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Chapter 1 Circus Skills
“Are you serious?” It was the question that
Spike had been asking himself for the past several hours. Naturally it was ten times more irksome when
it came from Angel. “You think I misheard?” “No. I’m just clinging to the hope that you did.” “I haven’t ballsed this
up; Rupert was very specific.” “Xander Harris.” “Xander Harris,” Spike
confirmed. “And Giles told you where
to find him? This is where we’re
headed?” “You can always turn the
car around and….” “Not if Giles was very specific,” Angel responded with
heavy sarcasm. “Don’t take it out on
me. ‘Bout time you just bit the bullet
and dealt.” Spike felt Angel’s gaze
flicker over to him and away several times. “Spike…” the older
vampire began in an implausibly reasonable tone. “You…er…you told me you got on with him.” “At the end, yes,” Spike
conceded, knowing where this was going and wishing he’d kept his mouth shut
about that, however long ago the conversation was. “But only
at the end, before that…” “You still have a better
record with him than me. He never stopped hating me.” “Fancy that. Can’t believe I spent years thinking he was
an idiot.” Angel glowered and Spike,
because it was expected of him, glowered back. “You can take this one,”
Angel eventually announced. “I can…! Excuse me if I’m not overwhelmed by your
generosity.” “All you have to do…” “Ah, no. Two days ago it was beyond my feeble skills,
remember?” Glower. “I have to put up
with Harris, then you do too.” There was a long,
thoughtful expanse of time when they both pretended to concentrate on the road,
while, in fact, both tried to mentally dredge up the last news they’d had on Xander. “No-one talks much about
him,” Angel said with a frown in due course. “Got out, didn’t he? Obviously something better came along and he
jumped ship. And I repeat: can’t believe
I spent years thinking he was an idiot.” Arriving in the small
North Californian town they’d been directed to by Rupert Giles, they tracked
down the address; very evidently no-one at home, but a neighbour was kind
enough to explain where Xander could be found of an evening. It was only a two minute
drive, and soon Angel was parking up outside a cheerful, red-brick building;
the two vampires exchanged a wary look as they approached and saw the sign that
welcomed one and all to the Stokes Chapel. “I doubt we’re the ‘one
and all’ they’re thinking of.” Angel
hesitated outside the main doorway. “You
think we’ll be able to walk in?” “Only one way to find
out.” The question was made
redundant as they reached for the door; it was yanked open and a jolly lady of
questionable age received them with great enthusiasm, telling them they were
only just in time for the evening’s meeting but luckily there were a few spare
seats and she’d be able to sneak them in at the back. They agreed with
perfectly schooled, highly appreciative smiles and nods, and let her lead
on. It didn’t take more than a brief
glance between Spike and Angel to share their thoughts on this one: very
strange for a chapel, in fact, highly un-chapely. More so as they took their seats at the rear
of a packed auditorium and absorbed the general air of subdued but plainly
evident expectation. And there, on stage,
the apparent focus of this expectancy was… “Bloody hell.” …Xander Harris? If Spike hadn’t been
looking out for Xander, he wouldn’t have recognised this alternative version of
the young man he’d known in Sunnydale.
The scruffy, worn-out being on the stage barely pushed any buttons, let
alone rang any bells. He looked as if
sleep was a foreign concept, and peace was off the planet. Spike was refusing to think ‘Xander as main
feature’ and had worked along to roadie for a Christian revivalist, but then a
few eavesdropped words clued him in and a wide grin crossed his face. “He looks a mess,” Angel
muttered, and Spike guessed he was referring to Xander’s state of being rather
than appearance, although either might have applied. “What help is he going to be?” “Shut up, fun’s
starting.” Xander was now fiddling
with a tiny microphone, which he awkwardly clipped to the neck of his t-shirt,
but then he looked up and there was the smile, the broad, guileless Xander
smile, and yes, recognition for Spike, a jolt of semi-welcome memory that took
him back six, verging on seven years. “Hi,” Xander said, “this
working?” and he grinned at the animated response from the crowd. “Guess you know me.” More applause. “Won’t bother with the spiel then, just get
down to business.” “Is this what I think it
is?” Angel asked with a suitably doom-laden voice. “D’know. You think it’s a Spiritualist meeting?” Spike
taunted, perfectly happy with the night’s entertainment but knowing Angel’s
feelings on this particular subject. “Ah…balls.” Within the auditorium,
assistants wielding microphones sprung to attention as Xander concentrated,
evidently listening. “Okay. Okay, I’m…”
He crossed the stage and gestured to the far left of the
auditorium. “…over here. I’m…
Okay, thank you, yes,” Xander said to an invisible presence. “Looking for someone who lost a grandparent,
or grandparent-type figure recently, and…
I have a reference to…” Xander
let out a short laugh. “A motor engine
for Thanksgiving dinner?” There was a small
commotion from the area Xander had indicated, cutting short Xander’s words, and
an excitedly anxious middle-aged woman was bustled to her feet; a mic was
passed along to her and she self-consciously spoke into it. “Hello. Hello, Xander. I’m “Hi, “…and, yes, yes, the
engine makes sense, my grandfather was stripping it down on the dining table
and we had to eat around it at Thanksgiving because the pieces couldn’t be
moved.” “He thought he’d never
put it back together again if it got all mixed up.” “That’s right, yes.” “And…it’s still there
now,” Xander said with another laugh, “but the family has…he’s showing
me…flowers…dressed it with flowers?” A ripple of laughter ran
through the audience. “It is still there, I
couldn’t bear to move it.” “I am not repeating that!” Xander protested, and now the entire audience laughed along
with the man’s granddaughter. “Is it
enough to say that he knows you’ve found better ways to remember him than
staring at a dismantled engine?” “Oh, I can imagine the
language,” Angel was literally
squirming in his seat; he turned and hissed at Spike: “Didn’t Giles warn you it
was him? Directly him?” “No.” “But Xander never showed
any indication…” “Will you shut up? I’m missing the good stuff.” “You stay, I’ll wait in
the car.” Spike grabbed Angel’s
wrist before he could leave. “Not a chance. Too important for me, remember?” “But that was
before…this.” “Sit back, shut up, and
enjoy the show. Unless… Not scared, are you?” “Don’t be ridiculous.” “We’ll watch this, see
what we think of him, and then, if he’s the bloke for the job…” “You can…” “You can…” Spike contradicted. “We can talk to him.” “After all, it’s only
Harris, what harm…” Spike’s attention was
caught by what was happening on the stage, as Xander struggled against
interruption to retain his contact with the woman’s grandfather. “I’m sorry, what…? Can you wait a moment, there’ll be time
for— No, no, that’s… No.”
Xander’s distress was evident and he was shuddering, harshly and
visibly, even at the distance the vampires were from the stage. “No, don’t show me, don’t show me, just tell
me. I understand. I do, I believe that, I’ve seen… Don’t – no, I don’t want to feel—” Xander’s hand came up to his neck, and he
paled in shock, staggered slightly. The
audience’s good humour switched noticeably to unease, and Spike spotted a
couple of people, presumably Xander’s lackeys, dithering at the edge of the
stage, not sure whether to intervene.
“Yeah, I know,” Xander was reassuring the spirit, voice shaking hard
now. “I know.” No searching or scanning
the audience: Xander’s gaze fell directly on Angel. “I know.” It looked as if Xander
was going to keel over; his assistants were at his side in an instant, letting
him lean on them rather than attempting to hold him. “Sorry,” Xander told the
audience. “Short break. I’ll be back, don’t go anywhere.” The stage darkened and
Xander faded away. “Well,” Spike said with
equal parts amusement, sheer nosiness, and discomfort, “what do you make of…” Angel was gone. … Later, backstage, Xander
sat alone in a dimly lit room, wrapped in the goat hair blanket that was his
only remaining souvenir of Wanting to be furious but
too weary to be furious. Barely finding
the strength to rip off the eye-patch that irritated the fuck out of him, or
move to the mirror and check his neck for the tenth time, looking for the bite
mark, the wound that had drained… “Too. Fucking.
Many.” He pointlessly clamped his
hands over his ears. “Too. Fucking.
Many.” He shut his eye,
concentrated on trying to block out the constant voices, but he couldn’t, he’d
never found the way, he’d never find the way, and… Temporary relief. Passing out. A common occurrence –
nowadays Xander’s post-meeting consciousness appeared to have a hair trigger –
but it was never frequently/for long enough to satisfy Xander’s need for
escape. Always too short a time before… Coming to. Passing out, coming to,
and when he opened his eye he saw a pair of filthy boots. His gaze travelled up the form they were
attached to, black jeans with grubby knees, trim body draped in a battered
leather coat, silver rings on the hands, remnants of black nail polish, and
there, right at the pinnacle of this apparition, was Spike’s head. “Great. Ollie skipped town but forgot to take Stan,”
Xander observed flatly. “Hello. Xander.”
Proving that Spike could be polite when he wanted something. “What do you want?” Because Xander wasn’t fooled. Spike ran over the
question in his mind. No hostility, just
a genuine enquiry. No hostility. A good sign that he clung to. “Can we talk?” Xander stirred, realised
how much effort it was going to take, and un-stirred. “Does it have to be
now? I’m pretty beat.” “Mmm, you look wretched,”
Spike agreed with as much sensitivity as Xander would have expected. “But this is
exceptional.” Sharper now. “I don’t usually have to contend with the
Scourge of Europe and a stadium-worth of their victims.” “We didn’t know it would
happen.” “And you didn’t bother to
find out. What the fuck did you think I
was doing? Making this stuff up?” “A couple of hours ago we
thought we’d been sent to you as a contact, a go-between, not…” Spike gave a feeble wave in Xander’s
direction. Xander burrowed further
into the blanket until he was nothing more than a sprout of dark hair. “Go away. I have nothing for you.” “Not real then?” Spike
goaded. “I thought it was too good to be
genuine. Few plants in the audience, bit
of a theatrical swoon…” “I don’t need your—” Xander fell abruptly
silent; Spike failed to notice. “Nice act, though. Would’ve been a scream in a Victorian music
hall, they loved their freaks and…” A
hum came from within the confines of Xander’s cocoon. Spike stiffened, whole body tensing in an
instant. An instant of time, a
fleeting moment. Twisting the way he’d see Xander forevermore. “I’ll be off then, if you
can’t…” “Early one morning, just
as the sun was rising,” Xander sang stiltedly, “I heard…” “Stop that!” “…singing in...” “Not funny, Harris!” “…below. Oh, don’t deceive me…” The blanket dropped away,
and Xander wobbled to his feet, closing in on Spike. The vampire’s hands clenched into fists and
he glared at the human. “Not another word.” Xander’s fingers flicked
in an unconscious mannerism, coaxing the spirit on. “C’mon, Honey, you can do
it. Help her.” “I’m warning you.” “That’s better,
that’s… She…she forgives you. You’ll know what. She’s still with… With William, you…you, William. Still with you and…and she’s… Proud of who you are now, what you do.” “No,” barely audible,
Spike weakening as Xander’s contact strengthened. “With you when…” Xander shook his head. “A dragon?
You fought a dragon?” “No.” “Yes, you did, she was
with you, and… Oh,” Xander frowned
painfully. “Shared your loss. Losses.
And…always such a sensitive child.
She wants you not to be ashamed of feeling…” Spike seized Xander by
the throat of his t-shirt, pulling him close and growling, eyes turning yellow
in his upset. “Think you’re so fucking
clever?” Spike snapped out, and Xander
rapidly shook his head. “You know about
the song, the rest you’ve been told, you can guess…” “On your birthday –
thirteenth birthday – your father told you it was time to be a man…a man…with…a
man’s pursuits. A man with a man’s
pursuits.” The words were coming faster
now, almost gabbled. “He burned your
poems and stories, she couldn’t stop him, but she wanted to, and she tried to
reason with him, but…” Spike shoved
Xander up against the nearest wall, knocking the air out of him, but Xander
whooped in oxygen, croaked on, “…and…it didn’t matter that you couldn’t cry
when he died, he’d been too hard on you, he’d worn down any good feelings you
had for him, but she knows, she knows how you suffered, you suffered together,
and she…” With a hard punch to the
face, Spike helped Xander to a little peace.
Angry and confused and guilty, he heaved the unconscious man back into
the armchair and threw the blanket over him. Hurrying to the door,
Spike paused with an unsteady hand on the catch, turning back slowly to look
around the room. Beyond himself and
Xander it was, apparently, empty.
Brutally empty. … “Did you speak to him?” Spike leaned in the open
window of Angel’s car. “Only for a moment. Nothing’s resolved.” “You screwed it up,
didn’t you?” “No.” “Are you sure?” “I’ll leave Harris to you
then, shall I? If I’m screwing it up.” “No! I…Spike, no, I… I’m sure you dealt wonderfully with the whole
situation.” “That’s better.” Requisite mutual glare
and… “So…?” “In the absence of your
sanctimonious gitness, I thought it best not to pursue the subject while he was
still…edgy. After what happened.” Spike watched Angel perform another of the
night’s uncomfortable shifts. “Yeah,
your fault, your victims, and as for doing a runner, you cowardly wanker…” “Are you staying
here? Or coming back with me?” “I think I’ll have to
stop and have another word with him. See
if I can make amends. For you,” Spike
quickly added. “Us,” more sombrely. “‘The Scourge of Europe and a stadium-worth
of their victims’, he said.” Two souled vampires, two
highly troubled faces. “Want to find someone
else?” Angel asked, but Spike saw the question coming and was already shaking
his head. “If we’re directly
involved – and we have no choice there – we’ll get this with whoever we go
to. At least this way we don’t have to
explain, he knows it all. Or maybe not
all, but enough,” Spike corrected himself.
“Unless there’s another way entirely?” This time it was Angel
shaking his head, and he was already starting the car’s engine. “Take it easy on him,” he
instructed, trying not to sound begrudging.
“And stay in touch.” “Where will you be?” “Somewhere a long way
away from Xander Harris and his circus skills.” … Alone and hidden by the
darkness, Spike could be honest. Bitterly, he thought of
his father, William’s father, and
there was the old hatred, resentment, fear, regret, love… Why love? He never deserved a
moment of affection, he was emotionally stunted, intellectually vain,
inadequate in every respect, a tyrant and a bully, and he never deserved love
and… He never deserved… Her. Deeper darkness, the
thickest shadows, Spike let himself be engulfed. Needing the purest black
of night. The all-consuming black
of relentless mourning. … Xander’s friends had
found him unconscious and gently brought him around with quiet encouragement
and hot tea, not suspecting that this was anything other than one of his usual
recovery spells. “Spike?” was the first
word to leave Xander’s lips as he came to, and he suddenly jerked awake,
staring around the room. “Where did he
go?” “Who go?” asked Simone
Colberg, designated lackey number one by audience member Spike. “There was a guy in here,
bleached hair, sharp features, all in black.” “I passed someone like
that in the corridor.” Henry Colberg:
lackey number two. “He looked upset,
what did you say to him?” Xander’s hand came
unconsciously to his jaw. “Something about his
mother. But not like that sounds.” “Did he hit you?” Simone
demanded as she pulled his hand away and poked at the soreness. “You want me to call the cops?” “Ow, and ow.”
Xander slapped the prodding fingers away. “No cops.
I passed on a message that… I’m
never going to be any good at knowing when to stay quiet. This was something that mattered, he would
have wanted to hear it eventually, I’m sure, but what I said to him had to be a
shock, big shock, and… Let’s just say I should know better with this
guy’s temperament.” “That’s going to be a
nasty bruise, I’ll get some ice.” “No, H, really. I’m fine, I’ll put something on it when I get
home if it needs it.” “Sure, but…” “I’ve had worse in the
past, I promise you.” “That is the most
appalling reasoning,” Henry told Xander crossly. “Dismissing this assault because…” “Can we schedule a fight
about this for some other time? Any
weekend is good for me. At least any
weekend that isn’t this year. Or that
has a Saturday or Sunday in it. Or that
involves me waking up any time over…” “…a forty-eight hour
period,” they chorused. Xander was helped up –
unnecessarily helped, he lost no time in protesting – and there followed a good
deal of protective grumbling when he immediately reached for his coat. “I’ll call you in the
morning, okay? Let you know if
I’ve had some
sense knocked into me.” “Xander… You’ve had a bad evening, and now this
shock… You want me to get someone else
to take tomorrow night?” Simone tiptoed through the question with uncalled for
delicacy. “No, I’ll be fine.” The woman sighed, refused
to question how many times she’d heard that immensely irritating phrase from
this immensely irritating individual, and sat back to watch as her husband
pursued Xander along the corridor and tried to secure a guarantee that he was
about to go straight home and to bed to get some much-needed rest, not prepared
to accept the futility of trying to reason with their obstinate friend. … “At least let me arrange
transport for you,” Henry was persisting, even as Xander pushed through the
security doors at the rear of the building and attempted to escape the stifling
concern. “It’s five minutes, I
don’t need a car to—” The words dried up when
Xander caught sight of the shock of white-blond hair that gleamed under the
parking lot lights. Henry followed
Xander’s gaze, and his face flushed red with anger when he saw Spike. “I think you should leave
right now, young man,” Henry warned, “before I call the police and have you
charged.” Spike ignored the threat,
just stared, hard and intensely at Xander, and couldn’t help the stupidity of
bitterly resenting the last person to have heard his mother’s voice. “What do you want?”
Xander asked, not quite cautiously, but certainly without the bravado of their
earlier meeting. “Can we talk? Now?” Xander took a deep breath
and released it slowly, recalling the vampire’s doggedness and fairly sure that
whatever Spike had in mind would need to be addressed before he’d go away and
leave them in relative peace. “You want to walk me
home?” “Xander!” “Trust me, H, I know what
I’m doing.” Without another look at
Spike, Xander began to walk; it was only seconds before Spike fell in beside
him. “Do I know what I’m
doing?” “You’re perfectly safe,”
Spike assured, and Xander glanced at him in eloquent disbelief. “What’s this about? Or did you simply track me down to ruin my
meeting and take a shot at breaking my jaw?” “I’m…” The ‘sorry’ refused to happen. “I’ve a legitimate reason to be here. We need your help.” “Straight to it. Okay.”
Xander diverted them to take the long way home: this was already
beginning to feel like a long way conversation.
“‘We’ being?” “Oh, y’know,” Spike said
casually, “mankind.” Xander gave a chuckle. “Just mankind? So long as it’s no biggie.” “I’m…this…is serious.” “And since when do you
include yourself in mankind? Thought
demonkind couldn’t swing it, huh?” “I’m working for
mankind. And mankind needs your help.” “I don’t do that stuff
anymore, didn’t anyone tell you? No
apocalypses, saving the world, talking down the genocidal best friend. I switched my name to the list headed
non-essential personnel. You’ll find me
in the column marked ‘retired due to mutilation’.” “I wouldn’t be here if
there was any choice, trust me.” “Trust you? Wow, amazing how easily that doesn’t come.” “Rupert Giles sent me to
you,” Spike tried another tack. “He
thought you were the one for the job.” “It’s a job now? How’s the pay?” “You know what I mean.” “Maybe I do, and maybe I
don’t want to.” Xander stopped walking
and leaned against a streetlight. “It’s
taken me long enough to find my place in life, I don’t intend to let you
disrupt it.” “Look, Ha…Xander, I understand if you won’t take
me seriously. Who would you…” “You can’t do that! You can’t ask me who I’d like to be coerced
by,” Xander said with a laugh, but inside his head he was already making the
list. “No-one could sway me,” he lied,
already up to double figures. “I could always…bop you
on the head and carry you off,” Spike said conversationally. “Like that worked so well
the last time. If this turns out to be
another bullshit love spell to win her back…” Spike smiled sadly, eyes
suddenly full of memories. “She’s gone. Drusilla.
Angel and I both felt it happen.” The ignorantly smart
comment that once would have emerged without thought stuck in Xander’s
throat. Bereavement was, regardless of
who, how and why, bereavement. “That’s… I’m…I’m sorry for your loss, Spike. Genuinely.
But don’t expect me to be sorry she’s no longer making a meal of the
population.” “No, I wasn’t sorry about
that either.” Xander looked at him
curiously. “Soul. Insists on having its way.” “I hope you’re not here
to talk to her, ‘cause it doesn’t work like that.” “Hardly save the world,
would it?” Xander realised that he’d
totally lost track of the conversation, nodded, and resumed walking. “Want to tell me about
it? Not saving the world, just why I
matter.” “If you’ll tell me how
you got to be the one that matters.” “Only if you tell
something equally as personal.” “Quid pro quo, eh? Next you’ll be calling me Clarice, which I
wouldn’t advise, by the…” “What did you do when you
walked away earlier?” That wiped the
smirk from Spike’s face. “And why didn’t
you keep going? I made you really angry
and it’s difficult to understand why you came back.” “What did I do…?” Spike
considered, and Xander noticed the muscles in his jaw twitch with strain. There was almost a sense of panic when he
realised that Spike was about to be honest. “Forget I asked. You really don’t have to ans…” “What did I do? First thing: got rid of Angel. Then I thought about…” Spike inhaled sharply. “I wept, is that what you want? I believed what you said, you repeated, I had to fight – and yes,
truly fight – my way past the
memories it stirred, and then I simply hated you for hearing her voice. I wept with sadness and with rage and…” Spike’s voice broke into a humourless
laugh. “Amusing, isn’t it? I have a soul to bare. I hurt,
is that what you need to hear?” Xander pushed through the
fuckinghellfuckinghellfuckinghell. “Did you really believe what I relayed to
you? Did you question it? Because you always should.” “No-one knows a thing
about my father,” Spike admitted sullenly.
“I’m not about to call you a charlatan.” “Then why only sadness
and rage? There should’ve been some
comfort in there, Spike.” “It wasn’t…enough. Enough for comfort.” “What would be? After the existence you’ve led?” The question, an
admittedly fair one, was asked without any apparent malice so instead of
provoking defensive bluster, it caused Spike to dwell on the subject for a
while, and he was still thinking it over when Xander made another long way home
diversion to accommodate the vampire’s pondering. “When I came back,” Spike
finally said, “I wasn’t sure if it was to ask the question I’m supposed to be
asking you, or asking the one I actually want an answer to right now.” “Which is?” The thought of the
question was traumatic enough – the idea of speaking the words was beyond
Spike’s present capacity to deal. “Fuck you.” Spike picked up speed and
was away from Xander in seconds, into the darkness, the blond hair being the
last scrap of the vampire to fade to nothing. “That isn’t… I’m not trying to force anything out of you,”
Xander said, trusting that Spike’s acute senses would allow him to hear, sure
that he wouldn’t get too far ahead, not if he sincerely wanted Xander’s
help. “I want to know why me. The reason you actually came here. There had to be other options, better
mediums, so…” “I don’t have to explain
the stadium of victims,” came a disembodied voice. “It’s hard enough to explain the rest.” “See, expediency I
get. Expediency is easier than it being
specifically me that’s somehow essential.” Xander kept walking and,
after five minutes, Spike was back at his side. “It began after I lost
the eye,” Xander started abruptly, feeling obliged to keep his side of the deal
but also wanting to forestall any further confessions from the vampire. “It’s been suggested that it was always in me
but latent, and the shock brought it out.
I asked around and it turns out that the ability runs in my family;
makes sense now why my parents would have nothing to do with my supposedly
crazy great-aunt.” “Had it already started
before the end of Sunnydale?” “Vaguely. At first I kept accusing “Why did you come back to
the States?” “She told me to. Practically threw me out of the country and
told me to find where I fit in. So I
came home, made some contacts, learned a lot more about what I was and wasn’t
capable of, and ended up here. Fitted
in. I began to help people and… I understood why this was happening to me and
I started to feel worthwhile. Completely
at peace with myself.” Now it was Xander’s turn
to fall into silent thought and Spike held back on the many questions he wanted
to ask, feeling any interruption would be inappropriately crass, even for him;
eventually they ended up outside Xander’s house. “Home,” Xander told
Spike, failing to notice that the vampire already knew and had automatically
stopped at the gate, barely aware of Spike following him to the front door. Spike waited patiently as
Xander went inside, sure of what was coming when Xander turned to look at him,
studying the resurrected undead curiously in the light from the hallway. “Can I come in?” Xander evidently thought
that over, but his face was unreadable. “No. Not this time.” “Please? It’s about…”
Spike turned away, frustrated and embarrassed. “This is about… Not the world ending, this is about your
mother?” Spike lowered his head and
nodded. Long pause. “You’re not
going to hit me again?” “No, I’m sorry I did
that, I just…lost my head.” “But…” “I’m sorry. I wouldn’t say that unless I meant it. I’m sorry I hurt you. Xander.” Spike looked directly
into Xander’s eye, exposing himself emotionally, and Xander thought that maybe
Spike was sorry: he looked suitably,
unfamiliarly humble. Beyond that, he
looked… Desperate. “If I let you in it
doesn’t mean I’m even considering
agreeing to do whatever it is mankind sent you to ask me to do.” “Understood.” Xander’s fingers
irritably swept through his hair, once and again. “Why does this feel like
such a stupid thing to do?” Spike shrugged. Hopefully. “You need to trust your
instincts. Unless they’re telling you to
slam the door in my face.” There was another
substantial pause as Spike inched closer and closer to the threshold. “God, what the…” Xander sighed. “Spike…
Come in.”
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Chapter 2 Freak
“You live alone?” Spike
asked as he carried out a rapid, uninvited recce of the house. “Yeah. Why are you surprised?” “You never struck me as a
loner. Undeniable pack animal, the
Xander Harris I knew.” “That’s funny in ways you
can’t begin to understand.” Spike returned Xander’s
grin, appreciating the moment’s humour whether or not he understood the
source. Xander left Spike alone to
snoop, knowing there was nothing personal for him to find, and the vampire
exploited every minute. “So, never a Mrs Harris?”
Spike called as he came to the end of his methodical rummaging. “No-one could put up with
me after this…ability came out.” Spike entered the kitchen
to find Xander pressing a cloth filled with ice cubes to his jaw. “Oh, bugger,” was muttered
under his breath, but it was enough to make Xander jump. “I am sorry about that.” “You can stop apologising
now, you’re in.” “Can I take a look?” “No. Switch the kettle on, I’ll make coffee. Tea? I
don’t have anything stronger.” “No brandy for the
distraught and wilting?” “The idea is to stop
before…” Xander’s gregarious manner
vanished instantly; he shot a look of disappointment at the vampire before
replying tersely. “No. No brandy.” “I wasn’t taking the
piss.” “’Cause that wouldn’t be
like you at all, would it?” “I’m really not…” “How about…” Xander irritably tossed the cloth and ice
cubes into the sink. “…we get on with
what you’re here for, then you can leave.” Spike followed Xander to
the living room and slumped on the sofa as Xander sat rigidly in a vast and
comfy-looking leather chair, arms defensively crossed over his chest. “First things first: want
to put the ‘saving the world’ proposal to me formally so I get the pleasure of
telling you and Angel to go collectively fuck yourselves?” “Look, don’t go cold on
me because you took something I said the wrong way.” “What is this about?” “Actually…” Spike sat forward in his seat. “You don’t mention your
mother again until this is done.” Spike toned down the
glare he sent Xander and concentrated, or at least tried to, on the reason he
was officially there. “Right. First things first: I sincerely want your
help with this case I’m working on, I do want that. Edited highlights?” Xander nodded, a short disinterested movement. “A new prophecy’s been unearthed: usual
apocalyptical doom. The only bloke with
the knowledge to prevent what looks like an inter-dimensional war has been
killed, allegedly an accident, but it looks more like a hit, and it’s probably
to stop this very information being passed on.” “And you need to talk to
him, talk to Dead Guy?” “Yeah.” “Gee, I wonder where I
fit in.” “That’s it. Edited highlights. All you need to know.” “And this is why you
disrupted my meeting?” “Unintentionally
disrupted.” “You couldn’t have picked
up the phone?” “Rupert thought it’d be
best to come and see you. And like I
said, we weren’t expecting…” “Giles told you to come
to me. Giles sent Spike to Xander.
And you didn’t think to ask about the early onset of senile dementia?” “He thought you’d want to
help.” “Other mediums can do
what you want, and maybe they can—”
Xander stopped sharply, dry-washing his face before resting in his
hands, hiding for a moment. When he
looked up with an exhausted sigh, determined to put an end to this
idea/conversation/visit, he was stunned to see concern on Spike’s face. Completely undermined by that caring
expression, any animosity that had been driving him slipped away and he stunned
Spike in turn with a brief, apologetic smile. “It isn’t what I do any more.” “I can see that.” “I wasn’t that much good
when I was doing it.” “You played your part.” “And I’m not the most
reliable of mediums. You need the best
for something this crucial.” Spike realised that he’d
get nowhere by putting pressure on Xander and, let’s face it, at this precise
point in time he didn’t give a toss about what he was supposed to be here for, his focus had shifted entirely the moment
Xander had started to sing in that dingy little room at the rear of the meeting
hall. The sorrow that had filled him,
wracked his body after Angel’s departure, was still a heavy, agonizing weight,
and Spike’s mind, heart, soul were all fixed on one individual, and it wasn’t
someone who could affect any world other than his own. Looking for an inroad,
desperate for more information but cautious about heavy-handedly introducing
his mother into the conversation, Spike – with an assiduously manufactured
façade of cool, objective interest that didn’t fool Xander for a moment – asked… “Tell me about it. How it all works.” “That’ll take… Edited highlights?” “Do nicely.” Xander sank lower in his
chair, stretching out now and making himself comfortable, giving the impression
that even the edited highlights meant long haul. “’Kay… Very basically, clairaudience: that’s hearing
the voices of people who have passed over.
Clairvoyance: seeing spirits or anything they’re trying to show me. Clairsentience… That’s the tricky one, that’s…feeling what
they felt. It can be difficult to cope
with if the feelings are very strong.” “Like at that
meeting? Those people who were trying to
show you what Angel…” “Yeah,” Xander cut him
short, unconsciously touching his own throat.
“Like that.” Spike waited for more but
nothing was forthcoming. “That it?” “Edited highlights.” “Blimey, any more edited
and it wouldn’t have been worth drawing the breath to speak.” “It’s enough though?” “You don’t read minds,
or…make ghosts appear, or…” “I’m a medium, I don’t do
party tricks.” “What’s it like when…” Spike’s voice trembled momentarily and he
swallowed hard. “When you see
things? Is it like…real people, living
people?” Xander paused because of the falter, but Spike’s earnest attention encouraged him to continue. “Um… Yes, but…
No. A form builds up from
ectoplasm and it can take a while before the person seems solid. For a time they’re transparent, and they
gradually become more…real. Although I
don’t like that term, ‘cause they’re all…” “Did you see her?” The question burst out of
Spike as the façade spectacularly collapsed, and the distress in his voice made
Xander, quite literally, sit up and pay attention. Despite knowing from experience quite how
emotional Spike could be, it was still troubling to witness the rapid
disintegration of the character when faced with something that had evidently
plagued him for well over a century. “Your mother?” Xander
gently confirmed, and Spike was temporarily speechless, looking over at him
with eyes that were transformed into pools of liquid blue. “No, I didn’t see her, I heard her.” “I need to know…” Spike’s voice, hoarse with emotion, caught
and failed. Drawn by that
irresistible beseeching gaze, Xander slowly rose and crossed to join Spike on
the sofa, paying great attention to every nuance of the vampire’s body
language, sagging shoulders to clenching, clenching hands, more than willing to
help if he could, but anxious not to get another thump. “There isn’t much more I can tell you, but…if you want my impressions…?” A frantic nod and Xander thought back to their earlier encounter, easily recalling the sense of the kindly woman who’d spoken to him. “She seemed quite content. I wasn’t aware of any trauma in her present existence.” “No?” Spike whispered,
and at the slightest shake of Xander’s head, Spike’s eyes clenched tightly
shut, tears that he didn’t attempt to hide or wipe, tumbling down his face. “What I did to her,” he managed to croak,
“what I made her…” “I’m aware that you
turned her.” “Killed her. I killed
her. Yes, turned her. Found I’d…I’d screwed it up. Had to…
I… St…staked her. Killed her.
Again. I killed her.” “The person I felt was
warm and caring, and eager to tell you she loves you.” More tears and Xander edged closer, putting
what he hoped was a comforting hand on Spike’s wrist. “She’s still your mom and she loves you.” “I thought I’d—” Spike gasped a breath,
a belated attempt to
find a little restraint. “Thought I’d
condemned her to – to eternal damnation.” “Well, I guess you
screwed that up too,” Xander teased, but kindly, and it raised a smile before
the next flood of tears. It was hard to stay with Spike - a weeping vampire brought back memories that Xander didn’t want to entertain, even after all these years, so, trusting Spike would be okay now the worst admission had been aired, he stood and started to creep toward the door. “Is she around now?”
Spike’s hopeful voice brought him back.
“Please?” “No, I’m sorry, she
isn’t.” Spike looked crestfallen. “And you can’t…” “They come to me
voluntarily, I can’t force them here.” “But she might come
back?” A sinking of very earthly
spirits as Xander realised that this could mean Spike lurking until he’d heard
whatever he needed to, but… “Yes, she might.” “Is there anyone
else…y’know, around? For me?” Xander concentrated,
moved closer to Spike, then further away. “That’s really strange,
I…” Xander shook his head, put aside his
curiosity over spirits and demons, and concentrated on finding an answer for
Spike. “When we’re apart…I can feel
people there, but I think… It’s not the
kind of contact you want, it’s…” “My victims,” Spike
acknowledged flatly. “Yeah.” “Funny they didn’t show
up at that meeting.” “They did. There were simply more of Angel’s, and he’d
created greater hatred. I got the
impression he liked to play with his food, while you were— God, I don’t want this conversation.” Xander tried to leave
that mental image behind and returned to the kitchen, pouring milk into a pan
to make hot chocolate for them both, pleased to find a pack of marshmallows
that Simone had left in the cupboard. It
seemed ridiculous to be cosseting a demon, but…
Xander recognised bone-deep suffering when he saw it; the person he’d
had no choice but to become wasn’t about to shun anyone who was in mourning. The spirits that had been
reluctant to talk while he was in Spike’s company surged forward now, and
Xander was inundated with messages, some from Spike’s victims, but others that
had no bearing and were a confusing, jumbled mass, the kind of tumult that
drove Xander to believe that he had been right in his first assessment of this
condition: he was indeed quite crazy. Fingers on his temples,
rubbing at the growing tension ache, Xander tried to separate the voices on the
off chance that there was something in the hubbub that bore any relevance to
the here and now. One moment they were a
barrage, the next they were swiftly easing off, and Xander looked in the
direction of the hallway, anticipating Spike’s presence, already having
discovered and accepted – without too many probably unanswerable questions –
that proximity to the demon kept them at bay. Spike was standing in the doorway, awkward
and appearing…not fully recovered, but as if he were playing the part of a man
who was. Xander offered up a mug. Spike seemed about to accept, then hesitated. “You look knackered,
maybe I should…” Xander gave an un-amused
amused snort. “You want in on the
running joke?” Spike raised his brows
questioningly. “I’m not good at
sleeping. Hopefully I’ll catch a couple
of hours before tonight’s meeting, but I’m not counting on it.” Despite the lightness of
his tone, Spike noticed Xander’s hands shook when he made the comment and it
didn’t take a genius to figure out that it was a difficult subject. “Then… Yes, ta.” Spike took the chocolate
and scooped out a melting marshmallow, affectionately remembering another
mother as he sucked it off his finger. “I’m not trying to stop
you if you want to leave.” “I didn’t think you
were.” “And won’t you need to
make a move before dawn?” Spike paused with the mug
halfway to his mouth. “Didn’t think of that,
did I? I was so preoccupied by what I
was here to— By what I wasn’t here to ask you…” “This mean I’ll be stuck
with you?” Xander grinned. “You want me
to tie you to a chair? Relive the
not-so-glorious past.” “Not stuck,” Spike said
with a mean look. “I can phone for a car
anytime.” “You going to hit me
again?” Spike blinked with
surprise at that coming out of the blue. “No.” “You going to make a pain
of yourself over this ‘mission’?” “No. Should be important – is important – but it doesn’t feel it in the light of— Y’know.” “I know.” Spike nodded and became fascinated by the
contents of his mug. Xander led them
back to the living room and sat in his armchair. “If you keep your fists to yourself, and
don’t bring it up again – saving the world, not your mom – you can… You’re welcome to stay.” “Welcome?” “That’s what I said.” “Why?” “C’mon, you know from
past experience that I’ll tolerate you rather than throw you out and let you burn.” “Welcome?” Spike
persisted, and watched the strain return to Xander’s face. “Company is… Rare,” Xander admitted after a few minute’s
thought. “My choice,” he added before
Spike could insert a comment about other people’s good taste. Spike wasn’t thinking
anything of the sort, having learned in a very short space of time to view
Xander through kinder eyes. A reflection
of getting something he wanted, certainly, but also of not being ridiculed for
his fears or blamed for the necessity of them, and this from the person who, at
one time, would have unkindly made the most of Spike’s confession and
subsequent anguish. “Hard life, is it?” “Aspects are. But not hard as in
it being a hardship, I can’t for a
moment claim that, just… The closer
people get, the more…attachments they bring along.” “Attachments as in…” Spike waved a finger in the air. “Yeah. Most mediums can choose when to – for want of
a better description – tune into the right wavelength to pick up voices, but I’m
permanently tuned in, I don’t have the ability to tune out or switch off, it’s
like…” Spike pulled a troubled
face. “Oh, yeah, that expression sums it
up perfectly.” “Know what it’s like,
don’t I? Living with voices that don’t
belong in a body’s head.” “I would
never have thought of
that. It has to feel the same - no way
to disconnect, the wavelength is always active.” “That one of the reasons
you think I should find someone else for…that thing we’re not talking about?” Xander nodded. “I get distracted,
sometimes I can’t be selective and I’m simply…overwhelmed. I am flattered that you asked me, and I can’t
tell you what it means to me that Giles thought I was capable, but… I have to be realistic, for my sake, for
yours. Mankind’s. And I’m sorry that I can’t recommend anyone
who’d do the job but not be freaked by the stadium of victims. ‘Cause that is scary.” “You were scared of the
people?” “Not the people, the actual
victims, no. But what they were showing
me, letting me feel, that was…” Xander
shuddered. Wary that Xander might
ask him how he reconciled himself to the past – a question Spike knew he
couldn’t answer to the human’s satisfaction – the vampire kept quiet and
surreptitiously watched as Xander eventually closed his eye and relaxed in his
chair. Meditation or a rare interval of sleep,
Spike couldn’t tell, but Xander’s breathing slowed and his heart rate
dropped. Spike had just decided on sleep
when Xander quietly spoke. “Are you ever scared?” Spike considered that
carefully, refusing to reply with noisy, dismissive bluff when Xander was being
so honest with him, while there was trust to be built. And, yes, while Xander had so much he wanted. “I have been. There are times when I know I should be. It’s rare nowadays.” “All scared out? Lucky man.
Vampire.” “It’s true, y’know: what
doesn’t kill you makes you stronger.
Look at you.” “The last thing I want to
do is look at me.” Xander opened his eye
to meet Spike’s curiosity. “I’m afraid
that if I look too closely I’ll see that you were right.” “I was right?” “Mmm. Freak.” Xander stood and wandered
off, leaving Spike feeling like an utter shit for ever using that word. He sat and sulked, listening to Xander’s
progress, hearing the distant sounds of the shower starting, Xander singing,
and he sounded cheerful enough. “Maybe he’s used to being
called a freak,” Spike said to himself, and that suggestion was as
discomforting as referring to Xander as such in the first place. He switched on the TV,
flicked around the channels, finished his chocolate, finished Xander’s
chocolate, put his feet up and tried to be exactly what Xander would expect on
his return. Because Xander used to
dismiss everything Spike said, every hurtful barb or jibe would be like water
off a duck’s back, and that’s just what Spike needed now. For his own peace of mind and, okay, he
grudgingly included Xander. All the deliberately
casual posing proved fruitless on Xander’s return. As he passed by the living room door he broke
his humming long enough to call out and ask Spike if he wanted something to
eat. Automatic ‘yes’ to that, and Spike
was up and following Xander into the kitchen, being sent back to collect the
empty mugs while Xander studied the contents of the fridge. “What do you fancy?” “What have you got?” “Pretty well stocked up.” “Is this your doing, or
is there someone else taking such diligent care of the guru?” Xander laughed at that. “Guru?” “Hanging on your every
word, weren’t they?” “At the meeting? The people in the audience hang on every word
because of who might be talking, not because it comes out of my mouth in
particular. You should watch some of the
more experienced mediums work. Or,
better still, you shouldn’t.” “Food of the gods!” Spike
suddenly exclaimed and pulled a cylindrical cardboard tube from the cupboard he
was rifling through. Xander closed the fridge
and turned to see what Spike had found. “What is? Oh, those.
Favourites of H’s, he buys them especially.” “Ah, right, thought he
was a bit Oxbridge.” “He went to college in Spike snorted. “ “Fine as the cookies?”
Xander grinned. “Biscuits. English chocolate
biscuits. Can I have these?” “You gonna share?” “No!” Spike snapped as if
it was the most outrageous suggestion he’d ever heard. “Maybe,” he adjusted sulkily before the pack
could be repossessed by Xander. “You can have them if you
ask for the cookies.” “Bollocks. There’s a reason the language is called
English. You know what you can do with
your cookies.” Spike went to smash the
pack down but his inherent reverence for McVitie’s won out and he replaced the
tube in the cupboard. “You’re not going to
steal them?” “No,” Spike pouted. “Then you can have them.” Spike’s expression
morphed from shock to disbelief to pleasure. “Right,” was all the
thanks Xander received. “When are they
on?” “On? What?
What on what?” “The more experienced
mediums.” “At the weekend,
but… No,
Spike. You’ll be gone by then anyhow.” “You on tomorrow night?” Xander turned a very
suspicious look on Spike. “And you want to
know…?” Spike shrugged
nonchalantly. “Your air of disinterest
needs working on, pal.” Spike adjusted
his features to ‘seriously bored in a tedious existence’ and shrugged
again. “That’s better. A little effort…” “You mind if I come
along?” “Stadium of victims,”
Xander explained with forced patience, ruffling his damp hair in an already
familiar irritable movement. “Maybe that won’t happen
again.” Glare. “Or maybe you’ll cope
better this time, now you know what you’re dealing with.” Glaaare. “I promise I’ll leave if they overwhelm the
proceedings,” Spike offered. Xander was back in the
fridge. “How about… Eggs, bacon, tomato, got some hash browns in
the freezer…?” “I won’t be any trouble.” “Fucking hell, don’t say
that! A Spike that won’t be any
trouble? It’s like…finding myself in
another dimension where chinchillas control the Hellmouth.” “Actually, they can be
nasty little brutes, I remember when we—”
Glaaaaare. “Maybe not.
Nice fry up sounds spot on.” “Why do you want to
attend another meeting? Are we back to
your mom?” “No.” Seeing straight through
the lie, Xander impatiently clattered a pan onto the stove and lit the gas. “Make yourself useful,
wash up the mugs.” Spike bit back the
‘fuck off’ and did as he was asked, unable to find a towel afterwards and
pulling the back of Xander’s baggy t-shirt out of his sweatpants and drying his
hands on that. “I died, didn’t I?”
Xander groaned. “I was run down on the
way to the hall tonight and I’m in a brimstone-lite minor hell dimension with a
Spike-alike who’s going to make eternity one long moment of intense
annoyance. Hash browns. And don’t you put your hands anywhere near me
at all when they come out of the freezer.” “Wouldn’t have dreamed of
it.” “The butter wouldn’t melt
expression could do with a little work too.” Spike’s face became a
picture of perfect soulful innocence, and Xander grinned and shook his head. Spike brought back the hash browns from the
freezer, and hopefully banged down a bag of onion rings. “I want to watch you
work. I enjoy mediums, Dru used to
delight in them.” “Is there a
viscera-drenched anecdote that goes with this?
‘Cause…no. Hugely no.” Spike filed that
delightful story away for another time and pitilessly attacked Xander’s weakest
line of defence. “All right. I’m not expecting my mother, but I can hope,
can’t I? Like everyone else there who
wants a message. There’s always a hope.” Spike saw his victory
flit over Xander’s face and fought back the smile that might unbalance the
scales. “Okay. But if it starts to go wrong…” “I’m out of there. You won’t see me for dust. And that’s – that’s a troubling turn of
phrase for a vampire.” Xander turned back to his
cooking, giggling quietly to himself, and the warning look that Spike gave him
didn’t need any practise at all. They talked through a Spike had seen the other
scattered Scoobies more recently than Xander and was able to catch the human up
with their lives and more. “Dawn? With a Mohican?” Xander repeated when he’d
finished choking on his food. Spike balanced two hands
with spread fingers on the top of his head in a copy of the punk plume Dawn was
now sporting. “Looks a treat, she
does. Yellow at the roots, blue at the
tips.” “You’re making this
up.” Spike crossed his heart with a
finger. “I would have heard Buffy
explode, even from here,” Xander insisted. “The hair is nothing
compared to the boyfriend.” “He trouble?” was
anxiously demanded. “Nah, just has that feel
about him.” “You’re sure about that?” Spike nodded and helped
himself to more onion rings, not choosing to reveal that Dawn’s boyfriend
reminded him of his own calculated transition from William to Spike, and even
if the boy looked and worked very hard at being a Spike, in Dawn’s company and
unknowingly observed, he transformed into a complete and utter William. “He loves the Bit. Slayer won’t be told so let her worry, seeing
as she always knows best.” “Buffy upset you
recently?” Xander bit back a grin. “Not talking about that,”
Spike retorted sourly. “I thought you got on so
well now.” “Bloody woman. Never comes up with a plan that involves
exploding her own sodding car as a diversion.” “Buffy broke Spike’s
car?” Xander said with faux sympathy, soulful eyes and pouting bottom lip. “Sod off.” Xander laughed and
snatched the last of the bacon before Spike could claim it, amazed that he had
an appetite for once, and astounded that this unexpected encounter had cheered
him considerably rather than been a disturbance to his deliberately tranquil
life. They talked. And talked. “You want to get some
sleep?” Xander asked when he finally noticed that the world beyond the drapes
had lightened. “There’s a guest room.” Spike simply wriggled
further into the deep corner of the sofa. “I’m good here. If you want to go up…” Xander dismissed that and
made more tea and coffee to accompany the last few cookies, thought of another
dozen or so things he wanted to discuss, and hurried back to his improbable
companion. They talked. And talked.
And talked. And when Spike
finally nodded off, Xander crept closer and made himself comfortable at the
opposite end of the sofa, taking advantage of the demon’s quietening effect on
the voices and settling down to a rare, semi-undisturbed doze. … Xander woke first, mid
afternoon, feeling remarkably refreshed and grateful enough not to start
questioning the sanity of spending the morning, not only snoozing alongside a
vampire, but inching closer and closer to him as it became clear that an almost
complete silence could eventually be achieved.
Naturally he’d never tell Spike that he’d made this discovery when he
was approximately a hair’s breadth from the vampire’s body, and he certainly
wasn’t about to divulge that he’d all but curled up to him for the respite. Rising and stretching
with a satisfied creak, Xander strolled away; behind him, a single blue eye
opened to a slit and the faintest smile touched Spike’s mouth. The armoury was
bolstered: knowledge was such a
useful weapon. … Spike tracked Xander down
to the kitchen about half-an-hour later, yawning and scrubbing his fingers in
his hair, playing the part of the recently woken. As he approached, Xander backed away, not out
of alarm but to carry on the conversation he was having with an unseen presence. Spike naughtily pretended not to have caught
on and managed to drive Xander into the drizzly garden before turning back to
explore the fridge. “What are we having?”
Spike asked when Xander returned, rubbing his damp and chilly arms. “You can have whatever
you want, I stick to tea and toast whenever I’m taking the meeting.” “Food affects your
ability?” “I get nervous. Really
nervous. Therefore I try to stick to
food that won’t projectile vomit past the second row.” “I’d pay to see that.” “You can be so…” “The front row was full
of deaf old biddies, it’d be…” “No. No alternative
entertainment. You come along tonight
and sit at the back, you don’t speak to anyone, you don’t amuse yourself by
flashing yellow eyes, you don’t feast on…
That’s a point, what are you going to do about blood?” “Why, you offering?”
Spike asked with a deliberate look that swept greedily over Xander and stopped,
with interest rather than guilt, at the purple bruise on his jaw. “In your dreams, pal.” “I fed well before I came
to this forsaken dump.” “It’s a nice dump: nice
place, nice people.” “You’re only saying that
because they haven’t lynched you for devil worship.” “Oh, yeah, ninety-eight
percent freak-tolerant.” Spike’s manner
changed instantly, and Xander understood why: Spike wasn’t the only one who was
paying attention. “Spike… The freak thing didn’t matter, okay? You’re acting like I never got called it
before you showed up, but that isn’t the case, it’s something…” Xander dismissed the subject with an untidy
wave of the hand. “…something I have to
live with.” “Anyone says that to you
in my presence…” “Hey, look, this is us,
getting along, freakier still. Let’s not
end this freak show by getting arrested ‘cause you punched out the town
bigot. Now, there’s an opening, maybe you could apply to be the town bigot: I don’t know the pay and hours but I’d take a
bet that you have unlimited rights on terrorising the liberals.” “I thought you’d
changed. You haven’t changed.” “No?” “Open that gob and a great
stream of twaddle pours out.” “I’d take offence to that
if I gave a shit about anything you said.” “See, nothing’s changed.” “Nothing?” Xander checked. Spike shrugged and picked at the piece of fried chicken he’d liberated from the fridge. “Fine.” Xander lashed out, catching Spike across the jaw and sending him thumping back against the door. The demon rose to the surface and the expression on Spike’s insulted rather than damaged face was a scary image. Xander instantly held up his hands in surrender. “For yesterday. Now we’re even.” There was a long tense
moment before the vampire’s face smoothed back to human; a longer moment still
before Spike gave an amused nod, and went back for more chicken. … A couple of hours before
the meeting they strolled to the hall, and Xander cautiously broached the
subject of the initial reason for Spike’s visit. “Will it be hard? To find another medium?” “Rupert must have
suggested you for a reason. Maybe he
knew you’d be brave enough to take on something…” “Sucking up to me won’t
work.” “Seriously. I don’t know any other mediums, but – forget
the stadium of victims for a moment and think about the job itself – is there
one that you could introduce to this situation without them wetting their
knickers?” Xander went through a
mental list of his immediate colleagues and those he knew in passing; it didn’t
take more than a few seconds to see Spike’s point. “Giles thought I should
do it?” “Didn’t say should,”
Spike replied honestly. “But obviously
thought could.” “It’s going to be
dangerous, isn’t it?” “What makes you think
that?” In receipt of Xander’s cynical
look, Spike nodded. “If this bloke we
need to talk to was murdered, there’s
a chance that anyone helping contact him would be next in line.” “It would mean falling
out of sight?” “Low profile until the
appropriate time, yes.” “I couldn’t leave here.” “You’ve already said no,
Xander, I’m not pressing you.” “Yeah, I know, I
appreciate that.” “Be hard for you, packing
up your house…” “The house isn’t mine, it
belongs to the chapel.” “Same difference: it’s
your home.” “Can’t you find someone
non-human to contact Dead Guy for you?
Wouldn’t that cut out some of the problems?” “The prophecy indicates
that the manifestation – Dead Guy’s contribution – is via a human, and it goes
on about strength from weakness, and some claptrap about the mediator’s
mortality.” “It’s that risky?” “No, the mortality thing
isn’t about dying because of this business, it’s more a reference to the kind
of being we need to…” “I get it.” “I’d be looking out for
you. If you were doing it. Which you’re not.” Xander smiled at that
before opting for a little silent rumination.
When they arrived at the hall’s rear doors he stopped and turned to
Spike. “Answer me something
honestly?” “If I can.” “Damn, I just asked Spike
to answer a question honestly. And he
agreed to try. One of us has seriously
lost the plot.” “Yeah, but, apart from
that…?” Xander took a deep
breath, and a troubled frown kinked his brow. “Don’t you think I’ve
done enough? What I’ve given, what I’ve
lost?” “No-one’s expecting…” “Haven’t I done enough?” Spike stared into the
troubled brown eye and eventually nodded. “You’ve done enough.” Letting out a relieved
breath, Xander turned and walked into the building; Spike permitted himself a
moment of smugness, feeling the weight on the line and mentally preparing the
landing net.
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