Spike/Xander fic
Part 2
It started when the world was going to hell--literally--and dragging everyone down with it. Anya had said her good-byes--which of course included sex, Buffy had said a million speeches--each one more frustrating than the last--Giles had said a lot of words that all added up to ‘I don’t know if we can win this one’ and Xander… Xander hadn’t said much of anything. Having a blind spot that took up the whole left side of your world sorta put a damper on the witty quips.
So much was crazy then... Crazier than the average weekend on the Hellmouth. Xander had been sent away, oh sorry… given the job of getting Dawn to safety, and had fucked that up. Being taken out by the baby of the group filled in the final letter of that crossword puzzle. 8 across, 4 down - means ‘Xander’ …U S E L E S S.
Okay so it’s that wasn’t what they were saying, Buffy and Giles and Willow. Those were still the only three that counted. Xander could give a fuck what the potentials thought of him, Andrew was a puppy, and Faith was… well, Faith. The three that mattered weren’t saying useless, not out loud. The soldier-memories that still popped up from time to time were brutal in Xander’s head. He was wounded and weak, useless for hand to hand combat… his depth perception was nil which knocked out anything that required any sort of aim… He was a liability and he knew it.
Maybe that’s what sent him out into the ghost-town-empty Sunnydale streets that last night. Maybe it was the combination of antibiotics and painkillers. Maybe the moon was full and it was remnants of the hyena instincts. Who the fuck knew. For whatever reason, Xander was wandering through the town with a warm beer that was only half-drunk in one hand and a stake in the other.
“Oi there, you’re liable to get yourself hurt, wandering around like that.” There was the scratch and click of a lighter, then the voice continued. “Oh look, you already did.”
Xander sighed. “Fuck off, Spike.” He turned around to see the blond calmly smoking, although if you looked--if you knew what to look for--you could see the tension. It was hidden in the little details… the way Spike rolled his cigarette between his fingers, the set of his shoulders, the way he was almost totally still. No fidgeting, no tapping his fingers against his thigh like he did when he was bored, no arched eyebrow or smirk. It was like his whole body had condensed and focused down to one purpose.
Well… no one ever said Spike wasn’t intense.
It started when the world was going to hell--literally--and dragging everyone down with it. Anya had said her good-byes--which of course included sex, Buffy had said a million speeches--each one more frustrating than the last--Giles had said a lot of words that all added up to ‘I don’t know if we can win this one’ and Xander… Xander hadn’t said much of anything. Having a blind spot that took up the whole left side of your world sorta put a damper on the witty quips.
So much was crazy then... Crazier than the average weekend on the Hellmouth. Xander had been sent away, oh sorry… given the job of getting Dawn to safety, and had fucked that up. Being taken out by the baby of the group filled in the final letter of that crossword puzzle. 8 across, 4 down - means ‘Xander’ …U S E L E S S.
Okay so it’s that wasn’t what they were saying, Buffy and Giles and Willow. Those were still the only three that counted. Xander could give a fuck what the potentials thought of him, Andrew was a puppy, and Faith was… well, Faith. The three that mattered weren’t saying useless, not out loud. The soldier-memories that still popped up from time to time were brutal in Xander’s head. He was wounded and weak, useless for hand to hand combat… his depth perception was nil which knocked out anything that required any sort of aim… He was a liability and he knew it.
Maybe that’s what sent him out into the ghost-town-empty Sunnydale streets that last night. Maybe it was the combination of antibiotics and painkillers. Maybe the moon was full and it was remnants of the hyena instincts. Who the fuck knew. For whatever reason, Xander was wandering through the town with a warm beer that was only half-drunk in one hand and a stake in the other.
“Oi there, you’re liable to get yourself hurt, wandering around like that.” There was the scratch and click of a lighter, then the voice continued. “Oh look, you already did.”
Xander sighed. “Fuck off, Spike.” He turned around to see the blond calmly smoking, although if you looked--if you knew what to look for--you could see the tension. It was hidden in the little details… the way Spike rolled his cigarette between his fingers, the set of his shoulders, the way he was almost totally still. No fidgeting, no tapping his fingers against his thigh like he did when he was bored, no arched eyebrow or smirk. It was like his whole body had condensed and focused down to one purpose.
Well… no one ever said Spike wasn’t intense.