa alongside Angel.

“Cautious of what?” she yawned.

“Just…cautious.”

Spike and Willow exchanged a benevolent glance and Spike went off to make Willow a very late breakfast.

“Cautious of what?” she asked Angel again when she heard the music start playing in the kitchen.  He didn’t answer and she thought for a while.  “Is this about his family?”  She saw, felt Angel tense.  “It’s strange, I know.  That he and Xander have a family.  Another family.  I felt it too when I got here, that I was the outsider, and I hated that.  But they’re good people and they love Xander and Spike.”  Angel said nothing, but he said it very loudly.  Willow briefly wondered if all vampires were this neurotic, decided she’d be better off with Spike and made for the kitchen.

“He’s a what?”

“M’lura demon.  Harmless enough to have never come to your attention.  Xander gave him the job because he wanted night work, and they became friends.  He was understandably wary about talking to me but certainly appears very loyal to Xander.  Alex.”  Angel turned to Spike.  “Does that irritate you?  Alex?”

“Oh, yeah, pisses me off no end.”

“It isn’t a joke, is it?  The demon magnet thing used to be a joke but it’s not a joke.”

“Not a joke,” Spike assured Willow.

“Well, these were humans.  Three of them, drunk enough to succumb to pack mentality.  Samuel only just arrived in time to stop them—”  Spike waited for Angel to finish what he was saying but the older vampire shied away.  “He showed me where it happened and…”

“What?  Stop them what?” Spike demanded.

“They…umm…they’d doused him in gas and—”

Angel stopped abruptly for a second time as he saw the horror on his grand-childe’s face.  Spike was up from the table and pacing in a flash, barely able to contain his rage.

“I want them.  I want them, Angelus.  I want to fucking kill them!” he roared as he left the kitchen.

“If he somehow gets the chance…” Willow began cautiously, “…we don’t tell Buffy, right?  We don’t know anything about it and he can do what he feels is…appropriate.”

If he was surprised by Willow’s attitude, Angel didn’t show it.  He merely nodded.

“I want you to check out the Partnership’s unofficial web site, see if you can trace where the offensive messages came from.”

“There are easier ways of finding these men.”

“No,” Angel stated categorically.

“It’s been a while since I…”

“No, Willow.  Buffy warned me what you’d want to do and she’ll never forgive me if I let you.  It’s too dangerous for you.”

“I think it’s worth the risk.”

“Risk losing both of you?  I can imagine what Xander would say to that.”

“Cheap shot.”

“Besides, there’s something happening here, don’t you feel it?”

“All I feel here is the frustration of one of my best friends because he wants some understandable revenge.”

“Don’t your senses feel…dull?”

Willow hesitated, unwilling to admit to experiencing a similar sensation to Angel.

“I’m tired, that’s all.  One good night’s sleep and…”

“I’m not convinced that any magic could be successfully performed here and I don’t want to chance it blowing up in your face.”

“Natural phenomena?”

“Can’t say.”

“You have suspicions though.”

“I…”  Angel tried to think past the fog in his mind.  Wasn’t going to happen.  “I think we do this the old-fashioned way.  You’ll check that web site?”  Willow begrudgingly agreed with a nod; as she began to rise, Angel motioned for her to stay.  “Samuel showed me where it happened.”  His voice dropped.  “The area still reeks of Xander’s blood.  It was disturbing enough for me; we have to make sure Spike doesn’t go there.”

“But he’s said he wants to.  How do we stop him?”

“Beyond brute force I have no idea.  But if he talks to you, say whatever it takes, make up some shit about taking a taint back to Xander, I don’t know, just…whatever.”

“He won’t fall for it.”

“He doesn’t understand magic: use that to blindside him.  He’s not going to think about it much, he’s too busy being unbalanced and obsessing over Xander.”

Willow smiled sadly and Angel threw her a questioning look.

“That’s just Spike.  Unbalanced and obsessing over Xander.  That’s been Spike for years.”  They quietly ruminated for a few minutes.  “Angel, do you think there’s a chance of finding these men?  The old-fashioned way?”

“The detective working the case isn’t confident.  If it’s a random assault, something that Xander just walked into, there’s not much chance.”

“It can’t be random.  They used the car to lure him there, they called him…”

“I’ve never promised not to kill again,” Angel blurted out.  “Buffy has never asked, always assumed.”

“So…” Willow said slowly, “you do?  Kill?”

Angel refused to compromise Willow by answering that.

“I will if I catch these men.  It won’t be fast, and it won’t be pretty.”

The look that passed between the friends was deeply understanding.  After a moment the slightest smile graced Willow’s face, a rare show of absolute honesty.

“Good.”  He touched the back of her hand with his fingertips, a show of thanks.  “And as for Buffy…  What she doesn’t know won’t hurt her.”

A ring on the doorbell made Willow jump; she moved to answer it but found Spike at the door first.

“I wanted to be close to Alex but I couldn’t go back there and I…”  Jake gave up, shrugged, looked as lost as he had four days ago.  Spike guided him into the kitchen, sat him down and brought him coffee, started automatically to prepare more food, grateful to be doing something.

“I’m going in later, you can come with me.”  Jake stared at the floor and nodded.  “Or you can just stay here.”  Another shrug.  “You slept?”  A shake of the head.  “You want to?”  Shrug.  “Because we’ve got something that’ll really help.”

“He’s like…  I’ve never had…  He’s my brother,” Jake said softly, voice trembling under the strain.

Willow shuffled her chair closer and put an arm around him.

“Mine too.  We’re not going to lose him.”  Jake risked a look at her; Willow recognised the despair in the liquid eyes and hugged him closer.  “I promise we won’t lose him.”

“But what if he doesn’t wake up?”

The only answer was the silence that heavily enshrouded them.

After forcing his friend to eat, Spike persuaded Jake to lie down for a while on the couch, and as he dozed restively Willow gathered together the components for the hex and whispered the spell, offering him words of comfort to dwell on while under the influence.

Spike left Willow on the computer and Angel doing whatever it was that Angel did and took himself off to indulge the need to once again make himself what Xander had fallen in love with.  Out came the bleach, the nail polish, the wax that had replaced the hair gel Xander hated.  He’d virtually lived in the blue cotton sweater that Xander had given him for Christmas, but that was now discarded in favour of a skin-tight black t-shirt.  Once again Spiked, he sat on the edge of his and Xander’s bed, staring at the photograph on his cabinet, the one that he’d taken from Patrick’s office, and cradling the desiccated remains of the rose he’d left Xander all those weeks ago that he’d found at the foot of the wall it’d been hurled at.  Fragile, ready to disintegrate.  The rose was pretty delicate too.

Still so scared, so lost, clinging to this identity by his glossy black nails, Spike talked to Xander until he’d convinced himself that his human was on the bed behind him, silently listening to the self-pitying monologue.  He imagined the finger trailing down his spine that was a familiar Xander touch, the soft breaths on the back of his neck as Xander sat close and whispered a thousand-and-one reassurances.  Only when he leant into Xander’s warmth and sank unhindered to the bed did he remember just how alone he was.  Turning onto his side and reaching out, he pulled Xander’s pillow to him for the nth time, hugging and burying his face in it as he inhaled the scent.  His heart ached for Xander, his body ached for Xander and claiming.  Rocking himself as his lover had rocked him on too many occasions to remember, Spike sank deeper into depression and grieved.

 

 

Repossession 52       Repossession Index       Repossession Notes

 

Site Updates     Update List     Home     Fiction     Gallery     Links     Feedback