The morning began in a lazy enough manner, Spike waking not long after the household began to move about. He listened to sounds of breakfast on the balcony below. Buffy and Willow’s voices dominated, accompanied by the soft clatter of cutlery and glasses along with other muted smatterings of conversation – “pass the…”, “When are you riding?” “Lovely day for…” . Spike concentrated for a while then snuggled into his lover’s side again, happy to focus on the warmth and slow heartbeat of his consort, and snooze until needed.
The ‘needed’ was not too long in coming. Xander woke after a blissfully dreamless sleep, only to register a nagging worry. Wracking his still waking brain, he just couldn’t remember when it had gone.
Spike felt the jolt of *loss, worry and sadness* through the link and roused immediately. He began to rub the broad chest under his light embrace, “What’s wrong pet?” Xander abruptly pulled away and began frantically lifting pillows, then launched himself onto the floor to scramble around under the bed. Spike was both baffled and very concerned. He sat up and swiftly followed his still mute partner as the brunette flew to the bathroom and began his search anew.
Spike finally gave up asking for explanations ‘on the fly’, and instead grabbed his panicked consort by the arm, forcing him to a halt. As calmly as he was able, given the flood of anguish through their link, he ground out, “What. Is. Wrong?” Xander wrenched his arm from the hold in frustration with an irritated “No!” and made for the door but at least this time Spike managed to make out the muttered “They took it. I thought I had it but I must’ve been…… and now it’s and I’ve f#$@ng lost it… it’s lost… bastards must’ve…”
The problem suddenly dawned on the vampire. He temporarily left Xander to his frenzy and pulled a small box from the depths of their shared suitcase. “Xan… Xan stop!... *Stop*!” This time the tone was accompanied by a definite growl that spoke across the link and Xander instantly complied. “Come here ya daft git … come on luv….. Here… this what’s got you all fussed.” Spike thrust his prize under the nose of his partner. “We took them out before we left remember… Your suggestion if I recall. Some rot about ‘reflecting in headlights’. Bollocks at the time o’ course but can’t say I’m sorry.” He noted the upset becoming embarrassed distress once more and pulled his partner into a brief hug before carefully replacing the matching pair of earrings, first Xander’s then his own.
“I’m sorry Spike, I just… couldn’t…. and well if they… I just didn’t want them to get any more of us…”
“Shhh… they haven’t pet… they haven’t…. it’s OK, Xan … it’s OK… *we’re* OK… C’mon…” He held the man in a reassuring hug for a few more seconds then gave him a cheeky kiss on the nose and waltzed toward the bathroom with a swagger utterly worthy of the ‘big bad’ of old. Xander’s sniggered as he spied the rear view of Spike, the retreating spandex clad figure was just too reminiscent of a scene from some B grade porn movie covering sex in the gym. Despite that thought, as he followed his partner to shower for the second time in less than twelve hours, Xander could not help another smile as he resolved to beg Giles (with whatever it took) to be allowed to take the heat suit back to Sacramento with them.
The mutual shower was a tender, yet utterly chaste affair. The link still rippling with Xander’s upset. Spike noted his consort fondling the jewel more than once as they took turns simply washing their significant other, both deliberately pushing love and devotion and calm through the link with each pass of the sponge or soap.
Packing was even less eventful and when Willow arrived early afternoon to invite them to luncheon it was almost a relief.
Bags were carried down and stowed at the front door ready for departure. They joined the rest of the group. The lunch and afternoon that followed was pleasant but somewhat subdued. The conversation largely surrounded the future of the rescued Italian slayers and recuperating watcher, plus various slayer and wiccan matters.
As the sun began to set and the helicopter arrived, conversation between the core five became strangely stiff and non personal, each of the protagonists wallowing in their own reasons for wishing to prolong the visit. Only Willow’s fellow wiccans seemed truly eager to go.
Spike embraced Anton before entering the helicopter. The immortal quietly conveying a vital message, “I have arranged things as you requested.” Anton then gave Spike a formal handshake but moved the other hand to rest on the back of Spike’s neck, thumb attempting to caress and fingers tangled in the pony tail of curls. It evoked a sense of fellowship and calm, and Spike relaxed into the touch.
“Please take this as a mark of our friendship. We will meet again soon I hope, little brother.” The Immortal pressed a small package into Spike’s hands as he placed a farewell kiss on each cheek.
Spike leaned back for a moment and caught Anton’s eyes in a fixed stare and said simply, “Thank you. For everything.” Then his face changed and he thanked their host again in full demon form before walking toward their transport.
Xander was already on board looking back at his partner. He was a little surprised that Spike’s exchange with Anton appeared so emotional and felt a momentary pang of jealousy. Love, relief and a mild, yet understandable, sense of loss flowed to him through their link and he fell back into his seat to wait, squeezing his non-patched eye closed in the process.
The patch was back in place after a number of days of not needing to wear it. The item was an irritation, an accessory worn for the benefit of those folks not used to marred facial features. Willow saw his discomfort, kissed him lightly on the cheek then leaned forward to place a concerned hand on her long time friend’s knee.
The flight to Venice was exciting, though Xander noticed at the outset that his Master Vampire had strapped himself in extremely tightly and had such a vice like grip on the package in his hand that his consort needed to peel off the first three fingers of his grip one at a time, before Spike realized and allowed a warm, reassuring hand to envelop one of his own.
They flew low over the countryside, the twilight and ever increasing numbers of twinkling street lights, allowing the five travelers to clearly see the quaint old farms and small towns under their flight path. A large yellow full moon on the horizon added to the surreal quality of their flight. The wiccans and Xander kept up a running commentary, but Spike simply stared down at the narrow local roads, lined with ancient stone and contemplated what Angelus might have made of all this - Of Rome, of the heat suit, of Anton and their flying carriage. He finally registered that Xander was speaking to him.
“What’s in the package?”
“Hmm??”
“The package… what’s in it?”
Spike looked down at the plain crimson object on his lap. “Dunno.”
“Well call me Sylvester, but aren’t you gonna open it?” Xander had the curious air of a child eyeing off someone else’s birthday present.
Pulling from his reverie completely, Spike smiled slightly, picked up Anton’s gift and turned it over in his hands. He then carefully lifted the wrapping tape and opened the paper to reveal its contents.
It was a beautiful ebony box with an intricate inlaid ivory scene of some mythical feast with fauns and cherubs, faeries and humans in flowing robes. There were tiny gold hinges and a gilded lock with intricate design on the side. Xander gasped, it was truly exquisite.
“Wow!.. well and?”
Spike twisted the minute key and lifted the lid. The box was lined in fine crimson suede, resting on it a folded piece of parchment tied with a white satin ribbon and a card, perfectly penned with elaborate flourish.
“For William and Alexander. May you love long and live well. A.”
Spike handed the card to Xander then tugged the end of the silken bow and carefully opened the ancient piece of paper. His eyes went wide and Xander felt a strange jolt through the link.
“What’s wrong sweetheart? What is it?”
Spike did not trust himself to speak just yet, so simply tilted the hand written page so his consort could see. It was a poem of some sort with an occasional smudge, typical of the blots made by a rushed writer and a quill. Xander could only make out a few of the words, as some of the letters were foreign to him, though he did recognize a number in Roman numerals at the top, ‘eighteen’.
“So what…” He didn’t get to finish before Spike’s emotion filled baritone began.
“Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?
Thou art more lovely and more temperate:
Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,
And summer's lease hath all too short a date:
Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines,
And often is his gold complexion dimm'd;
And every fair from fair sometime declines,
By chance or nature's changing course untrimm'd;”
Spike let the page fall to rest on its precious container as he moved his hand to cup Xander’s face, fixed him with an intense, love filled azure stare, and continued with no need to sight the page.
“But thy eternal summer shall not fade
Nor lose possession of that fair thou owest;
Nor shall Death brag thou wander'st in his shade,
When in eternal lines to time thou growest:
So long as men can breathe or eyes can see,
So long lives this and this gives life to thee.”
He kissed his consort deeply. A single large tear was transferred from orator to recipient and continued its path down Xander’s face for a moment.
The three witches had turned their attention to the two as Spike began his recitation, though it was Willow who almost choked as she realized the significance of the parchment, “It’s … it’s Shakespeare’s 18th Sonnet isn’t it…..” Even upside down she could clearly recognize the signature at the base of the page, “And it *is* in his own handwriting! Goddess Spike, that must be worth a *fortune*.”
Spike broke off the kiss and looked at her with glistening eyes, then near whispered, “Worth more ‘cause of who it came from …. And more ‘cause of who I am able to say it to.” He then turned back to his partner, took Xander’s face in his hands and whispered the last two lines of the poem again then kissed him chastely on the lips.
Finally taking one more look at the remarkable piece and lightly touching the famous signature, Spike lovingly returned the sonnet to its place of safekeeping.
The remainder of the trip was quiet. Even as they landed and transferred to the jet, a bare minimum was said. It seemed the lateness of the hour and intensity of the previous few days had caught up with all present.
………………
They taxied up to the hangers set aside for private jets at Heathrow, and were met by two courteous officials representing customs and immigration. Spike raised a quizzical eyebrow as he identified both by scent as not quite human. The larger of the two ‘men’ mumbled quietly as he checked Spike’s documents, “The Immortal has arranged your departure, sir. Please return by six.” Spike simply nodded.
As formalities were completed and their bags unloaded, Willow looked with confusion at the two limousines that had pulled up. “This is pretty… wow… but a bit overkilly don’t you think?”
“Not comin’ back with you, Red….”
“What??” She spun around and stared at Spike and Xander.
“Flights are booked for the mornin’ pet. Boy an’ I are headin’ home across the pond at 8am. Just time enough to take the boy to show 'im around then head back here.”
Willow all but fell on Xander, claiming him with a fierceness of a sister about to lose her sibling to some awful fate. “But you can’t!! Xander! Oh goddess I thought we had *days* yet!”
Xander was almost as surprised as Willow, but as Spike began to speak, quickly appreciated the reason. “Xan’s got responsibilities Red…. Holiday’s over. We’ve had our couple of weeks and there’s some of us as have jobs 'n such. Gotta get home pet, no two ways...” Spike grabbed one of the witch’s hands, dragged her from the embrace with his partner and into a suit warmed hug.
“There are many rooms in our house luv and one of them with your name on it…” Spike squeezed his old Sunnydale sister-in-arms in closer and kissed her on the temple. “I’ll look after ‘im Pet … can you do sommit for me though?... well…. for us?”
Willow was near tears.. “Ummm …. Sure…..” She looked to Xander who reached over and grabbed her hand, squeezing it reassuringly as he received love and trust messages clearly through the consort link.
“Need you to let the Bit an’ the Watcher know we’re OK…” Spike stared pleadingly into the witch’s eyes. Willow gave a tiny nod of acknowledgement and Spike returned the gesture with an additional rarely seen smile that conveyed warm friendship and genuine gratitude.
“We will come back, Me and Xan OK? It may should be soon mind….” Spike appearing to cover his previous kindness… “There’s unfinished business and.. well the boy needs a proper catchin’ up and… And all that rot!… anyway!” Spike now looked rather pleadingly at Willow. She nodded, smiled then added with a smirk, “I think Dawn might still owe you for an ongoing interest in green foliage!” Willow remembered the delightful bunny Spike and his joyful antics in the sun and grinned, but it was her turn to give a squeeze. “I’ll let them know…. You be well Spike… and take care of my friend!... There’ll be a shovel..”
“Yeah I know… with my name on it … got it.” Spike smiled and Willow was given a rare glimpse of William the Tender Hearted Victorian Poet (now ensouled vampire, utterly besotted and devoted to Xander, her oldest friend). In that moment, Willow could not think of any reason to be unhappy. These lovely males, these heroes, would go and come back, and today was a merely the natural pause in the process.
“But you’ve got to…”
Xander cut her off, “Of Course.”
“And *you* Mister Big Bad*!”
“I will... I give you my word.” Spike dropped easily into his true accent as he smiled and delivered his promise. Then added “An’ tell *Rupert* that we’ll be keepin’ the suit ‘cause it makes the tumble with my consort here a lot more interestin’ ” The last statement was accompanied by such a lascivious wink that Willow abandoned her attempt at sad demeanor and collapsed into giggles…
As the two males walked hand in hand toward their car she began to invoke a protection spell for their trip.
………………
Xander was staring out the window of the limousine, fascinated by seeing the main sights of London first hand, and the fact that there were so many people still out and about at two am.
They stopped at Hyde Park and took a short wander to a favorite spot of Spike’s, a large oak near the speaker’s corner. Xander couldn’t be sure of the reason for the particular fondness, but vaguely hoped it might be a pre-turning preference rather than a penchant for hunting and large crowds.
Returning to the car, Xander noted a large bunch of flowers now in the seat next to their driver but quickly forgot about them as his repeated references to Mary Poppins as they passed St Paul’s Cathedral and the old banking region, evoked a mocking repartee from Spike regarding ‘boys in pink and musicals’ from his partner.
In less than two hours, they had managed a complete circuit including the old Bailey, Leicester Square, the Tower, Parliament and both directions across London Bridge. They had passed Harrods and the Victoria Albert Museum and had a look at Leicester Square. Spike equaled his consort’s enthusiasm for all of it, but as they drove northwest out of the city centre, he fell silent.
“Where are we now sweetheart? Come on tourist guy here! Narrow streets, old buildings…”
“Harrow.”
“Isn’t that like a….” He was about to say school, but saw the anxious look in Spike’s face and felt a deep sense of grief through the link. He grabbed his partner’s hand. “What are we….?”
“Just need to do this pet…. An’ I think I need you with me… ‘cause it’s the first time since….” Spike broke off and continued to stare mournfully out the window.
A few minutes later, Xander found himself out of the car loaded up with three large bunches of flowers, and trudging toward a crowded old graveyard. A sprinkle of rain began and the ancient gate protecting the grounds cried its protest as Spike pushed it open. The vampire took his consort’s hand and led the way as they wound toward a spot one row from the rear of the plot. There were two large arch shaped head stones, all but touching a small one nestled between. Spike clutched his arms around himself as if in pain and fell to his knees but a few feet from the graves.
Though struggling with the pain flowing through the link, Xander continued up to the stones and squinted hard at the worn etchings in the granite: The Hon. James Andrew Bradford-Whitely esq, husband & father, 1810 – 1857; Margaret Emily Bradford-Whitely, Devoted wife and Beloved Mother, 1822 – 1876; Master James Archibald Bradford-Whitely, RIP, 1840 – 1846.
Xander suddenly knew why they were here. He placed a sheath of flowers at the base of each headstone then moved quickly to Spike’s side. His vampire was now at the foot of the graves kneeling in an ever increasing quagmire. Spike still had his one arm wrapped around himself while he petted the soil over one of the graves with the other hand and rocked slowly, whispering and keening constantly. Xander eventually made out the words, a series of prayers and repeated heartfelt pleas for forgiveness, and finally, simple tearful admissions of how much 'they' were missed and why.
Xander simply slid a comforting arm around the slim, tense shoulders and waited for the initial storm to pass. He stared once more at the stones and took in the meaning of the middle one. William had been the second son, but could never have known his brother judging by the dates.
He finally felt Spike turn a little, so pulled him into a firm hug and continued the rocking motion, attempting to gift his partner with the reassuring ‘purr’ that he so enjoyed from Spike. Sadly even Xander would admit later that his really was more of a tuneless hum, though it had the required effect. Spike calmed and eventually made the first move to stand. They stood hand in hand as drips slid down the inside of sodden pants and into their shoes. He snorted ruefully at their muddied attire.
“ ‘Ardly the state I wanted ya in when I introduced ya luv”
Xander looked puzzled for a moment then understood. He squeezed his partner’s hand as they walked over the graves and knelt within inches of the central stone.
Spike slipped into his original upper-class accent, and somehow adopted a manner suitable for the formal parlor of the Bradford-Whitely home of old.
“Father, Mother… I would like you to meet my… consort… Alexander Lavelle Harris. He is an American, so I realize you may not initially approve Father… but he is a good man… the best there is… Indeed he is my savior, my friend, and my… eternal companion. And I am… happy at last.” Spike broke off to lift their joined hands and kiss Xander's knuckles then let one more tear trickle and drop to the ground before they said a respectful goodbye.
As Xander pulled Spike to his feet, a cold drip tracked from Xander’s knee all the way down his shin. ‘We need to get out of these clothes Spike!”
The solemn mood was broken as Spike replyed with, “Not in front of me ol’ mum you don’t!” followed by a quick sprint back to the car.
Reclothed, firmly kissed and on their way to the airport, Xander and Spike both felt it. Things had changed for them, extraordinary challenges had been met, and strong new alliances made, but they were still going home to ‘normality’, to Sacramento… together.