|
|
|||
|
||||
|
|
|
Part 58 |
|
|
|
|||||||||||||
|
|
|
Spike continued to watch as Buffy did, miraculously, as he’d advised, playing at being best friends in the hope that both she and Xander would forget where the playing stopped. She finally began to relax into their convalescing friendship and, after a few pertinent comments from Spike, Xander willingly – okay, semi-willingly – reciprocated. But it was a start, and there was an extended, collective sigh of relief from a vampire, sister and best friend. … “Buffy…” “Xander.” “If I say Angel, what’s the first thing you think?” “Angel?” “Angel.” “The first thing?” “The first thing. C’mon, you’re taking too long.” “No, I thought the first thing. I just didn’t think I should necessary say the first thing.” “Euphemise.” “You’re asking for a mercy killing?” “Not eutha— Hey, you won’t avoid the question by acting so…so blonde.” “That’s a dangerous insult when you’re living with the blondest of the blond.” “Angel, and you don’t want to say. So, I’m guessing…” “No, you’re not. There’s probably a name for people who think about their friends that way and if I ever find it out I don’t want to have to call you it.” “Angel?” “All right. Love. The…physical variety crossed the line first by pure chance, but the heart and soul needed a photo-finish for second.” “Love,” Xander smiled. “Not…vampire. Does he know?” “Of course he knows.” Beat. “He doesn’t know?” “I think you should tell him.” “You think I should tell him?” “You could tell him. Wouldn’t do any harm.” “I guess it wouldn’t do any harm to tell him. Remind him.” “Reminding him would be good. Angel equals love. Specifically during a… ‘first thing you think of…” “…when I hear ‘Angel’ is love…” “…moment,’ yes. You want to…” “Could I…?” “Borrow the phone,” they finished together. “Xander…” “Buffy.” “Thank you.” “You’re welcome. Both of you.” … There was the feeling that they might need to buy a bigger bed if the magnanimity continued and the Scoobyness continued to rub off on the new family. The average afternoon of peaceful relaxation consisted of Xander and five women piled on the bed and a highly contented Spike occupying the tub chair in the corner of the room and sketching, listening to the idle chatter and taking in the dynamics. Beth did most of the routine interrogations, while Moira tended to spend her time cosseting Xander and just throwing the occasional comment into the mix. Spike didn’t bother trying to
conceal the grin when, at one point, “I don’t know why I’m telling you all this.” …in the midst of one of Beth’s fact-finding missions. As if she had any choice. As if Beth hadn’t already discovered virtually every Willow-centric fact by pseudo-casually questioning Xander about his friend. It was while he was sketching and watching one afternoon that Spike noticed something that particularly interested him. Moira was fussing over Xander and he launched into the same ‘Yes, Mom’ routine that he used when Spike was smothering him with kindness. Spike saw the momentary consternation on Moira’s features and, however grubby it made him feel, he had to pursue it. “So, Mom,” Spike smiled, “when do we get to hear the patter of tiny feet? Or if they take after their dad, the patter of bleedin’ great plates?” Beth turned to look at Spike, and if he’d allowed himself to pay attention the glare would have shut him up instantly. Moira hesitated before returning a smile that was as superficial as Spike’s. “I can’t.” “Bother you?” A perfectly synchronised chorus of Sunnydale voices moaned his name in exasperation. “Well…yes. It bothers me.” Xander laid a gentle touch on her arm and the smile broadened into something genuine. “But I can always find someone to dote on,” she said as she turned and sank into Xander’s comforting embrace. “I have my boy here.” “Your boy there? So you had that lout by proxy when you were what? Eight?” No kids. Spike mulled that over for a while, willing to bet that Beth wasn’t made for breeding either. No kids. That how they maintain the pack? Pick a Xander and bring him in? Settling for a Spike because of the attachment? Wonder if they count our girls. Wonder if they count Angel. The questions were never-ending, and Spike whacked them on the mental pile with the rest of the family-related issues. Back to the average afternoon: as time crept on the remainder of the Gang of Four would drift in, and the bed would creak under the weight of Jake and Rafe squeezing into the heap of bodies as Patrick took Spike to one side to ask questions full of understated concern regarding the patient. … Xander eventually insisted on being brought downstairs, and Spike settled him in one of the big armchairs, propping him up with pillows to make him as comfortable as possible. Sunday, early evening, and in due course the subject of topic turned to the attack and Xander’s time in hospital. Patrick and Beth were visiting and, at Xander’s request and somewhat reluctantly, Patrick explained the sequence of events from his perspective, Xander listening avidly as he heard these details for the first time. How Samuel had been the first to contact Patrick and been so distraught that he’d given the impression Xander was dead, although Patrick couldn’t bring himself to say the word even now, with Xander sitting alive in front of him. Minutes after hanging up on Samuel, police officers were on his doorstep, reiterating what he’d just been told about the attack but confirming that Xander was still alive and advising Patrick to get to the hospital as soon as possible. Their tone and urgency confirmed how dire the situation was. He’d quickly printed out Xander’s Grim Reaper documentation, primarily, he’d hoped, for Spike’s and Willow’s phone numbers, collected Jake, and left Beth to track down Rafe and Moira who were away on a break. Patrick explained as far as seeing Xander for the first time before his voice failed and he waved their attention away. “Do you remember anything at all
from when you were unconscious?” “Sometimes I think I remember but most of the time I don’t. Spike’ll say something that I think he’s said before, something to do with his time in LA maybe, and the only time he could have told me was in hospital, but I can’t be sure. We get déjà vu without being in a coma for five weeks.” He paused in thought. “But it’s almost… I think I felt people, felt their presence. This is hard to explain, but when I woke up I knew you’d been there at some point, and I knew Angel had been there. I thought Giles had been there but that didn’t make any sense at the time so I ignored it.” “Have you spoken to Giles since?” Buffy asked. Xander smiled; yes, he certainly had. “What was it like when you woke up?” Dawn asked. “Was it slow or fast? Did you go the ‘Who am I?’ route?” “I just woke up, like from any other sleep. But I felt tired and achy and like I needed to get some rest, and I wanted Spike because when he’s with me I sleep well. I never registered where I was that first time, and after that… It took me a while to believe about the five weeks thing. I only believed about the attack because I hurt so much, and then I found myself thinking the stupidest things. I wished I’d picked a song I really hated, and that everyone knew I hated, to be played at my funeral so nobody would be able to keep a straight face. Or maybe I should’ve put in my will that I wanted to be buried in my car in the garden. Stupidest of all: maybe I should’ve had someone call my folks to let them know what happened.” “But “But He fixed a hard, inquisitive stare
on “Willow may have ‘did’ the obvious,” she said, trying for light but heading for desperate. For a few minutes there were loud looks aplenty but no words. “You called Alex’s parents?”
Patrick eventually asked “I did.” “That was wrong.” Patrick’s voice was low, rare anger simmering below the surface, fiercely protective of Xander. “I thought they should at least know. I mean, Xander might have… Well.” “So, what did you get?” Xander demanded. “Were they too drunk to take it in or did they just not give a damn?” “I’m – I’m…not sure.” “It’s okay, I know what they’re like, I don’t expect…” Xander turned from them as best as he was able, taking a couple of deep breaths, trying not to let them hurt him yet again. Then Spike was kneeling in front of him, hands running over his thighs in a comforting gesture. “You’re tired, love. Let’s get you upstairs.” Brisk nod and Xander reached for him, arms sliding around the vampire’s shoulders as Spike helped him to his feet. They gingerly walked to the hallway and, once out of sight, Spike swept Xander into his arms and ran up the stairs. Spike gently undressed Xander and put him to bed, sitting alongside and stroking his hair while Xander battled not to let out the anger and distress. “Why don’t you tell me they’re not worth it?” “I’d rather you told me they’re not worth it.” “They’re not,” Xander whispered. “They’re not.” He turned wide, upset eyes on Spike. “Was it me, something about me?” “We’ve had this before and you know it’s not about you.” “But I’m their son, how can it not be about me?” Xander protested. “Stop it. Any histrionics and I drug you back into your coma, all right?” “That’s good. Do it.” “Why, pet?” Spike frowned. “So I don’t have to think. I’ve spent the best part of my life wondering what is so wrong with me that my parents hate me. No, wait, that’s not true, in all fairness, my mother is just plain indifferent. She doesn’t care one way or the other because he wore the caring out of her. It’s my father that actively hates me. I thought maybe ‘cause I was too stupid, because he’s thick as shit and wants me to be better than him. Then maybe I was too smart, because anything other than shit-thick was an affront to his spectacular ignorance. But get a bad mark on a report card and it’s a punch; get a rare good mark on a report card and it’s a punch. Speak out: punch; too quiet: punch. Crack a joke: punch; too serious: punch. Hair too long, hair too short, clothes too neat, clothes untidy. Punch. TV on, TV off, bring in the mail, don’t touch the mail. Punch. Eat too much, don’t appreciate your food. Don’t stay out, don’t come home. So fucking clumsy but don’t bruise enough, so fucking clumsy and bruise too easily. Don’t cry, want to see you cry. I could never keep up with what was right or wrong so I was always being hit. Every pitiable, inadequate moment of my life revolved around his fists. I’d creep about and I’d pray that nothing would ever be a real big deal because I was so damn sore from coping with all the little deals. “Then one day I find the courage to ask if I can have the basement ‘cause I’m thinking out of sight, out of mind, and being just a bit more out of the way of his fists, and it turns out to be the big deal. He kicks me down those fucking stairs and he kicks me around that basement and he kicks me back upstairs to make the arrangements. He’s punching and punching and I don’t know why or where the next one’s coming from and I’m so scared. He takes every penny I’ve saved and kicks me down the stairs again and I sit there for three hours trying to hold my breath, afraid to move in case I make a sound and he comes back. TV goes on upstairs and I finally breathe and that hurts, so I take a look at the damage and I’m black and blue and maybe ribs are cracked and I’m frightened to take a piss because it’s going to be full of blood where he got my kidneys and seeing that is something else that always scares me.” Xander stopped and inhaled deeply, paused, exhaled slowly. “Doesn’t sound much, does it? Not compared to what you went through. Not enough to freak out over.” “More than enough,” Spike said, almost inaudibly as he brought Xander’s hand up to his mouth, the pair of them pretending he wasn’t trembling with rage. “But it was every fucking day. Even when he didn’t touch me the threat was there and it was being scared every fucking day. And I was a kid. You don’t do that to kids. You don’t beat a kid because he tripped over the mat and broke your concentration when the game was on TV. You don’t bury your fork in his hand because he brings a comic to the table. You don’t constantly remind him that he’s the result of a drunken fuck, and that daddy wishes to God he’d settled for a blow job that night. You don’t lock him in a cupboard overnight ‘cause you’re going out and he’s only seven but you don’t want to pay for a sitter, and you don’t forget about him being there for days because you decide to make a lost weekend of it.” There was a long, heavy pause. “So drugs would be good. Sleep would be good. Extending the selective amnesia would be especially good.” “No.” “No?” “I want you here, awake.” “Why?” “Because I’m a selfish bastard and I need you to make me feel better.” Xander cracked a smile, a smile for Spike; it was real and it felt excellent. “Come to bed and hold me. Forget everyone else, can you? For now?” Spike was already on his way before Xander had finished speaking, kicking the door shut, throwing off his clothes and sliding under the covers. With help, Xander turned carefully to find his place within Spike’s powerful embrace, taking a while to settle comfortably on his partner’s bony chest. The vampire protectively tightened his grip. “Okay, love? Don’t let me squash you.” “Feels perfect. Like I’m safe. It’s taken this long to feel safe.” Xander’s breathing coarsened and Spike could feel Xander’s body tensing as he tried to keep the emotions in check. “Let it out.” “No. Not for them, not any more. Change the subject.” “Don’t think I can.” “Then I will.” Xander thought for a moment. “Why does your hair grow so fast if you’re dead?” “D’know. One of life’s imponderables. Like…why do you ask such daft questions when you’re actually very intelligent?” “So now I feel challenged to ask something intelligent. Okay…” Pause for deliberation. “Okay. If you could go back in time and change one thing in your life, what would it be? Or is that too obvious?” “Hmm…” Spike put some consideration into the question. “Not obvious.” “Not the chip? Has to be the chip.” “No.” “No? But…” “I would have been a distant memory by now. If Buffy hadn’t dusted me I’d have killed her. And if I’d killed her you and Red would’ve come after me. If you didn’t manage to finish me off I’d’ve killed the pair of you. Whatever way it turned out, I still wouldn’t have you, I wouldn’t have this life.” “But you would be whole.” “I want you more than that, I want us. I know you get sick of hearing ‘take away the bad stuff’, but take away the bad stuff and I’m right where I want to be. Look, I’ve never told you anything about the time I spent away from Sunnydale, and I should have. I left because I knew I was being fucked around with – in every sense – and I knew I was doing something wrong.” “Because Buffy…” “It was nothing to do with Buffy.” “How can it not be…” “Listen, will you?” Spike let the silence become extended, testing Xander to see if he could stay quiet. “Away from there, outside the influence of that mojo I started to see things clearly. Absolutely clearly. The longer I was away the clearer it all became and the more certain I was. When I finally accepted one truth a great heap of nonsenses finally made sense.” “What did you realise?” “That I’d only ever stayed in Sunnydale to be near you.” “No way!” Xander laughed incredulously. “I knew you’d react like that, that’s why I’ve never told you.” “Sorry, sorry, carry on.” “Not talking about love, just…proximity. I went away and you were the one I missed, the one I thought of and fretted over. In the end I had to come back, God knows I didn’t want to, but I had to for you. It was so bloody difficult, having to keep out of the way, knowing you hated me and who’d blame you? After the first kind words you said to me I nearly broke down and blurted it all out.” “Is that why you were so quiet? You didn’t trust yourself to speak?” Spike nodded. “When you walked me back to my apartment after killing that demon… I have this mental picture of your face, and I swear…” “I wanted to kiss you, yes.” “Proximity?” Xander frowned. “Love. Do you remember what you did when that nasty was dead?” Ignoring the fact that he’d recently played this over and over in his head after talking to Angel about the past, Xander went through the motions of thought. “Umm… Xander Harris, that particular period in time… Have to go with major babble.” Spike gave a small laugh and kissed Xander’s brow. “Apart from that.” Xander shook his head. “It’s laid out pretty simply in my mind: monster, die, Spike, saved, babble, home, no Spike, quote: ‘Fucking hell, I’d forgotten how gorgeous he was’, end quote.” “I killed the demon and you came to me, and this is a me covered with innards and shit and stinking to high heaven, and you took my hands and scraped the slime off, checking for wounds, and you did the same with my face, and I saw in your eyes that you needed me to be unhurt. I remember thinking, I actually thought the words: I love this man. Not the big one, not the in love, not yet. But after all the unreal emotions I’d been forced to live with, it was pure and sweet and I knew it was genuine.” Spike paused. “‘Fucking hell, I’d forgotten how gorgeous he was’? Where did that come from?” “I know, not logically the me of the moment. But I really thought it, didn’t even freak out over it. You think we were both being influenced?” “Not influenced, that’d make this as fake as the business with Buffy. It was more a case of something that should be, being. Maybe I don’t understand how it started, why it came about, but we’re as real as it gets, Xander.” Kisses and strokes, and they lay in thought for a while. “Has to be what happened to you.” “Sorry?” “If I could go back and change one thing. I’d have been here that night, come along with you, stopped you being hurt.” “It was humans.” “More than that, it was cowards, or it wouldn’t have taken three of them. They’d seen someone else there, evening up the odds a bit, they wouldn’t have laid a finger on you.” “You know I’m going to be fine.” “I know. Doesn’t make it any easier.” Another kiss in Xander’s hair. “What’s yours? What would you change?” “Not much. I had to be made what I am, I see that. But, I… I wish I’d been braver before I left you. I wish I’d let you claim me. And I mean claim me, not just fuck me.” “Would you have still left though?” “I had to.” “You think I’d’ve let you? Once you were claimed?” “Maybe not. Maybe that’s why it couldn’t happen. More of the creepy ‘what will be’ scenario.” More thought. “I’ve got one. I should have offered to take the Gem of Amara to Angel. Xander the klutz could’ve lost it along the way – no-one would have questioned that – and you could’ve magically found it in my sock drawer a few years later.” Spike groaned. “Can’t believe I had that and let it go. I’m such a loser, Xander. Too busy being full of shit to hang on to something that important. I got to walk in the sunshine,” Spike finished wistfully. “You think there’s another one somewhere?” “Not likely.” “We could research. Max might know something.” “I blew it, love. Chances like that don’t come twice.” “I’m sorry.” “Forget about it. I have already,” he lied. “C’mon, ask me another of your not-so-daft questions. Let me impress you with the depth of my superficiality.” Xander nodded and wracked his brain. Found something that mattered. “Why don’t you show your true face when you feed? Or during sex? I know I read it happens during sex. Or should.” “Figures that’s the sort of thing you’d remember.” “So why? You used to change when you fed back in Sunnydale. I didn’t mind, I got used to it, and it’s not like it was offensive. I didn’t care then. I wouldn’t now.” “I know.” “Is it still what they did to you? They stopped you and…” “Yes, Xander, it’s the conditioning,” Spike said more harshly than he’d intended, but Xander just reached up and touched Spike’s face, tracing where the ridges would be if Spike were in game face. “It’s beautiful. That face.” “No, it’s not, and…” ‘Do it once more in my presence and I’ll slice that fucking vile mess you call a face right off. Okay, I warned you…’ “…I know I scared you…” “That wasn’t about your face, Spike. And that’s over and gone. You’re beautiful, believe me. You ever change when we’re fucking and I swear I’ll come so hard it’ll fire you through a wall.” “Might be worth the risk.” “It wouldn’t be a risk. Repeat after me… I’m gorgeous and…” “You’re gorgeous and…” Beat. “Okay, You’re gorgeous and…” “You’re gorgeous and…? Have we finished?” “Gimme a kiss, will you?” Spike rearranged them a little until he was able to touch his lips to Xander’s. “Need that. More.” Xander got more, but after a few minutes he pressed his face back to Spike’s chest. “Was it me? Why did he hate me? It must have been me.” Spike felt his own tears well as Xander’s wet his skin. “Why couldn’t they love me? If it’s me does that mean you’ll stop loving me?” At Spike’s fervent denial of the possibility the grief finally poured out of Xander, and all Spike could do was hold him and love him and encourage the purging. … Beyond the closed door Patrick stood, hand caught halfway to knocking. The raised fist was clenched so tightly the flesh was entirely white, and it had been that way for five minutes; five minutes frozen by the muffled sound of Xander’s weeping and broken words and Spike’s heartfelt reassurances. He tore himself out of the stance and wandered along the hallway, arms wrapped about himself, trying not to be angry, he hated to be angry. But some people were worth being angry for. He felt the draw of his Alexander and went back to the door of the master bedroom, raised his hand once more. … Xander was gasping his way through the last moments of his crying jag when the knock came. “Pat,” Xander acknowledged. “How do you know it’s him?” Shrug. “You want him in here?” Nod. “I’ll have to…” Another nod and Xander released Spike, letting him out of the bed to swiftly dress and open the door. “Come on,” he encouraged Patrick. “You may want to talk to your friends. They’re a little…unsettled.” Spike glanced back to Xander, received a ‘go’ gesture. He tried to tell Patrick how fragile Xander was with a look, but the understanding was already there. Patrick gave Spike’s arm a brief squeeze, and the vampire left. Xander was on his side, facing in to the bed, and Patrick came and sat behind him. “Hey,” Xander said softly in greeting. “Hey,” Patrick replied in kind. Patrick rested his hand on Xander’s upper arm, stroking with his thumb, and Xander revelled in the comfort of that small action. “You’re not going to ask about them are you?” “No. I don’t need to ask. You need to talk?” “Uh-uh.” “Good.” Moving a little further up the bed, Patrick ran his hand over Xander’s hair, catching a glimpse of the smile that crept over Xander’s lips. A simple reaction that stirred Patrick’s rage and once again he did his best to quell it. His hand stilled, fingers spreading firmly over Xander’s skull. “Rest,” he whispered and watched as the young man’s eyes closed and the tension instantly dispersed from his body. Five minutes introspective thought and Patrick had created an inner harmony he could share. “Peace,” he told Xander, and the smile was unconsciously back. “Strength.” A shudder ran through Xander’s body and Patrick knew that was enough: he shouldn’t even be taking these chances. But before the connection was broken… “Take your love,” he murmured. A gentle, frustrated creak came from Xander’s throat and Patrick smiled to himself. “Wake.” Xander slowly stirred. “Alex?” “Mmm? Pat. I’m sorry, I must’ve…” “I thought I’d take your friends out to dinner, give you and Spike some time alone.” “That’s…” Patrick watched Xander with a carefully controlled expression, determined not to reveal the silly grin that was trying to emerge as Xander figured it all out. “Oh. Okay. That’d be good.” Patrick gave Xander’s shoulder a last rub and stood. “Don’t wait up.” Downstairs Spike had had enough of trying to make things right, comforting Dawn and placating Willow, and Buffy mad at the both of them because she hadn’t even known and… Fuck me sideways, I’m immortal and life is still too short for this! Intense relief as Patrick came back into the room with a look on his face that said he was going to sort it all out, slapping his hands together like he meant business, flash of lightning from the storm gathering outside giving him the benefit of Spielbergesque theatrics. “Get yourselves ready, ladies, we’re hitting the town.” “We can’t leave Xander,” Willow protested. “I think you’ll find that Alex and Spike are more than happy to be left.” “Because I…” Dawn began, all sad eyes and self-reproach. “Because they need their own space. Nothing sinister, Dawn, just about time we stopped monopolising their lives.” “Are you sure?” Willow insisted. Patrick turned to Spike. “Spike?” “Go.” Beth waved her phone at Patrick. “Donny’s? Somewhere a little classier?” “Classier.” “But we didn’t bring classy,” Buffy said with disappointment as she gestured to shirt and jeans. “We’ll go via ours, I have some nice things you can wear,” Beth assured as she punched buttons. Buffy and Dawn skimmed glances over Beth’s present designer label ensemble. “Okay,” they replied brightly in unison. Beth turned back to the phone. “Hi, Rafe, me. Can you and Moira meet us at Vencello’s…” Ten minutes later Spike was impatiently herding the cheerful gaggle from the house. “Here,” he threw “You won’t be up?” “Not in the sense you mean.” “Oh…you!” “By the way, I think the old medication finally wore…” Patrick found himself in the porch with the front door slamming behind him. “…off.” Beth was waiting for Patrick outside the car. She viewed her approaching husband sceptically. “You didn’t…?” “No.” A smile tugged at the corner of Beth’s mouth. “You’re such a bad liar, Pádraig.” He grinned apologetically. “Yes.” “Not too much though?” “Just enough. Just. They need the comfort.” Beth’s expression softened approvingly. “You did a good thing.” As Beth climbed into the car Patrick looked up at the grumbling sky, taking a deep breath and savouring the flavour of the charged air. He loved a good storm: it was so…cleansing.
|
|
|
|
|
| Site Updates Update List Home Fiction Gallery Links Feedback |
