Fic: Teenage Dirtbag - 30/? - NC-17
Title: Teenage Dirtbag
Pairing: Spike/Xander
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Season 1, so contains young Xander. Some parts may contain mature themes, violence, and graphic sex. You have been warned! Also, this fic is likely to be very long and will be updated whenever the muse feels like it.
Summary: Teenage life on a Hellmouth. Xander, Spike and Angel research The Prophecy.
Beta'd by kitty_poker1
Written for my darling amejisuto
Previous parts are HERE
Xander sighed and flopped back against the pillows. Angel’s pillows. It was weird to think that he was sitting on Angel’s bed, when several months ago he didn’t even want to be in the same state as him. Not that he wanted to be in Angel’s bedroom; it was just weird. But this was where all the books were so this was where he, Angel and Spike were. He sighed again and put the book he was reading to one side.
“What’s up, pet?” Spike asked. He scooted closer and Xander immediately felt better.
“This book is making my head spin.” As it turned out, Angel had an extensive collection of books that could be called ‘occult’. This was just one in a long line they were using to cross-reference the texts Spike and Angel had brought back.
Spike held up the book he was looking at. “This one’s doing my head in. Wanna swap?”
Xander nodded and exchanged his with Spike’s. He suspected he wouldn’t get far with this one, either. Angel was in possession of the main book, the Tiberius Manifesto, and copies of the pages from the Codex, and he didn’t look like he would give them up without a fight. Every so often Angel stopped his reading and scribbled down part of the text, handing it to either him or Spike with a simple order to ‘Look it up’.
“Anything else wrong?” Spike whispered.
He slowly shook his head and avoided Spike’s attempt to catch his eye. Xander had been all set to tell Spike about his big attempt at coming out and how badly he’d fucked it up and how shitty he felt about that, but somehow it didn’t seem right, not with Buffy’s very life at stake.
“It’s getting late,” Xander said. “I should probably go.” He did look at Spike then and the expression of concern he saw nearly undid him on the spot.
“Stay,” Spike said.
“But,” Xander hesitated. “I have school.” Oh, god, he wanted to stay, more than anything. He didn’t want to be on his own. His heart ached to the point that it was a physical pain, a stabbing that stabbed all the way down to his stomach and stabbed back up again. Stabby, you could call it. Buffy, Willow, his dad; it was too much, nearly unbearable.
“Go on. I won’t keep you up late and I’ll kick you out of bed in plenty of time to leg it to school.” With one finger, he brushed a stray piece of hair away from Xander’s forehead. “Really missed you.”
Xander swallowed and nodded. “Okay.” He released a long breath and managed a lopsided smile. Spike smiled back and Xander just wanted to melt. He wasn’t entirely sure exactly when it was that Spike had crawled all the way under his skin, but the fact was he had and just his presence was enough to anchor Xander and stop him from hitting total meltdown.
Spike led Xander back to his bedroom and closed the door behind them. Angel didn’t seem bothered that they’d left him to it, but then again, a bomb could drop outside and he wouldn’t raise his head from his book. Xander felt bad that he’d abandoned the research for the night, but he was tired, stressed and worn down. It obviously showed because Spike threw a pair of pyjama bottoms at him and told him to ‘get comfy’ while he washed up. Xander did, and called home while he was at it to claim he was staying with Willow.
When Spike came back out he was dressed in a similar pair of black PJ bottoms that hung lower on his hips than they did on Xander’s and trailed under his feet.
“Angel’s?” Xander asked.
Spike nodded, switching on a lamp which was sitting on the nightstand and flicking off the main light. “Ponce has got hundreds of ‘em, all the same. I figured he wouldn’t miss a few pairs here and there. I nicked quite a bit of his soap, too.” He smiled mischievously. “My skin has never felt so soft.”
Xander chuckled and shuffled closer when Spike lifted the covers and crawled under. “So crime really does pay? Good to know.” Spike opened his arms in an automatic invitation and Xander huggled closer still. “Thanks. For letting me stay.”
Spike kissed his forehead and started stroking Xander’s back in slow rhythmic circles. “’S okay. It’s as much for my benefit as yours.”
Xander smiled at that and looked up to see Spike’s expression, just to really see what was on his face. There was arrogance in Spike’s voice, something that Xander heard a lot, but it was never present in his expression. It was almost like something Spike had to do, like a habitual reaction.
“What?” Spike asked with a mildly puzzled frown.
Xander shook his head. “Nothing,” he said, smiling and reaching to kiss him. The kiss lingered nicely and Xander felt a nice warm glow in his belly. He cuddled back down, resting his head on Spike’s chest and running his fingertips over Spike’s arms.
“So,” Spike said. “Gonna tell me what else has been bothering you?”
“Nothing.”
“Bollocks,” Spike said, but there was no heat to it. “I’ll always know when there’s something wrong.”
“How?” Xander asked after a moment’s pause for thought.
“I can feel it,” Spike answered. “In the wind. In your wind.”
Xander hit him. “Ha ha, leave my wind out of this. Not that I have gas.”
“I can’t believe you, of all people, have a polite bottom. I give you another month and I bet I’ll hear you drop one. I’d stake money on it.”
Xander didn’t want to laugh but he did it anyway. “I’m not taking that bet,” he said. “The odds aren’t in my favour.” He grinned up at Spike and wasn’t surprised to see Spike grinning back, his tongue between his teeth like it usually was when something was particularly funny.
“Feel better?” Spike asked with two fingers to Xander’s ribs, just in case he wasn’t.
“Yeah. Damn you. Who knew William the Bloody could be such a motivator?”
“I’ve got hidden depths.”
“I’ve noticed.”
“So come on, tell me what else is bothering you. I know it’s not just Buffy.”
Xander sighed a record breaking sigh and rolled onto his back. “I came out.”
“Yeah?” Spike propped himself up on one elbow, so attentive that Xander was reminded of the way his cat would stare down balls of fluff. He was Spike’s ball of fluff.
Xander laughed again and he knew it was almost hysterical. “Yeah. I told Willow, my best friend.”
Spike nodded, a knowing expression on his face. “It didn’t go so well, I take it.”
“Understatement of the century.” He looked at Spike with a serious expression. “She cried,” he said.
Spike pursed his lips in thought. “She fancy you?”
“Oh yeah.”
Spike rolled his eyes and gave Xander a gentle pinch. “There you go, then. ‘Course she cried. What else was she gonna do, you ‘nana?”
“I didn’t know! I thought she’d be upset, but I was sort of hoping she would understand.” Restlessly, Xander turned on his side and fiddled with a loose cotton thread hanging from the bottom of his pillow. “She looked crushed,” he muttered, mostly into the pillow.
“How long have you been friends?” Spike asked. He moved his elbow and pulled up the covers, patting them down over them both.
“Since the dinosaurs,” Xander replied miserably.
“That long? Blimey. Always been good friends?”
Xander nodded. “The best.”
“Then she will understand, pet. But you’ve burned the lass. She’ll need some time. She’ll come around once she’s worked it all out in her head.”
“Worked what out?” Spike’s leg hooked over his and Xander burrowed closer. “What is there to work out?”
“I don’t bloody know! It’s a mystery what goes on inside a woman’s head. Steer clear, luv. Whatever it is, she’ll work it out and then she’ll be back. Buy her something pretty and give her a cuddle and she’ll be right as rain.”
Xander chuckled again. “You are so smooth.”
“So I’ve been told.”
This was his favourite place in the whole world, Xander decided, here in this bed - which was surprisingly comfortable considering it was probably quite old - and lying in Spike’s arms. It was a nice room, much improved from the first time Xander had glimpsed it. Spike had been busy and now there was artwork on the walls, satin pillows scattered on the chairs, long burgundy drapes made from thick velvet hanging at the windows and a large rectangular rug adorned with rich ruby flowers and moss-green leaves covering nearly a quarter of the floor.
Spike’s taste was old-fashioned, which surprised Xander. He’d expected black satin sheets instead of the white cotton he was lying on and black, art-deco furniture with harsh lines and shiny surfaces instead of the solid mahogany dresser and nightstands which had not been there before. It was comforting. It felt cosy. It felt warm. It felt safe.
“What you thinking about?” Spike whispered.
Xander was silent for a moment longer. He looked over at the lamp sitting on Spike’s nightstand. It looked like something from a flea market, an antique, with its dumpy brass base and round amber-coloured glass shade. He’d seen one like it before. “You remind me of my grandmother.”
Spike glared, then decided it was funny. Very funny. And when he’d finished laughing until he cried, he pulled Xander back into his arms and kissed him. “You are something special, pet. You know I’ve killed people for less?”
Xander nodded. “But that was before. You wouldn’t do that now.” Oh, he knew Spike was a killer, a vampire, a creature that went all kinds of bump in the night, but he also knew that Spike was more than that. He wasn’t just a vampire. He was different. He was special, too.
“So, go on, then,” Spike said. “The curiosity is killing me. Why do I remind you of your grandmother? And if you tell me it’s my hair, I am actually going to kill you.” He lifted an eyebrow and waited.
“It’s all the stuff.” Xander waggled his hand in the air. “All the old fashioned stuff. The lamp and rug and drapes. It wouldn’t surprise me if you had a grandfather clock hidden away somewhere.”
“I wouldn’t hide it away if I did!” Spike exclaimed. “Love those things. Used to have one once. Twice, actually. Your gran liked all that, then, did she?”
Xander nodded. “Muchly. And she had a lamp just like that.” He pointed at it and Spike glanced over his shoulder.
“Ah, but that one’s a fake. Bloody electric. Used to have a lovely big one that used paraffin. Had that for years, we did, until Dru set light to herself.”
“Ouch.”
“Deliberate it was, too. Couldn’t have them after that, batty old cow, bless her.”
“I don’t know what to say to that,” Xander said.
“Neither did I.” Spike looked thoughtful. It was a good look on him and Xander touched light fingers to his face, outlining his brow, cheek and jaw.
“My dad overheard. I think.”
Spike looked confused at the change in conversation. His brow furrowed and Xander traced the new lines, stroking down Spike’s nose with his index finger. And when realisation dawned, Xander smoothed his thumb over a suddenly sharp cheek bone.
“What happened?” Spike asked. His eyes were pretty, sky blue normally, but now they were flecked with gold and they shimmered just a little in the dim light.
Xander shrugged one shoulder, acutely aware but not in the slightest bit concerned that Spike was on guard now, his naturally aggressive nature on the cusp of becoming switched on. Xander felt a certain amount of power in knowing that he could be the one to flick that switch.
“Nothing happened.”
Those eyes turned golden and then back to blue. “Sure?”
Xander nodded. “He said he didn’t hear. But he did hear. He didn’t want to know.”
Spike started to relax and Xander found that he was glad. He loved his dad, despite the alcohol, the occasional empty stomach and the tendency to shout. His dad had taught him how to ride a bike, bought him his first ‘cool’ sneakers, conspired with him to skip school to see a baseball game and beaten up Mr Dreskin from six doors down when his son had picked on Xander once too often. There was more good than bad, but when he’d walked away, shutting the bathroom door behind him, it had felt like abandonment.
“I thought maybe I was at least worth a reaction.”
Spike snorted. “Well, it was better than a kick in the bread basket. Be glad he didn’t blow a gasket.”
“Yeah, I know,” Xander sighed. He did know, but it didn’t stop him from feeling down about it. Why couldn’t life, just once, be a little more fairytale-like?
“What?” Spike asked, brushing his lips softly against Xander’s.
“Fairies,” Xander mumbled, his eyes drifting shut as Spike stroked his back.
“You are one strange little pet.”
That night, after Xander had stayed awake as long as he could, not wanting the night to end, he dreamed of rubber ducks with fairy wings, a castle with a huge moat around it and Spike. He’d jolted awake twice during the night and each time Spike had blinked and smiled at him, stroked his hair until the ducks came back and quacked a warning that the moat was overflowing and the castle was drowning.
When morning came and Xander’s body clock woke him an hour later than it should have, Spike was deeply asleep, his arm and legs hooked over and around Xander like a very pleasant clamp. His pale skin was warm, Xander noticed as he carefully and regretfully extracted himself from the tangle of limbs, and he wondered if Spike would cool with him gone.
Xander located the shower and washed at high speed, noting curiously as he scrubbed how nice Angel’s soap was. He ran all the way to the school, getting a stitch along the way, and arrived just in time for the beginning of second period: American Lit. He glanced around the classroom and spotted an empty seat at the back. Usually Willow would have saved him a seat next to her and, in fact, saving the other a seat had been a habitual way of extending an olive branch or waving a white flag when spats, arguments and tantrums had occurred. He made his way to the back, forcing a smile when Buffy looked up at him in surprise.
“Hey, slacker,” she said. “I thought you weren’t coming. Well, we thought.” She looked at Willow. “We thought?” Willow turned around in her seat to face the front. “We didn’t think?”
Xander didn’t bother to answer. He looked longingly at Willow’s straightened back and dragged his feet to the back of the class where three centuries seemed to pass before the bell rang. Later, when the bell rang again, this time for lunch, Xander managed to slip away before he was noticed. It hurt to look at either of his friends. He couldn’t touch them or hug them like he wanted to and, god, he wanted to hug Buffy desperately. But knowing the danger she was in, he could hardly bear to look at her and when he did his heart ached.
Part way through lunch, at a lone outside table, he started to feel bitter. These could be the last moments he’d have with Buffy and they were ruined by Willow’s sour grapes. He cursed quietly to himself and bit viciously into his apple.
“Hey, what did Granny Smith ever do to you?” Buffy stood at his side, her hands on her hips, her sparkly-tipped fingers drumming in mock impatience.
“Hey, Buff,” he said. He tried to sound cheerful, but he was a teenager and when a teenager was miserable it was damn hard to hide.
“Can I sit?” Buffy asked, pointing at the seat in front of him.
He nodded and watched her settle. She was one of a kind, and not just because she was the Chosen One. Everything about her was special, from her weird but stylish tartan skirts and her collection of sunglasses to her soft blonde hair that never looked out of place, even after a skirmish.
“Okay, spill it. What’s the sitch with you and Will?” She put her elbows on the table and looked at him expectantly.
Okay, he probably should have thought up a lie way before now. But he didn’t want to lie to her anyway, not considering that in less than a week… He swallowed apple but tasted nothing.
“Buff…me and Willow - I mean, Willow and I - are having some…issues.”
“Issues?”
“Issues. Stuff that I don’t really want to tell you about. Yet,” he added when a look of hurt flashed across Buffy’s face. “I need to deal and Willow needs to deal and when we’ve both dealt which will hopefully be soon because this sucks, then…can we talk?”
“About the issues?” Buffy asked.
Xander nodded. “Yeah. Is that cool?” He had to close off part of his mind, the part that was trying to tell him that Buffy might not be around by that time, because she would be around because Spike was going to save her.
“That’s cool,” she said. “Need some company later? Patrol? All the hip kids are doing it.”
Xander was torn. On one hand he wanted to do the research thing but on the other he wanted to be with his friend. “I don’t know,” he said hesitantly.
“Go on, it’ll be fun. Bumps, bruises, a possible need for dental work.” She smiled and Xander felt flooded with her warmth. “It’s an opportunity of a lifetime.” How could he say no?
“Okay. Yeah, that would be greatness.” Spike would just have to work extra hard on his own.
**
Xander only saw Spike briefly that night when he dropped by the mansion on his way home from school. He sat heavily on the bed and woke Spike up with a shake.
“Wha-?” Spike asked with only one eye open and his hair sticking straight up.
“Hey, I just wanted to tell you I won’t be here tonight. I’m gonna patrol with Buffy.”
Spike seemed to take a moment to process that, his mouth open and slack with thought. “Okay,” he said eventually. “Be careful.”
“Will do. Are you gonna hit the books?”
Spike groaned groggily and flipped himself onto his back, rubbing his face with his hands. “Yep. Want me to give you a tap on your window if we find anything?” he asked.
Xander said yes, but the tap never came and he was sure of that because he sat up all night, hoping and wishing that he’d stayed with Spike to help.
The feeling of cold dread filled him up and Xander couldn’t close his eyes without seeing Buffy’s blood, her lifeless face and all the different ways the Master could kill her. For days Xander drifted, barely awake and only alert enough to give automatic answers when spoken to and disappear when it looked like Buffy or Giles were about to accost him. Life felt surreal, like it wasn’t really happening or like he was in someone else’s dream. The world was a fuzzy place which held little meaning once it had extended past his own bubble of problems.
He spent every other night with Spike, staring at alien pages that blurred into one giant unreadable blob of frustrating gibberish. He felt so tired, and a simple disagreement with Spike turned into a screaming match which was only stopped by Angel inserting himself between them.
Two nights before Spring Fling, Xander trudged into the mansion as usual, depressed and exhausted and on the verge of a serious meltdown. “I vote we kidnap her and run for the hills,” he said, more to his feet than the two vampires who were on the fringe of his vision.
“Pet.”
“I know, I know, you’ve already told me. The prophecy will come to pass no matter what we do, blah, blah.”
Spike’s hands curled firmly around Xander’s biceps and squeezed tightly, and when he looked into Spike’s face to tell him to quit it he saw the predator inside, the demon who’d been in control of Spike’s body for over a hundred years. He was clever, cunning and powerful, and nobody fucked with him.
“What?” Xander asked. He looked at Angel who had moved to his side - a glass of water in one hand - and then back to Spike. “What’s going on? Why do you have a black eye?”
“Do you trust me?” Spike asked.
“What? Why?” He heard his heart pounding in his ears. “What’s going on?”
Spike shook his head. “You told me you loved me, but do you trust me?”
Xander looked at him for a long moment. Every part of Xander told him no, apart from his heart. That part of him was jumping up and down and yelling yes, yes! Trust was a big thing for Xander and there weren’t many people in his life who had earned that from him. But he did trust Spike.
“Yeah,” Xander said. “I do.” He laughed nervously. “So don’t eat me now, ‘kay?”
Spike smiled and let go of his arms, reaching for his waist and tugging him closer. He kissed him and took the water from Angel. He put his other hand into his duster pocket and searched around. He pulled out his fist and opened it for Xander to see.
Two oval-shaped pills sat snugly in the palm of Spike’s hand.
“What are they for?”
“Trust me and just take them. Now.”
“Me?” Xander pointed to himself. “But -”
“Xan. Please. Just take them.”
He glanced at Angel but only saw a blank expression and a cut lip, but when he looked back at Spike, he saw the man inside the predator, a vulnerability that he was sure few had seen. “Okay.”
Xander popped the pills into his mouth and washed them down with the water. Spike took back the glass and passed it to Angel.
“You two are being so weird.”
Spike nodded. “Blame ‘im. He’s right, though. Fucker. I hate it when he’s…”
“Huh?” Xander rubbed at his head. He didn’t feel particularly well and suddenly he was also feeling twice as tired. He closed his eyes and felt himself sway. “Spike?”
His bubble was shrinking and everything was fuzzy now. The room span and Xander fell.
“Spike,” he said again, his voice faint and slurry. “What did you do to me?”
TBC…
Pairing: Spike/Xander
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Season 1, so contains young Xander. Some parts may contain mature themes, violence, and graphic sex. You have been warned! Also, this fic is likely to be very long and will be updated whenever the muse feels like it.
Summary: Teenage life on a Hellmouth. Xander, Spike and Angel research The Prophecy.
Beta'd by kitty_poker1
Written for my darling amejisuto
Previous parts are HERE
Xander sighed and flopped back against the pillows. Angel’s pillows. It was weird to think that he was sitting on Angel’s bed, when several months ago he didn’t even want to be in the same state as him. Not that he wanted to be in Angel’s bedroom; it was just weird. But this was where all the books were so this was where he, Angel and Spike were. He sighed again and put the book he was reading to one side.
“What’s up, pet?” Spike asked. He scooted closer and Xander immediately felt better.
“This book is making my head spin.” As it turned out, Angel had an extensive collection of books that could be called ‘occult’. This was just one in a long line they were using to cross-reference the texts Spike and Angel had brought back.
Spike held up the book he was looking at. “This one’s doing my head in. Wanna swap?”
Xander nodded and exchanged his with Spike’s. He suspected he wouldn’t get far with this one, either. Angel was in possession of the main book, the Tiberius Manifesto, and copies of the pages from the Codex, and he didn’t look like he would give them up without a fight. Every so often Angel stopped his reading and scribbled down part of the text, handing it to either him or Spike with a simple order to ‘Look it up’.
“Anything else wrong?” Spike whispered.
He slowly shook his head and avoided Spike’s attempt to catch his eye. Xander had been all set to tell Spike about his big attempt at coming out and how badly he’d fucked it up and how shitty he felt about that, but somehow it didn’t seem right, not with Buffy’s very life at stake.
“It’s getting late,” Xander said. “I should probably go.” He did look at Spike then and the expression of concern he saw nearly undid him on the spot.
“Stay,” Spike said.
“But,” Xander hesitated. “I have school.” Oh, god, he wanted to stay, more than anything. He didn’t want to be on his own. His heart ached to the point that it was a physical pain, a stabbing that stabbed all the way down to his stomach and stabbed back up again. Stabby, you could call it. Buffy, Willow, his dad; it was too much, nearly unbearable.
“Go on. I won’t keep you up late and I’ll kick you out of bed in plenty of time to leg it to school.” With one finger, he brushed a stray piece of hair away from Xander’s forehead. “Really missed you.”
Xander swallowed and nodded. “Okay.” He released a long breath and managed a lopsided smile. Spike smiled back and Xander just wanted to melt. He wasn’t entirely sure exactly when it was that Spike had crawled all the way under his skin, but the fact was he had and just his presence was enough to anchor Xander and stop him from hitting total meltdown.
Spike led Xander back to his bedroom and closed the door behind them. Angel didn’t seem bothered that they’d left him to it, but then again, a bomb could drop outside and he wouldn’t raise his head from his book. Xander felt bad that he’d abandoned the research for the night, but he was tired, stressed and worn down. It obviously showed because Spike threw a pair of pyjama bottoms at him and told him to ‘get comfy’ while he washed up. Xander did, and called home while he was at it to claim he was staying with Willow.
When Spike came back out he was dressed in a similar pair of black PJ bottoms that hung lower on his hips than they did on Xander’s and trailed under his feet.
“Angel’s?” Xander asked.
Spike nodded, switching on a lamp which was sitting on the nightstand and flicking off the main light. “Ponce has got hundreds of ‘em, all the same. I figured he wouldn’t miss a few pairs here and there. I nicked quite a bit of his soap, too.” He smiled mischievously. “My skin has never felt so soft.”
Xander chuckled and shuffled closer when Spike lifted the covers and crawled under. “So crime really does pay? Good to know.” Spike opened his arms in an automatic invitation and Xander huggled closer still. “Thanks. For letting me stay.”
Spike kissed his forehead and started stroking Xander’s back in slow rhythmic circles. “’S okay. It’s as much for my benefit as yours.”
Xander smiled at that and looked up to see Spike’s expression, just to really see what was on his face. There was arrogance in Spike’s voice, something that Xander heard a lot, but it was never present in his expression. It was almost like something Spike had to do, like a habitual reaction.
“What?” Spike asked with a mildly puzzled frown.
Xander shook his head. “Nothing,” he said, smiling and reaching to kiss him. The kiss lingered nicely and Xander felt a nice warm glow in his belly. He cuddled back down, resting his head on Spike’s chest and running his fingertips over Spike’s arms.
“So,” Spike said. “Gonna tell me what else has been bothering you?”
“Nothing.”
“Bollocks,” Spike said, but there was no heat to it. “I’ll always know when there’s something wrong.”
“How?” Xander asked after a moment’s pause for thought.
“I can feel it,” Spike answered. “In the wind. In your wind.”
Xander hit him. “Ha ha, leave my wind out of this. Not that I have gas.”
“I can’t believe you, of all people, have a polite bottom. I give you another month and I bet I’ll hear you drop one. I’d stake money on it.”
Xander didn’t want to laugh but he did it anyway. “I’m not taking that bet,” he said. “The odds aren’t in my favour.” He grinned up at Spike and wasn’t surprised to see Spike grinning back, his tongue between his teeth like it usually was when something was particularly funny.
“Feel better?” Spike asked with two fingers to Xander’s ribs, just in case he wasn’t.
“Yeah. Damn you. Who knew William the Bloody could be such a motivator?”
“I’ve got hidden depths.”
“I’ve noticed.”
“So come on, tell me what else is bothering you. I know it’s not just Buffy.”
Xander sighed a record breaking sigh and rolled onto his back. “I came out.”
“Yeah?” Spike propped himself up on one elbow, so attentive that Xander was reminded of the way his cat would stare down balls of fluff. He was Spike’s ball of fluff.
Xander laughed again and he knew it was almost hysterical. “Yeah. I told Willow, my best friend.”
Spike nodded, a knowing expression on his face. “It didn’t go so well, I take it.”
“Understatement of the century.” He looked at Spike with a serious expression. “She cried,” he said.
Spike pursed his lips in thought. “She fancy you?”
“Oh yeah.”
Spike rolled his eyes and gave Xander a gentle pinch. “There you go, then. ‘Course she cried. What else was she gonna do, you ‘nana?”
“I didn’t know! I thought she’d be upset, but I was sort of hoping she would understand.” Restlessly, Xander turned on his side and fiddled with a loose cotton thread hanging from the bottom of his pillow. “She looked crushed,” he muttered, mostly into the pillow.
“How long have you been friends?” Spike asked. He moved his elbow and pulled up the covers, patting them down over them both.
“Since the dinosaurs,” Xander replied miserably.
“That long? Blimey. Always been good friends?”
Xander nodded. “The best.”
“Then she will understand, pet. But you’ve burned the lass. She’ll need some time. She’ll come around once she’s worked it all out in her head.”
“Worked what out?” Spike’s leg hooked over his and Xander burrowed closer. “What is there to work out?”
“I don’t bloody know! It’s a mystery what goes on inside a woman’s head. Steer clear, luv. Whatever it is, she’ll work it out and then she’ll be back. Buy her something pretty and give her a cuddle and she’ll be right as rain.”
Xander chuckled again. “You are so smooth.”
“So I’ve been told.”
This was his favourite place in the whole world, Xander decided, here in this bed - which was surprisingly comfortable considering it was probably quite old - and lying in Spike’s arms. It was a nice room, much improved from the first time Xander had glimpsed it. Spike had been busy and now there was artwork on the walls, satin pillows scattered on the chairs, long burgundy drapes made from thick velvet hanging at the windows and a large rectangular rug adorned with rich ruby flowers and moss-green leaves covering nearly a quarter of the floor.
Spike’s taste was old-fashioned, which surprised Xander. He’d expected black satin sheets instead of the white cotton he was lying on and black, art-deco furniture with harsh lines and shiny surfaces instead of the solid mahogany dresser and nightstands which had not been there before. It was comforting. It felt cosy. It felt warm. It felt safe.
“What you thinking about?” Spike whispered.
Xander was silent for a moment longer. He looked over at the lamp sitting on Spike’s nightstand. It looked like something from a flea market, an antique, with its dumpy brass base and round amber-coloured glass shade. He’d seen one like it before. “You remind me of my grandmother.”
Spike glared, then decided it was funny. Very funny. And when he’d finished laughing until he cried, he pulled Xander back into his arms and kissed him. “You are something special, pet. You know I’ve killed people for less?”
Xander nodded. “But that was before. You wouldn’t do that now.” Oh, he knew Spike was a killer, a vampire, a creature that went all kinds of bump in the night, but he also knew that Spike was more than that. He wasn’t just a vampire. He was different. He was special, too.
“So, go on, then,” Spike said. “The curiosity is killing me. Why do I remind you of your grandmother? And if you tell me it’s my hair, I am actually going to kill you.” He lifted an eyebrow and waited.
“It’s all the stuff.” Xander waggled his hand in the air. “All the old fashioned stuff. The lamp and rug and drapes. It wouldn’t surprise me if you had a grandfather clock hidden away somewhere.”
“I wouldn’t hide it away if I did!” Spike exclaimed. “Love those things. Used to have one once. Twice, actually. Your gran liked all that, then, did she?”
Xander nodded. “Muchly. And she had a lamp just like that.” He pointed at it and Spike glanced over his shoulder.
“Ah, but that one’s a fake. Bloody electric. Used to have a lovely big one that used paraffin. Had that for years, we did, until Dru set light to herself.”
“Ouch.”
“Deliberate it was, too. Couldn’t have them after that, batty old cow, bless her.”
“I don’t know what to say to that,” Xander said.
“Neither did I.” Spike looked thoughtful. It was a good look on him and Xander touched light fingers to his face, outlining his brow, cheek and jaw.
“My dad overheard. I think.”
Spike looked confused at the change in conversation. His brow furrowed and Xander traced the new lines, stroking down Spike’s nose with his index finger. And when realisation dawned, Xander smoothed his thumb over a suddenly sharp cheek bone.
“What happened?” Spike asked. His eyes were pretty, sky blue normally, but now they were flecked with gold and they shimmered just a little in the dim light.
Xander shrugged one shoulder, acutely aware but not in the slightest bit concerned that Spike was on guard now, his naturally aggressive nature on the cusp of becoming switched on. Xander felt a certain amount of power in knowing that he could be the one to flick that switch.
“Nothing happened.”
Those eyes turned golden and then back to blue. “Sure?”
Xander nodded. “He said he didn’t hear. But he did hear. He didn’t want to know.”
Spike started to relax and Xander found that he was glad. He loved his dad, despite the alcohol, the occasional empty stomach and the tendency to shout. His dad had taught him how to ride a bike, bought him his first ‘cool’ sneakers, conspired with him to skip school to see a baseball game and beaten up Mr Dreskin from six doors down when his son had picked on Xander once too often. There was more good than bad, but when he’d walked away, shutting the bathroom door behind him, it had felt like abandonment.
“I thought maybe I was at least worth a reaction.”
Spike snorted. “Well, it was better than a kick in the bread basket. Be glad he didn’t blow a gasket.”
“Yeah, I know,” Xander sighed. He did know, but it didn’t stop him from feeling down about it. Why couldn’t life, just once, be a little more fairytale-like?
“What?” Spike asked, brushing his lips softly against Xander’s.
“Fairies,” Xander mumbled, his eyes drifting shut as Spike stroked his back.
“You are one strange little pet.”
That night, after Xander had stayed awake as long as he could, not wanting the night to end, he dreamed of rubber ducks with fairy wings, a castle with a huge moat around it and Spike. He’d jolted awake twice during the night and each time Spike had blinked and smiled at him, stroked his hair until the ducks came back and quacked a warning that the moat was overflowing and the castle was drowning.
When morning came and Xander’s body clock woke him an hour later than it should have, Spike was deeply asleep, his arm and legs hooked over and around Xander like a very pleasant clamp. His pale skin was warm, Xander noticed as he carefully and regretfully extracted himself from the tangle of limbs, and he wondered if Spike would cool with him gone.
Xander located the shower and washed at high speed, noting curiously as he scrubbed how nice Angel’s soap was. He ran all the way to the school, getting a stitch along the way, and arrived just in time for the beginning of second period: American Lit. He glanced around the classroom and spotted an empty seat at the back. Usually Willow would have saved him a seat next to her and, in fact, saving the other a seat had been a habitual way of extending an olive branch or waving a white flag when spats, arguments and tantrums had occurred. He made his way to the back, forcing a smile when Buffy looked up at him in surprise.
“Hey, slacker,” she said. “I thought you weren’t coming. Well, we thought.” She looked at Willow. “We thought?” Willow turned around in her seat to face the front. “We didn’t think?”
Xander didn’t bother to answer. He looked longingly at Willow’s straightened back and dragged his feet to the back of the class where three centuries seemed to pass before the bell rang. Later, when the bell rang again, this time for lunch, Xander managed to slip away before he was noticed. It hurt to look at either of his friends. He couldn’t touch them or hug them like he wanted to and, god, he wanted to hug Buffy desperately. But knowing the danger she was in, he could hardly bear to look at her and when he did his heart ached.
Part way through lunch, at a lone outside table, he started to feel bitter. These could be the last moments he’d have with Buffy and they were ruined by Willow’s sour grapes. He cursed quietly to himself and bit viciously into his apple.
“Hey, what did Granny Smith ever do to you?” Buffy stood at his side, her hands on her hips, her sparkly-tipped fingers drumming in mock impatience.
“Hey, Buff,” he said. He tried to sound cheerful, but he was a teenager and when a teenager was miserable it was damn hard to hide.
“Can I sit?” Buffy asked, pointing at the seat in front of him.
He nodded and watched her settle. She was one of a kind, and not just because she was the Chosen One. Everything about her was special, from her weird but stylish tartan skirts and her collection of sunglasses to her soft blonde hair that never looked out of place, even after a skirmish.
“Okay, spill it. What’s the sitch with you and Will?” She put her elbows on the table and looked at him expectantly.
Okay, he probably should have thought up a lie way before now. But he didn’t want to lie to her anyway, not considering that in less than a week… He swallowed apple but tasted nothing.
“Buff…me and Willow - I mean, Willow and I - are having some…issues.”
“Issues?”
“Issues. Stuff that I don’t really want to tell you about. Yet,” he added when a look of hurt flashed across Buffy’s face. “I need to deal and Willow needs to deal and when we’ve both dealt which will hopefully be soon because this sucks, then…can we talk?”
“About the issues?” Buffy asked.
Xander nodded. “Yeah. Is that cool?” He had to close off part of his mind, the part that was trying to tell him that Buffy might not be around by that time, because she would be around because Spike was going to save her.
“That’s cool,” she said. “Need some company later? Patrol? All the hip kids are doing it.”
Xander was torn. On one hand he wanted to do the research thing but on the other he wanted to be with his friend. “I don’t know,” he said hesitantly.
“Go on, it’ll be fun. Bumps, bruises, a possible need for dental work.” She smiled and Xander felt flooded with her warmth. “It’s an opportunity of a lifetime.” How could he say no?
“Okay. Yeah, that would be greatness.” Spike would just have to work extra hard on his own.
**
Xander only saw Spike briefly that night when he dropped by the mansion on his way home from school. He sat heavily on the bed and woke Spike up with a shake.
“Wha-?” Spike asked with only one eye open and his hair sticking straight up.
“Hey, I just wanted to tell you I won’t be here tonight. I’m gonna patrol with Buffy.”
Spike seemed to take a moment to process that, his mouth open and slack with thought. “Okay,” he said eventually. “Be careful.”
“Will do. Are you gonna hit the books?”
Spike groaned groggily and flipped himself onto his back, rubbing his face with his hands. “Yep. Want me to give you a tap on your window if we find anything?” he asked.
Xander said yes, but the tap never came and he was sure of that because he sat up all night, hoping and wishing that he’d stayed with Spike to help.
The feeling of cold dread filled him up and Xander couldn’t close his eyes without seeing Buffy’s blood, her lifeless face and all the different ways the Master could kill her. For days Xander drifted, barely awake and only alert enough to give automatic answers when spoken to and disappear when it looked like Buffy or Giles were about to accost him. Life felt surreal, like it wasn’t really happening or like he was in someone else’s dream. The world was a fuzzy place which held little meaning once it had extended past his own bubble of problems.
He spent every other night with Spike, staring at alien pages that blurred into one giant unreadable blob of frustrating gibberish. He felt so tired, and a simple disagreement with Spike turned into a screaming match which was only stopped by Angel inserting himself between them.
Two nights before Spring Fling, Xander trudged into the mansion as usual, depressed and exhausted and on the verge of a serious meltdown. “I vote we kidnap her and run for the hills,” he said, more to his feet than the two vampires who were on the fringe of his vision.
“Pet.”
“I know, I know, you’ve already told me. The prophecy will come to pass no matter what we do, blah, blah.”
Spike’s hands curled firmly around Xander’s biceps and squeezed tightly, and when he looked into Spike’s face to tell him to quit it he saw the predator inside, the demon who’d been in control of Spike’s body for over a hundred years. He was clever, cunning and powerful, and nobody fucked with him.
“What?” Xander asked. He looked at Angel who had moved to his side - a glass of water in one hand - and then back to Spike. “What’s going on? Why do you have a black eye?”
“Do you trust me?” Spike asked.
“What? Why?” He heard his heart pounding in his ears. “What’s going on?”
Spike shook his head. “You told me you loved me, but do you trust me?”
Xander looked at him for a long moment. Every part of Xander told him no, apart from his heart. That part of him was jumping up and down and yelling yes, yes! Trust was a big thing for Xander and there weren’t many people in his life who had earned that from him. But he did trust Spike.
“Yeah,” Xander said. “I do.” He laughed nervously. “So don’t eat me now, ‘kay?”
Spike smiled and let go of his arms, reaching for his waist and tugging him closer. He kissed him and took the water from Angel. He put his other hand into his duster pocket and searched around. He pulled out his fist and opened it for Xander to see.
Two oval-shaped pills sat snugly in the palm of Spike’s hand.
“What are they for?”
“Trust me and just take them. Now.”
“Me?” Xander pointed to himself. “But -”
“Xan. Please. Just take them.”
He glanced at Angel but only saw a blank expression and a cut lip, but when he looked back at Spike, he saw the man inside the predator, a vulnerability that he was sure few had seen. “Okay.”
Xander popped the pills into his mouth and washed them down with the water. Spike took back the glass and passed it to Angel.
“You two are being so weird.”
Spike nodded. “Blame ‘im. He’s right, though. Fucker. I hate it when he’s…”
“Huh?” Xander rubbed at his head. He didn’t feel particularly well and suddenly he was also feeling twice as tired. He closed his eyes and felt himself sway. “Spike?”
His bubble was shrinking and everything was fuzzy now. The room span and Xander fell.
“Spike,” he said again, his voice faint and slurry. “What did you do to me?”
TBC…