|
Chapter 14
Great. Three days
before the move and he was trying to destroy what he
had. Want to be
rattling around in that big house all by
yourself? No,
not for a moment.
But…Spike. Spike,
Spike, Spike, Spike,
Spike…
Fucking stop it,
Harris! He’s not
yours to do that stuff
to. You can’t do
that stuff, you’re going to lose everything.
Hell, he was
tired. No sleep
last night, up early and into work before it was barely
light. He’d
scarcely been able to raise the courage to face Spike, and the
vampire… Well,
when Xander had come back from the bathroom Spike had been
asleep, turned away from Xander, very much on his own side of
the bed for the first time since God only
knows. Was this
rejection? Or
maybe just the result of Spike falling asleep by himself for
once. On his
own side of the
bed? Okay, so
usually if Spike slept by himself it was on Xander’s side, but
that didn’t mean
anything. Did
it? But did Spike
wake up to say goodbye this
morning?
No. All he’d seen
was a tuft of hair between pillow and
blankets. No hello
and goodbye, no affectionate look, no sleepy
wave. Oh, fuck, he
was screwed.
Spike was changing and Xander had no idea of what he was
dealing with and, oh, fuck, he was screwed.
…
Spike woke slowly, wondering when Willow had been suckered
into putting an electric blanket on his bed, but appreciating
the thought
nevertheless. He
began to stretch but didn’t have the energy so he flopped
instead. Why did
he feel so incredibly
weak? What the
hell had he been drinking…
Xander. He
was surrounded by the scent of
Xander. A shudder
of longing ran through his body and he tried to wrap his mind
around the fact that Xander had been
here. Xander, his
Xander, his beloved
Xander. And he
didn’t remember?
Spike forced himself to relax and concentrated, trying to find
a point to fix his mind on, but he was met with an elusiveness
that made him feel positively
queasy. Then, in
another room, the telephone began to ring and William knew it
was Master and he had to answer the call.
Spike struggled to rise as William demanded and the memories
returned in an almighty flood, shocking him senseless as he
was met by a torrent of horrific and debilitating images and
sensations. For a
moment he was overwhelmed, and he was back there, he was blind
and dumb, his body kept so cold he had no feeling and the only
way he could hold onto his sanity was by slapping frozen hands
on the walls and the floor so he could hear because they
hadn’t taken that sense
away. Now he
screamed. He
screamed because he
could. And the
person he screamed for was Xander.
It passed. The
fear passed, the impression of detachment and numbness melted
away. Xander had
saved him.
Saved…somebody.
William. Why
William? No, he
was Spike and Xander had saved him and kept him and loved
him. Spike not
William, the demon protested
furiously. The
anger was what Spike needed to get his emaciated body going,
and he flung off the bedclothes, standing, throwing back the
head that bore a demon’s face and roaring, roaring back to
life.
He weaved erratically to the kitchen, opening the refrigerator
and grabbing up a bag of blood, savaging it, drinking it cold
and in a few
seconds. He was
halfway through the stock of bags before he slowed down and
began to warm the blood, reaching automatically for his own
mug and smiling when he read the hand-painted ‘Spike’ on the
side. He left a
couple of bags for later and headed for the bathroom, running
the shower as he stripped, impatiently tearing away the
dressings, excited by the pinpricks of pain where the scabs
were ripped away
too. He stood
under the water for a long time, letting it soften his skin
before he flexed, and the last of the splinters squeezed out,
washing away in a stream of bloody
water. The huge
amount of human blood in his system fed the healing, and he
leant against the shower wall, panting, as his muscles filled
and the flesh healed.
An hour later he was drying off, repeatedly burying his face
in the towel and inhaling because it smelt of Xander, enjoying
the frisson of excitement that every thought of the human
brought him. The
phone rang again and, once more, it was William who urged him
to answer, panicked at the thought of not hearing that adored
voice. It was the
panic that made Spike refuse to comply, however much he wanted
to talk to his
pet. Master
vampires did not weakly scurry around at the bidding of voices
in their heads.
And Spike was strong, he was
whole. He was
back.
…
Xander sat in the car staring at his
phone. Spike
wasn’t answering.
That was fine, nothing to get concerned over, sometimes he
slept through the
call. And he could
have slept through both of
these. Xander
wasn’t sure how tired a mentally incapacitated, badly injured,
frail vampire would be after someone forced themselves on
them.
Stop it, stop it, stop
it! Everything
would be fine. Go
home, apologise, words of
love… Oh, God,
he’d said it, hadn’t
he? After knowing
and wanting to for years he’d said
it. Told Spike he
loved him. This
Spike or his Spike, he loved them both, sincerely if not
entirely equally.
How would his Spike have responded to what he’d
done? A smile
crossed Xander’s
face. Wanted more,
of course, didn’t believe in
half-measures. The
smile faded.
“I love you,” he whispered to the image of his Spike that he
kept safe in his
mind. How would it
be to hear those words
returned? Spike
cannot speak, you
moron. But
this Spike showed it with every look, every
gesture. Xander
swallowed hard: that may be all he would ever
have. He had
better get used to it.
…
Spike’s mind was in a state of flux and it was irritating the
hell out of him.
He’d lost count of the fuck offs he’d delivered in response to
William’s reprimands: empty blood bags in the kitchen sink,
pizza crumbs on the carpet, dirty clothes and splinters on the
bathroom floor, clippings from the haircut he’d given himself
all over the basin, nosing through Xander’s personal
things. Now the
other voice had shut up he was prepared to clean up after
himself, but he had to pry, couldn’t help
it. He was looking
for something he’d seen a few days ago, something Xander said
was for him, but for
later. Spike knew
where it had been but couldn’t find it
now. Xander must
have moved it because William, irritating prig he may be, was
far too organised (as in anally retentive) to misplace a
thing.
He finally found the envelope in the packing box with the CDs
and threw himself onto the sofa to stare at it, just happy to
be able to read what was scrawled on it, happy that Xander had
thought of him and written his
name. You are
so wet. Should be
ashamed of
yourself. It
took another ten minutes to work up the courage to open
it. Ten minutes of
wondering whether this was the love letter or the kiss-off.
Okay…
‘Dear Spike…’
Xander’s scent on the
paper. Want
him. ‘Dear
Spike, if you ever revert to your old self I know you’ll be
snooping around and will find
this.’ Bloody
cheek! Well, okay,
point taken.
‘Hi, welcome back.
Can’t begin to tell you how much I’ve missed
you.’ Show me
later, eh?
‘You are so going to love me for what’s clipped to the back of
this letter, you’ll even forgive the name, which was
convenience…’
Spike pulled off the paperclip and an American Express Gold
Card fell into his
lap. He picked it
up and looked at the name: S
Harris. Spike
snickered. ‘…which
was convenience rather than
proprietorship.’
Big word, pet.
Let me show you what it
means? ‘Find
the bank statement and see what you’ve got access to – I
should be feeling happy vampire tremors in the force about
now.’ Spike found
a folded statement in the envelope and spread it flat, eyebrow
cocking at the hefty six-figure-plus-loose-change
balance. He
laughed. You
know me so well.
Hope you’re getting the
tremor. ‘In
the basement of this building are a bunch of shops, no
sunlight anywhere.
I hope you’re well enough to
enjoy. If you go
out remember to take your keys – look on the hook by the front
door.’
Spike did, finding a set of keys on a sparkling new keychain,
the tab design taken from Xander’s own handwriting: ‘Spike’ it
stated adamantly.
The man in question smugly traced the letters several times
before slipping it into his jeans
pocket. White
gold. Specially
made. For
me. He did that
for me. Xander was
thinking of me.
Xander. Want
him. Back to
the sofa and the letter.
‘If you are still pissed with me and are leaving, take the
card and use it to look after
yourself. I’m
sorry (that word isn’t enough) for the way I left you so I
won’t blame you for
reciprocating. I
was a fool, never good enough for you
anyway. Just know
that I have always loved you and still
do. I love you so
much.’ Soppy
git, Spike thought
tearfully. ‘Please
take care.
Xander.’
Spike re-read the letter until it was
memorised. He
thinks I’m going to do a runner.
“Oh, no, Xan, you’re mixing me up with somebody who has a
little pride.
Think you’ll find I’m not going anywhere.”
He found a pen and, after practising the signature a few times
on the envelope, signed the back of the Gold Card, chuckling
again at the name.
Still, he could live with it: he’d certainly been called
worse. Making a
mental shopping list he shrugged the duster on, pleased that
it fit again rather than hanging limply on the skeleton he’d
been a few hours
previously. Out of
habit he grabbed the tail of the coat and ran it through his
hands, seriously losing his composure when he failed to locate
the picture in the
lining. Then he
remembered, turning to the mantelpiece and snatching the
photograph – his photograph – of Xander, possessively
stuffing it into one of the deep pockets before taking a few
minutes to calm
down. Couple of
deep, deep
breaths… It’s
an affectation, you
arse. …and he
was out the front door.
The first trip didn’t take long, and he was back with the
ingredients that made him the Spike that he wanted to present
to Xander: bleach, hair gel, black nail polish, even managed
to find a new pair of Doc
Martin’s. He
fished a lock of hair out of the trash so he could dose it up
and keep an eye on the bleaching process, deciding against the
older and slightly less reliable method of waiting until he
couldn’t bear the burning of his scalp any longer to wash the
blue gunk off. And
while he was gunking himself blond he painted his nails and
listened to the radio, not quite understanding why he didn’t
reach for the TV remote, but there you go.
The conversations with William continued until he was
convinced of his
insanity. Was this
what it was like for
Dru? Was this how
the voices sounded for
her? Spike
scowled,
unconvinced. The
stars and the moon rarely wagged a mental finger at the clock
and insisted that there was nothing in the kitchen good enough
to celebrate this significant occasion and he had better get
his arse in gear if he wanted to get something ready before
the luscious one arrived
home. Or poncey
words to that effect.
An hour-and-a-half later, thoroughly Spiked, he set off on his
second trip to the underground mall; food, chocolate, wine,
chocolate, candles, chocolate,
flowers. And maybe
some chocolate.
He’d always known the way to his boy’s
heart. Spike stood
in the elevator and watched as the doors opened and
closed. Not
boy.
Man. Five years
could really change a person – a human especially – and Xander
was all grown up.
He’d left Spike and made a new life, living it for five years
without him, apparently far more successfully than he ever did
with him. But
the letter
said… Spike
took another affected breath before poking the button that
opened the doors and marching out into the mall, man on a
mission.
No. Xander wasn’t
going to move him
on. Wouldn’t,
wouldn’t,
wouldn’t. As
Spike stood staring at the store plan on the wall – ‘You
are here.’ Yes, I
know where I bleedin’ well am, just point me
at… Ah. – he
noticed two young women out of the corner of his eye, most
definitely checking him
out. Oh, yeah,
the Spike is still
hot. Or should
that be cool?
There was Xander’s voice from years ago, joining him and
William in the limited space between his ears: ‘Women have
to think you’re hot, men need to think you’re
cool.’ ‘And where
do you fall?’
‘Umm…lukewarm?’
Xander. Hot, cool
Xander. Want
him.
…
Xander stood outside his
apartment. He’d
been standing there for five minutes, trying to pluck up the
courage to go in and face
Spike. The words
he had to say kept turning themselves inside-out and he knew
he had to get this right: the promises, assurances, not just
I’ll behave, get into bed and let me show you, oh dear, here
we go again.
Another five minutes and Xander knew he had to go in, that
this was
ridiculous. Spike
would know he was there, must be wondering why he hadn’t come
in. Hey, honey,
I’m home, get your clothes off and let me suck you dry.
“Hey, honey, I’m—”
Xander knew immediately that something was
wrong. It was just
a feeling, the kind of sense that had found Spike for him in
the alley.
Dropping his coat and briefcase he ran through the rooms,
calling desperately for the
vampire.
Nothing. He tried
to think straight, fight past the panic and just
think.
Okay. Most of the
blood was gone.
The duster was
gone. The
letter…
Gone.
Vampire?
‘Your
loss, Xander. Fuck
you!’
Gone. Xander sank
onto the sofa, breath hitching as he wrapped his mind around
the facts. Spike
was well. Spike
was gone. That
about summed it
up. My
loss. He
knew. My
loss.
…
As he walked out of the elevator Spike knew Xander was home,
acute hearing zeroing in on a racing heartbeat he would know
anywhere. Well,
this wasn’t the way he’d wanted to surprise Xander, but it
would have to do.
He opened the door as quietly as possible, rehearsing some
choice smart-alec remarks in his head in case things got too
heavy, silently crept to the living room and peered around the
door frame.
Nope. The water
was running hard in the kitchen and Spike headed
there. The witty
comments died on his lips as he saw his friend, supporting
himself on the sink, sobbing so hard he’d made himself
physically sick.
All he could see was Xander’s agony, knowing he’d been the
cause yet again.
He remembered the kindness, the patience, generosity,
protection. He
finally remembered the previous night, touching Xander’s silky
hair while the man…loved him.
Xander threw cold water onto his face, washed the disgusting
taste of bile from his mouth, made another attempt to pull
himself together, this time being partially
successful. He
grabbed a towel and gave himself a cursory swipe, dropping it
as fast and leaning back over the sink as his stomach
rolled. A few deep
breaths and he had the pretence of control.
“Hey, honey, I’m home.”
Xander started violently and
turned.
Spike. Looking,
sounding, exactly like
Spike.
Impossible.
Hallucinating.
Spike: not meeting his eyes as he put several bags on the
table, moving in slow motion to drag out the moment until he
would have to look.
“Spike,” Xander attempted to say but nothing much came
out.
Impossible. In
a day. From what
was to what is,
impossible. My
Spike.
Impossible.
Then blue eyes fixed on brown, blue eyes that glittered with
unshed tears.
My Spike. My
Spike?
“I’m home.”
Finally. And
look at him. All
grown up and bloody
irresistible.
Missed you,
Xander. Missed
you. There aren’t
words…
“Spike?” Nothing
much again. Let
it be real, let it be real, let it
be… My Spike.
The slow motion was obviously infectious: it took Xander
several minutes to cross a five-second stretch of
floor. One shaking
hand rose to touch short, gel-crunchy blond hair, another
joined it to push the duster from strong shoulders, and then
Xander was kicking the coat aside as he moved behind Spike,
roughly tugging up the t-shirt and running his fingers over
flesh that had been devastated the last time he’d seen it.
“Don’t stand on ceremony, will you?” Spike smiled as he was
manhandled, more than happy to be handled by this
man. Xander
touched a couple of small silvery scars that indicated the
position of the worst
wounds. “I’m
better,” Spike reassured
softly. “Healed.”
Xander pulled down the t-shirt, smoothing it over the
finely-muscled back before stepping closer, his left arm
wrapping around Spike at shoulder level, his right slipping
around the narrow
waist. Spike
covered the right arm with his own, hooked a hand over the
left, and leant back into the
warmth. Xander’s
lips rested on his
neck… My Spike,
my Spike, ohmyGod, my
Spike. …and
Spike closed his eyes to concentrate on every sensation, every
inch of contact.
One of those rare perfect
moments. Which
Spike realised with regret would not last long going by the
way Xander was trembling, and seconds later Xander kissed the
back of his head and took off in the direction of the bedroom
to do the bawling, howling bit in private.
On a scale of one to ten, the urge to go after him was in the
high hundreds, but Spike sighed and started to unpack the bags
of shopping, looking at what he’d bought, cocking an ear in
Xander’s direction, sighing again as he packed away the
seduction food and kept out the comfort.
Xander was sat at the foot of the bedroom door, the place he
always ran to to hide, even when he was
alone. He couldn’t
get the raging emotions under control, not this time, and he
despaired as he tried to smother the incessant crying, knowing
Spike could hear
him. Probably
thinks I deserve
it. Spike had
spoken. That
wonderful voice, English and deep and low and full of
suppressed emotion, even when he’d tried to
joke. He can
speak, he’s well, he’s better, well enough to go, he’s better,
he’ll go now, he’ll go, your loss, your loss…
“Xander?” A light
tap on the door.
“Xander, let me
in. Or come out.
I’ll make you
feel better. Well,
me and two-hundred quid’s-worth of
chocolate.” Spike
heard a brief laugh amidst the
tears. “C’mon,
Xan. Please?”
“Not yet,” Xander croaked, having to respond to the please
because he’d heard it so rarely from the vampire.
“Okay. I’m going
to…”
“Don’t go!”
“Even as far as the kitchen?”
“Oh. Oh,
yeah. Go to the
kitchen.”
“Xander…” Spike’s
voice sounded closer and Xander realised he was kneeling on
the other side of the door, trying to get as near as
possible. “I’m not
going to leave.”
Spike waited for a reply but none was forthcoming, just
renewed weeping.
I’ve thoroughly traumatised the poor sod, he admitted
to himself, touching the door where he imagined he felt the
human’s warmth seeping
through. “I’m
going to cook
something. See if
I can remember what you taught
me.” Taught
William. Spike
hesitated in the hope of some response, but had no choice but
to slowly rise and return to the kitchen.
Accepting his preparations would be greeted by
shock/derision/amazement, Spike set the dining table,
unpacking (and thank God William remembered where everything
was) a beautiful linen cloth and napkin set that shouted
unused house-warming present, the good china service, a
painfully cheerful vase that he could remember Dawn picking
with a mixture of mischievous spite and glee, and settling for
the cutlery in the drawer and the glasses in the
cupboard.
Candlesticks? Not
packed or William would know, but he had seen
some. Spike found
what he was looking for in the back of the junk cupboard:
nickel-plated Art Nouveau swirl-fests that, once again, had
the aura of unused gifts.
Table set, food ready, all he needed was to get Xander out of
the bedroom, and why didn’t that feel like the easiest task of
the day? But no,
if he listened he could hear running water in the bathroom
and, unless the human was attempting to drown himself, that
meant he was washing up for dinner and on his
way. Spike
experienced a burst of anxiety, and just for a moment the past
caught up with him and he was in his room at Willow’s, trapped
there by pain and confusion and the utter misery of
rejection. Pulling
Xander’s letter from his pocket he scanned it until he found
words that reassured him: I’m sorry (that word isn’t
enough) for the way I left
you… Just know
that I have always loved you and still
do. I love you so
much. And
Xander’d said it last
night. Said it
to William, the snarky demon’s voice in his head said.
“Fuck William,” Spike
muttered. He
did, the voice
retorted. Spike
growled to himself, turning to the stove and viciously poking
the food.
“Hey,” came from behind him, quiet and rough, the product of a
throat punished by intense crying.
“Feeling better?” Spike asked, concentrating on the food
because he was afraid to look.
“Not much. Been a
hard couple of months.”
Spike accepted that with a brief
nod. Xander stood
watching, feeling alienated and wondering why, after all his
wishing and longing for this Spike, he felt unable to get near
him, to hold him and tell him what he deserved to
hear. “Look at
me.” He hardly
recognised his own coarse voice, but Spike responded, despite
it seeming difficult for him too.
“Xander,” he said, almost inaudibly, as he turned to face the
human. Everything
about his attitude told Xander that Spike was feeling just as
vulnerable, just as afraid.
“Sorry. For
leaving you the way I did.”
“You should be.”
Spike took the first few steps toward
Xander. “But don’t
be. Don’t hurt any
more for me.” He
held out a hand, wanting Xander to meet him halfway in every
sense. Xander
approached cautiously, took the hand and wrapped his around it
before bringing it to his mouth and holding it there, warm,
uneven breaths tickling Spike’s
skin. Back to slow
motion, and Spike’s free hand came up to stroke back the
human’s hair before he closed the gap between them, nuzzling
Xander’s cheek, inhaling the scent of tears.
“Tell me I’m not dreaming this,
Spike. I’ve dreamt
this and it was this real until…until…”
“I’m here. This is
as real as it gets.”
Their arms crept around one another until the embrace was
impenetrably
tight. Time
certainly passed but neither was aware of it as they struggled
with disbelief and guilt and sorrow and joy and
hope. The past
hovered, the present consumed, the
future… Who was
brave or foolish enough to try and fathom that out?
They gradually drew back and studied one another curiously:
Spike exultant, eyes smiling, apparently unaffected by all
he’d been through; Xander awkward, tormented, still outside
the comfort zone, afraid to blink in case his Spike
disappeared as suddenly as he’d arrived.
Seeing the knowledge, the history, in Spike’s face, it was all
Xander could do not to break down completely, whereas
Spike… Xander,
my Xander,
mine. …now
wanted to laugh.
Happiness or hysterics, he wasn’t too
sure. Laugh, or
kiss. Spike wanted
to kiss Xander so much but knew it wasn’t the right
time and he never could, would push
Xander. Xander,
who seemed so broken.
“It’s all right,
love.” The
endearment was a shock for Xander and here came the tears
again. Spike
wanted to kick himself: he’d spent two years living under
Xander’s roof, very nearly perfecting the skill of not saying,
revealing, things he
shouldn’t.
“Everything’s all right
now. No more
tears, eh? Not for
me.”
“You’re joking.
Because I…”
Xander’s voice cracked and he pulled Spike back into an
embrace. Crying
harder because Spike said not to, and he’d abandoned Spike and
lost Spike, and he’d found Spike but not Spike, and this was
his Spike and he was here and he wasn’t supposed to
cry? Even when
Xander knew that at last there was a chance he may be forgiven
and he could start to heal?
“Missed you, Xander,” Spike whispered, knowing it was another
wrong thing to say right now, but if Xander was honest enough
to have a nervous breakdown in his arms, surely he could risk
displaying a little sincerity
too. “Missed you
every minute.”
“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” Xander sobbed, over and over and
over, until Spike’s equally constant shushing noises took
effect. At which
point Xander apologised for the apologies and tried to calm
down enough to relax the iron grip he had on
his…the…his
vampire. Spike
still shushed and stroked him, hearing a subdued, breathy
chuckle as he shuffled them as one to the cooker so he could
take pity on the overcooked risotto and snap off the heat.
“One more dance and I’ll have to go,” Spike offered up the old
joke, relieved when Xander chuckled again and eased up on the
strangle hold.
“Sit yourself
down. Give me a
chance to finish this.”
Xander finally released the vampire and slumped onto one of
the stools at the breakfast bar, wiping his face on his
sleeve, running his fingers through his hair.
“Can I help?” he asked, amazed his throat was still working at
all.
“Nope.” Spike
threw handfuls of parmesan into the pan and turned back to
Xander, coming and leaning on the bar beside
him. Taking
another good look and recalling Xander’s words from what
seemed a long, long time ago, when William was first
here. “I can see
now. Took a bit of
time, but I can
see.” Xander
frowned. “How
totally fucking gorgeous you are.”
The frown deepened until Xander remembered, then he gave a
small laugh and shook his
head. The blush
Spike had expected never materialised: his Xander really had
grown up.
“Yeah, if you like the washed-out, red-eyed,
dragged-through-a-hedge-backwards
special.” Xander
paused,
considered. “How
can you remember
that? With
everything else…”
“William remembers every word you said to
him. It’s coming
back all the time.”
“William?” Xander asked, frown
returning. He saw
Spike flinch without being aware of
it. “I’m sorry, I
promised I wouldn’t say that name.”
“Doesn’t matter.
Not now.”
Xander wanted to argue the point but instead he let himself be
coaxed to his feet and guided to the dining room.
“Oh, wow!”
“And who says I’m an unromantic sod with no sense of
occasion?” Spike smirked as he joined Xander in surveying the
table, justifiably pleased with himself.
“Flowers? You
bought flowers?
Big Bad bought flowers?”
“Oi, Big Bad does flowers.”
“Red roses. Spike,
king of schmaltz.”
“You love it,” the vampire taunted.
“I do,” Xander
conceded. “I
really do.”
…
Words were scarce during the main course, but there were
plenty of looks.
Every few minutes one or the other, sometimes both of them,
would just…look.
“You said William remembers,” Xander began cautiously when
they were into dessert, glancing over to see Spike’s reaction
to the name.
Slight start, nothing too bad.
“Irritating little shit, can’t get him to shut up,” Spike
growled.
“It wasn’t you?”
“No.”
“So, you’re telling me that was a whole different
person? That was…”
“William, yes.”
“I’ve been living all this time with someone who wasn’t
you? You haven’t
been here at all?”
“That was William.
Except for…” the vampire frowned, concentrated, then shrugged.
“When we were at
Willow’s? With
Buffy?”
Even the name caused Spike’s eyes to momentarily shimmer
gold. He nodded.
“But I wasn’t what you’d call
conscious. It
was…” Spike gave
an involuntary
shudder.
“Strange.”
“You have his memories though.”
“Like I said, coming back all the time.”
“I can’t… Spike,
it was you.” Spike
simply shook his head
disinterestedly.
“Okay. Wasn’t
you. Tell me about
William.”
“Why?”
“Because that’s who I’ve apparently been sharing my home
with. I want to
understand more about
him. I want to
understand anything about him because I’m not sure I
can get my head around
this. It wasn’t
you. It was
someone else and…
Will it happen
again? Are you
going to disappear on me and he’ll be
back?” Spike
pushed his plate away and fixed a hard stare on
Xander. “What?”
“I think William has had more than enough of your time.”
“Well, yeah, but…”
“Can you get me some more blood tomorrow?”
Xander was reluctant to change the subject but could see how
irritable the vampire was getting.
“Of course I can.
Anything else you want?”
“Aside from the
obvious? No.”
“Nothing is too obvious at the
moment. You mean
the blood, right?”
Spike’s inscrutable gaze bored into Xander, and it took all
the human’s willpower not to
shiver. It was a
relief when the intensity shifted and a slight smile
transformed Spike’s face into something less intimidating.
“Right. I mean the
blood.”
Spike stood and walked out of the room, leaving Xander with
the overwhelming impression that he’d got something very
wrong.
The vampire’s dissatisfaction was like a physical presence and
Xander chose not to share a room with it just
yet. He took his
time washing and drying the pans, crockery and utensils from
dinner, spent at least ten minutes staring at the roses while
the revised mantra in his head proclaimed Spike’s return,
trying to convince a man who couldn’t accept that he might
have the thing he wanted most in the
world. And what
about William? Who
was and wasn’t
Spike. Who
Xander’d lived with all this time and cared for and loved and
who was and wasn’t
Spike. Xander
tried to put a lifetime’s experience of weirdness to good use
and accept what he’d been told, but it was
so… William, he’d
been living with William, who
was… How would he
have dealt with this ten years
ago? Everything
was so screwy I’d have taken it for
granted. Wouldn’t
have been grown-up, sensible-explanation-needing
guy. Could he
regain that
mentality? Take it
for granted? I
could try. Won’t
irritate Spike so much if I do that and shut up about
William. Did
that mean forgetting William
totally? Xander
thought of the cuddles and the cartoon blinks and the purr
and… I’ve said
it before and I’ll say it
again.
Oh…fuck.
When Xander finally headed for the living room he found
himself leaning against the doorframe, studying the vampire’s
restless stance as he stared out of the window, curtains open
for the first time since his arrival.
“Can we talk?” Xander asked, sounding as undemanding as
possible.
“No.” Long
pause.
“It’s…difficult.
Sorry.”
“You don’t have to talk to me, it’s not compulsory.”
“Don’t I owe it to you?”
Xander considered the question.
“You don’t owe me
anything. Why
should you owe me anything?”
“For taking me in.
Because, let’s be honest,
pet. You didn’t
want me here, did you?”
“After spending five years wishing I’d had the courage to
bring you here with me, I think the answer has to be yes, I
did – do – want you here.”
Spike swung to face him, definitely perplexed by Xander’s
unequivocal statement.
“That’s…” Xander
waited; Spike took a long time finding the
word. “…cruel.”
Yes, it was. If
Spike had suffered as much as he had throughout their
separation. Xander
nodded guiltily and walked through the room into the hall,
finally getting around to hanging up his coat and retrieving
his briefcase. The
pursuit of
normality. Spike
followed his movements as he put the case on the computer
station and opened it, pulling out files and
notepad. William
recognised the pattern as something Xander had done every day
since the computer had been installed; Spike’s resentment of
William grew and he began to pace, frustration pouring from
him.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.”
“If something’s wrong you’ve got to tell me, so I can put it
right for you.”
Xander had said the words so many times over the past months
they emerged automatically, and they were guaranteed a warm
response from William, which further enraged
Spike. The demon
wanted Xander, and he wanted him exclusively, he didn’t want
to be usurped by some pitiable nonentity who was mentally
buried over a century
ago. He wanted to
be the one Xander held and petted and included, he wasn’t
going to share with William, even if it was only the lingering
presence of his former self that had allowed him to live
through…through…
Don’t think of that, don’t go there, don’t let it in…
“Spike?”
“Xander?”
“Thank God for that, where did you go?”
“Nowhere.
I…I…” Spike was
squashed into the corner of the room but he didn’t remember
moving there.
“What happened?”
“You were looking mad as hell, then you went blank and kind
of…hid. What…”
“Don’t ask me, don’t…” let it back, bring it back, send me
back “…worry.”
Gentle touches from an unconvinced Xander eased Spike out of
his bolthole, and it took only seconds before the vampire was
on his feet and prowling again.
“If you’re restless, you could…”
“Go out. I’ll go
out.”
“I was going to say switch on the TV, but…”
“I’m going out.”
Watching Spike slide into the duster and check the pockets for
his keys, Xander tried to stay calm as his greatest fear
bubbled to the surface; he managed to swallow down the words
several times before they emerged, just as Spike’s hand
reached for the front door latch.
“Are you coming back?”
Spike came to an abrupt halt, astonished by both the question
and the undercurrent of desperation.
“Of course I’m coming
back. What do you
think I am, some Grade-A
pillock?” He went
to Xander, smiled at the miserable face then kissed a pale
cheek. “Of course
I’m coming back.
I’m not the one who runs away from home,” he
whispered. And he
left.
Xander stood in limbo for some
time. Apart from
the short while earlier that afternoon when he’d been too
distraught to take in the ambience, this was the first time
he’d been alone in his apartment since
pre-Spike.
Pre-Spike. What
was there before Spike? Xander asked himself as he
indulged in a few minutes of total panic, convinced that he’d
seen the last of the vampire and was now going to face a life
alone. If I can
face a life.
He’d done the right thing, not asking him to stay, because he
had no right to ask, or beg, or go into the tantrum he’d
wanted to.
“So, now you act your
age. Keep cool, do
work, wait for Spike to come home because Spike will come
home. Spike’s one
home-coming vamp.
Right…work.”
The silence was overpowering and Xander turned on the radio to
fill the airwaves.
But that meant he wouldn’t hear Spike’s key in the
lock. The radio
went off. But the
silence… Back to
gazing unseeingly at his work, Xander waited.
…
Spike didn’t even get as far as the elevator before his
problems started.
“This is bloody ludicrous,” he muttered to himself as every
step away from Xander became harder to
take. William knew
that his master did not want him to leave and was petrified of
defying the conditioning he’d had tortured into him: William’s
terror was mindless and Spike, unable to reason where there
was no reason, suffered for
it. Not able to
face the enclosed metal space that was the elevator car, Spike
staggered into the stairwell and fell against the wall,
sliding down into a crouch and leaning his head back with a
groan. Xander
would not want me to feel this way, Spike ground out to
his alter-ego, but what William wanted was Master, not debate.
“He doesn’t want me – us – clinging to him all the
time. That’s
probably what scared him off
before. Me needing
him so badly.”
“Master,” William wailed within his mind.
“What is all this ‘master’
bollocks? I have
no master. I
won’t…”
William shared why he had to obey, forcing Spike to face up to
the horror for the second time within an hour, and the vampire
started to shake uncontrollably as he fought the explicit
visions. It was
all he could do to crawl away into a shadowed recess, finding
the privacy to shatter into pieces.
…
Xander was sitting staring at the clock radio on the bedside
cabinet. He was on
his way to bed, yes, but so far he’d been on his way for
one-and-a-half
hours. He kept
telling himself to get under the covers, lay down, sleep,
sleep, sleep, how good does that sound,
hmm?
Okay. It was
pointless trying to con himself into this when he knew the
only substantial difference would be vertical awake or
horizontal awake.
When Spike came home he would
sleep. Spike’s
back, my Spike, MY
Spike. However
much the stroppy restored vampire might disapprove, Xander
would find a way to get him into bed, up close and preferably
purring, and then – only then – would he relax.
“We need to talk,” Xander told the still
air. “I said
something wrong and I have to know what or I’ll always be
screwing up and he’ll always be walking
away.” Long
painful pause followed by a short painful
admission. “I
don’t want him to walk
away. Ever.”
A fumble at the front door and Xander was there, opening it
and swinging it
back. Spike fell
into the hallway, and Xander’s first thought was that he’d
gone out and got hammered – quite frankly, who could blame
him? – but the frightened face he turned on Xander belied that
impression. Xander
closed the door and took a step forward; Spike took a
stumbling step backwards.
“What’s happened?
Spike?”
“Something’s not right,” Spike
panted.
Panted? Shit, that
was a bad sign.
“Something’s gone wrong in my head.”
Another step forward and a responding
withdrawal. Xander
was infuriated at being thwarted: his vampire did not suffer
alone!
“Fuck it, Spike, let me near you!”
“I can’t, I can’t,
it’s… I can’t, I
feel…”
“What? What do you
feel?”
“I have to…”
Spike held up a hand to Xander, gesturing for him to stay
still, then he staggered over and dropped to his knees before
him, collapsing into the posture of submission, brow pressed
hard to the floor.
Xander took a sharp
breath. The
gesture had not lost its ability to shock, and this was worse
than ever, because this was Spike.
“No, Spike, no.
Please, no, Spike…”
Xander joined the vampire on the floor, wrapping an arm around
his shoulders and trying to raise
him. But Spike was
strong and defiant and
immovable. Xander
had no choice but to leave him in that degrading position
while he stroked the blond hair and returned to whispering
familiar words of comfort and encouragement.
Listening closely, Xander waited for the breathing to
stop. He knew that
Spike didn’t need to breathe but, in normal life – unlife –
used it for effect: he couldn’t imagine the vampire without
the drama-queen
sighs. Although he
didn’t understand why, he also knew from bitter experience
that if Spike was scared or hurting enough he would
breathe. He’d
heard it often enough over the last three months but didn’t
expect it now, not after Spike making his too-good-to-be-true
overnight
recovery. Perhaps
that was it. How
could anyone go from what Spike had been yesterday to
normality without a
glitch? Rather,
what William…
William? I’m
never going to be able to deal with
this. …had
been yesterday. A
last deep, ragged breath from the vampire then stillness.
Xander waited another ten minutes before shifting into a
better position then using gentle pressure to tip Spike over
into his lap, rearranging the vampire and making him
comfortable.
“Couldn’t get back,” Spike said eventually, eyes still firmly
closed.
“Where did you go?”
“Stairs.”
“You mean…? In the
building?”
“Never got off this
floor. Couldn’t
get back. He
brought us home.”
“He?”
“William.”
The name was spoken with deep-seated
disgust. Spike
rolled his head to look up at
Xander. “He’s one
hell of a product.
Those bastards saw me off but they couldn’t crush
him. Now all he
wants is you.” The
vampire moved fast, up onto his knees, slowing as he sat back
on his heels and stared at a totally speechless
Xander. The human
watched a shift within the depths of Spike’s eyes, wondered if
this was the only outward show of some internal battle he’d
unknowingly
instigated. He
couldn’t bear to see any
more. Xander stood
and reached out a hand, waiting the best part of a minute
before Spike took it and allowed himself to be drawn to his
feet. He came
close, slipping his arms around Xander and nuzzling his neck;
Xander held him
unsurely. Spike or
William? Had to be
William. Who Spike
hated. But Spike
was letting William do
this. William, who
Xander was still not absolutely clear
about.
Confused? Much.
“Spike?” No
response.
“William?” Xander asked
tentatively. Hefty
flinch at the sound of the
name.
“Sorry. Sorry.”
“Master,” came the muted acknowledgment in an impeccable
English accent, and Xander knew then that he had to stir up
that old Sunnydale mentality, accept, and accept fast.
“Master?” he repeated weakly.
Then the vampire was gone, pushing away and into the living
room, through to the
kitchen. Xander
followed. Spike –
now this had to be Spike – had liberated a beer from the
refrigerator and was halfway through it already, leaning
against the counter with a peculiar expression on his face:
upset and bafflement and a touch of wonder.
“Want him?”
“What?”
“William. Want
him?”
“I… Spike…”
“You touch him, you hold
him. Only him.”
Xander wanted to disprove that immediately, but as he took a
step forward, Spike took a step back.
“I can’t get near you!”
“That’s – that’s…
Fuck, that’s true.
All right.”
Spike finished his beer in silence; Xander watched, anxious
and wary and a little scared.
“You haven’t forgiven me, have you?”
“I want to understand and I don’t and that really pisses me
off.” Another beer
and Spike determinedly faced
Xander. “What did
I do wrong?”
“You didn’t do anything wrong.”
“You left me!”
“I know.”
“So, it’s me.”
“No.”
“You leave me but welcome him.”
“You. It was
always you.”
“Then what did I do wrong?”
“Nothing! I was a
kid, I couldn’t handle what I was
feeling.” Spike
looked, demanded
elucidation. “I
was obsessed with
you. Everything
began and ended with
you. I was a sad
loser with no sense of my own identity, and I was getting lost
in you and I had to get out while I still could.”
“So, now?”
Beat. Xander took
what he hoped was a calming breath.
“I’m not a kid anymore.”
“No.” Spike’s eyes
raked Xander’s body, his voice softened, appreciation
superseding anger.
“You’re quite the man.”
Xander tried not to shiver at the scrutiny or the tone.
“It’s always been
you. I didn’t know
about William, all I knew was that Spike was here, and, yes,
he was welcome, and he needed my
help. I tried my
best to give you that
help. I tried my
best, Spike.”
“But you love William.”
“How could I not love
him?” Xander saw
the fury cross Spike’s face as he slammed down the beer, and
Xander only just managed to catch his arm and stop him before
he hurtled from the
room.
“Wait.” Xander
ignored the growl and heavy-handedly pulled Spike around to
face him. “Listen
to me.
Listen!” The growl
abruptly ceased, the golden glow faded from the
eyes.
“Listen. I love
William. But I’m
in love with you.
I can’t remember not being in love with
you.” Xander was
amazed at how easy it was to say the
words. In fact, it
felt so good… “I’m
in love with you,
Spike. I love
you.” Okay,
pushing his luck now, tears on the way.
Spike was unable to take this in after five years of hating
and blaming himself for driving Xander
away. He nodded
vaguely, took a single deep breath and shakily released
it. Easing out of
Xander’s grasp he wandered into the living room, aware of his
human following.
“I need to sleep,” he said
roughly. “Can I
sleep with you?”
“You don’t have to ask.”
Xander kept his distance until Spike was settled, then he
finally went to bed himself, desperately tired but knowing
sleep would be hard to find.
“Tell me again,” Spike said after an hour.
“I love you.”
Without hesitation.
“But… You and him,
last night.”
Xander cringed despite knowing they’d get to this eventually.
“I thought it was
you. I shouldn’t
have done it
anyway. I’m
sorry.”
Spike shifted toward him, a striking monochrome study in the
semi-darkness.
“Can I… Xander…”
Xander barely had breath for the reply.
“Anything.”
The vampire reached beneath the blankets and Xander tensed
expectantly, confused when Spike gently took his wrist and
drew his arm out, stretching it across the
covers. A cool
mouth fixed on the healing cut from the previous night’s
feeding, breaking it down until it
bled. Xander
groaned at the reaction from his body, instantly erect, skin
tingling. Spike
grabbed at Xander’s free hand as it moved downwards, pinning
it to the human’s
chest. The vampire
slid into game face and played with the wound, teasing it with
a sharp fang, leaving Xander shivering and gasping.
“Tell me,” the demon growled.
“Spike…Spike…I love you…I love you…please, drink,
please…Spike…”
Spike bit down with infinite care, reopening the scar fully,
extending it and sucking
hard. Xander cried
out his love, coming and coming until he knew nothing more. |