Drowning Not Waving...Chapter Twelve *s/x - adult*

[tabaqui]

Really really mean it with the warnings, people...

Warnings: This is a story in which Xander's not being the best he can be. It's human horror. Dare we say it ?- it's dark. There's explicit sex and drugs and addiction, cowardice, grit, the porn industry and people behaving badly, blind eyes and Xander exploitation and enabling, good intentions, funny moments, a chip, evil, soulless and atavistic Spike and a baby. And almost everybody lives happily ever after in the last chapter.


Xander started marking days on the calendar. He couldn't remember, couldn't think but he could handle the passing of time in an abstract way when he wasn't there to take in the whole passing of time thing himself.

Spike was gone for seven days.

Seven days and a bag of pills and Xander had a system. He popped pills, drifted on the couch or the bed or the balcony. Winked out. Woke up - took another.

Took them until the room spun and lurched and closing his eyes was all it took to fall asleep and forget - everything - and it was kinda nice.

Kinda great.

Really easy.

Fast forwarding life to the good parts and why hadn't he thought of that before?

He was asleep when Spike came back.

He woke up to a crash that jolted him straight up, his thoughts spinning out in a dizzy progression of *Dad - monster - fucking neighbors - baby - what the fuck?* But it was Spike, standing in the middle of the room, swaying just a little and so sometimes fast forwarding to the good parts wasn't a science.

This? Was not a good part but the parts of Xander's brain gibbering vulnerable and predator were the parts sunk in amber and he watched it all, detached. Glass and trickle of liquid down the wall over the sink and Spike clumsily jerking his coat off and throwing it over the couch - heeling off his boots and kicking them away hard enough to dent the wall and Xander worked his fingers into the sheets and kneaded - drew up his knees and watched, sloe-eyed, as Spike stripped.

Bruises like great, dark flowers over his ribs and hips - thighs and shoulders.

And that was the problem with taking a trip to right now land - sometimes right now was -

Patches of skin that looked raw and places that were raw. Cuts that were still sluggishly seeping blood and Xander felt his heart start to pound, harder and harder. Driving the dozy, drugged feeling away and making his stomach knot.

- really really scary.

"Spike? What -"

"Bloody hell, Xander, drank all the fuckin' booze? Left me that - 'Merican shite - what the fuck're you thinking?" Spike pawed clumsily through a drawer and pulled out the little pill baggy. It was pretty empty.

"You were - I didn't have any money, you didn't - leave me enough or I'd have - hey!" Xander ignored the lurch in his stomach as Spike turned and looked at him, eyes golden in the curtained light and his lips lifting back in a snarl but his mouth kept moving and words kept coming out one after the other without checking in first with any of the centers of his brain which were - otherwise occupied. Words. Lots of them. Words like: "I didn't even know when you were coming back! You didn't call -"

"Not your sodding husband - don't need to fucking call. Takin' too many fuckin' pills, too -" Spike dug something out of the pill bag and downed it - staggered over to the bed and flopped down, winding himself in the sheets, heedless of the blood that streaked them. Xander just sat there, frozen, for a minute more, sorting the scary from the Spike and came up mostly Spike. He scooted closer, legs and arms jerky with suppressed agitation.

"You're hurt - don't you wanna take a shower?"

"M'fine," Spike muttered, and Xander inched closer - carefully pressed himself against Spike's side, his hand going out to stroke his ribs - his thigh.

"Looks like it hurts. But you won though, didn't you?" Xander murmured. "You always win." He slid lower by fractions, petting Spike like a pissed-off cat. Soothing the savage beast. Spike made grumbling noises down in his chest and his limbs moved sporadically, twitching and jerking as if, in his half-doze, he were still fighting.

"Leave off, pet," Spike muttered, and Xander twitched - ignored the sharp pain in his gut. Spike - never turned him down.

"Just wanna make you feel better," he said. Xander lightly kissed Spike's belly - his hip - moved close to Spike's half-hard cock, breathing in. And froze. Perfume-smell - sex-smell - musk and rotting flowers and fucking lipstick, smeared along the pale length. Xander jerked violently away and Spike jerked too - pushed him hard and turned onto his belly, one leg drawn up and the pillow bunched under his chest.

"You fucker, you bastard, you - you -"

"Shut up, Xander! Bloody well too tired and too fucking sore to hear your fucking whinging. Fuck off."

"Fuck you."

"What with?" Spike's voice was casual with malice and Xander twitched, pushed his face into his pillow but couldn't stop hearing. "All the shite you're taking - couldn't get it up for a fucking gang of horny fake virgins right now could you?"

"Fuck you," Xander said again. Not because it wasn't true - because it was his decision and his break from a life that was a lot more confusing than it was in Sunnydale, because it - was.

Beat.

"You could fuck me," Xander said to the bedside lamp then found himself flipped onto his back, heart laboring against the drugs to beat harder - faster, and staring up into golden eyes and he squirmed against Spike's clutching fingers because they hurt.

"I don't want to fuck you," Spike spelled out like it wasn't ripping Xander's guts out every time - or maybe because it was. "I want you to go to sleep." A shove and Xander rolled off the bed, landed hard on his side and stayed there listening to himself breathe. Listening to Spike mutter

He pulled himself to his feet.

Took a step toward the door.

"Don't go anywhere."

Froze.

"Why not?" Couldn't hear his voice over the thump-thump of his heart. The want me, need me of his thoughts.

And the rushing burn of blood to his face when Spike answered: "Might get peckish."

Xander threw himself onto the couch, fumbled three pills into his mouth and turned his back on Spike.

"Fuck you."

Waited to pass out.

Woke to room temperature hands on him and the smell of shampoo. Blinked muzzily while he was manhandled around and a leg tucked up, the other pulled off the couch. Gripped the pillow when Spike - and he wasn't prepared to think it could be anyone but Spike - pushed into him, tear and burn that left him gasping into the couch cushions.

"Shh. Shh, that's a good pet."

And drifted off again.

Time passed, but Xander really didn't have a fucking clue how much time. Spike talked to him at one point - slapped his cheek and said something and Xander just cuddled down into the couch cushions and tried to ignore him - him and the waves of misery that weren't gone yet but would be and the nausea from a too-empty stomach. There was sex again at some point - hard, hurting sex that made Xander bite his own arm to muffle the scream and it was Spike's fingers, this time, that pushed the pills between his lips - shoved him into the shower and dragged him out again before he drowned.

He swam up to poke around consciousness in a pair of old sweats and a t-shirt, the sun low and red beyond the half-open curtains and Spike - gone again. No coat, no boots, no keys. This time he wanted to cry but that drifted away too and he drifted in a dazed, swimming way to get up off the couch - find the pills.

Forget.

Get it together.

Pull himself together.

And he'd be - fine.

Right as rain and ready to face the world.

He'd - cut back then.

When he forgot.

Except for the door swung open before the forgetting came around and suddenly there was someone - there and he laid there on the couch with unfocused eyes and heavy fingers and toes and soaked in her presence through his pores.

"Okay, vision thing, sorry to just barge in but Spike said you were only sniffly, not fevered or anything so you'll be okay. He just had his bottle so he's not gonna be hungry but he'll need a new diaper in about a half hour, I'm sure. Here's the diaper bag and - Jeez, Xander, you need a shave. There's an extra set of clothes in here, just in case - sometimes he spits up. And...toys...I'll just lay the blanket down and he can play on that."

Xander blinked and rubbed his eyes - blinked again at Cordy who was putting a handful of toys on a big yellow and white quilt. A quilt with Julian in the middle of it, idly kicking his socked feet, blowing bubbles.

"Okay, now, you're gonna be a good boy for Daddy while Aunty Cordy's gone, right? Isn't that right?" For one horrified, mortified moment Xander thought Cordelia meant him and he gaped at her as she bent over Julian and kissed him - tickled his belly and laughed when he did. "Yes, he's a good boy, he's such a good boy." Cordy kissed Julian one more time and then stood up, pushing her hair back.

"So - you're all set - should be back in an hour or two, tops, okay? Thanks, Xander, sorry to do this when you've been sick but - I can't take Julian on a vision call. Wes has his cell!" And she was gone and Xander stumbled to his feet, mouth working - brain trying to work. Trying to call her back and tell her no.

Tell he was more than sick, he was contagious, he was dying he was - *fucking unfit, Jesus Christ, Cordy, you can't leave him here!*

But she was gone, and Xander was alone with his son.

Alone with his son who was chewing on a rubber duck and watching him with a grin that was - that had - "You have teeth."

Julian held out the rubber duck - gnawed and pock-marked with one eye completely missing.

It was slimy with spit and - gross.

Xander's stomach lurched and he struggled to push himself upright. "Stay there." He staggered to the bathroom, splashed cold water on his face and stayed leaning against the sink and shivering until the heaves stopped and he could mentally review what Cordy said.

An hour or two - tops.

Hour or two.

He took a slow breath, deep breath and let it out. Let it out and opened the medicine cabinet. Took out the baggie of pills and stumbled his way back to the living room.

Julian had moved on from the spit-covered duck to a big plastic letter block - early literacy by digestion.

Hour or two.

Xander swallowed two pills dry. One didn't do anything anymore and two was - two was enough to take the fog off and wake him up - make him work and he closed his eyes and waited.

To work.

Be functional.

Be of the responsible and attention-paying.

"If you know what's good for you, you're so gonna stay with your Aunty Cordy." He folded a hand over his chest and rubbed through the cotton of his shirt. Felt the numbly prickling tingles and the floating feeling creeping in around the edges. "Seriously - you do not know how much you lucked out."

Xander pried open an eye to find Julian watching him, mouth open and the block half way there.

"Daddy's a junkie," he said - and when he giggled, Julian giggled too.

Giggled just like him and smiled like him and pretty soon Xander wasn't giggling as much as crying and burying a fuck fuck fuck into the couch cushions.

At some point he lost track of time - jerky nothings that didn't ever really take him over the edge. His arm was off the couch, on the floor and he felt a little tugging pull sometime. Opened his eyes to poke Julian in the stomach, tug back, tell him he's alive. He lifted his head a while later and looked around but Julian was lying on his back, the big alphabet letter in his hands and he lay back down, sniffing.

Wiping his eyes and wondering if maybe he should eat something - his stomach kind of hurt. But it was still kind of sick, too, and he decided it would be a bad idea. Eating. Julian should eat.

Drink.

Was he eating actual food yet?

He turned over, finally, punching at the pillow and then froze. There was a noise... It was the wrong sort of noise. A noise he shouldn't be hearing. A gagging, wheezing sort of sound and Xander sat up fast, holding onto the couch edge as the whole room spun and then slammed to a stop when his roving gaze finally found Julian.

Still lying on his back but now he was still, the kicking feet splayed out and the hands fisted on the quilt. His lips were blue.

"Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh god fucking damn it -" Xander lurched upright and tripped and fell to his knees - scrabbled across the floor to the baby who's eyes were half-open and glazed. There was a thin trail of something whitish at the corner of his mouth - down his neck.

And the pills, the pill baggie, lying there, pills spilled out like Skittles across the floor.

"Oh shit, oh no, oh no, ohnonono!" Xander put his hand in the middle of Julian's chest and shook him. Nothing. He did it again, panting - choking for air and feeling his stomach knot tighter and tighter. With his other hand he scrabbled at the pills, scooping them in his palm - snatching at ones that had rolled away.

"Wake up, wake up! Baby - J-Julian, wake up, wake up!" Xander shook him again and again - snatched the baggie and shoved the pills into it, fevered haste. He crawled to the couch and shoved the baggie under the couch cushions - turned around and grabbed Julian and ran. Down the hall - down the stairs. Taking them two at a time and feeling his legs wobble and bend at the wrong moments - clutching desperately at the railing and crashing through the door at the bottom - running to the desk and the phone and *911, 911, oh, fuck, please answer, god -*

"911, what is your emergency?"

What's your emergency?

What's your emergency?

Xander was numb - numb everywhere but the heat of Cordelia draped against his side and crying onto his shoulder.

Numb inside except for the creeping sickness that was I could go to jail for this. He could die. I could go to jail. He could die, which was so much less exciting when it was real and not a film.

Numb and shaking and comforting Cordelia with words he couldn't hear and hoped made sense. Words like 'he'll be okay' and 'they got to him fast enough' and words that weren't jail and die.

And he needed a fucking pill but he didn't know what they'd do to him here if they caught him with one or forced him to take a blood test or -

"You're shaking."

Xander tightened his arms around Cordelia. "You're shaking too."

"You're supposed to be the strong one, you dummy." Cordelia smacked his chest and it stung and made his head throb because he needed a pill.

Dummy.

Liar vied for air time. 'He found Spike's stash', which worked on Cordy but wouldn't work on Gunn. Or Wes. Or -

Xander sucked in a calming breath. Angel wouldn't care. Spike wouldn't care.

The police would care. He hugged Cordy harder until she pushed at him. "Xand - Xander, not so hard."

"Sorry." *Sorry, sorry, fucking sorry, oh god...don't let them find out, don't let them find out, don't let them find out -*

"Xander!" Xander flinched violently and Cordy gasped and then Wesley was there, kneeling down and taking her hands and Gunn was there, asking how he was, what happened, what the fuck was going on.

"Oh my god, Wes -" Cordelia transferred her grip from Xander to Wes and Xander slithered out of the chair - stood up and took half a step away before Gunn's hand, pincher-like, closed on his shoulder.

"Where the fuck you going?"

"I - I -" Xander swallowed - swallowed again in panic and wrenched away from Gunn's hand. "I'm gonna be sick, I gotta -"

"It's okay, he's upset, Gunn, let him -"

"Yeah, you go get sick," Gunn muttered, letting go and Xander lurched away - down the hall. Found the bathroom and shoved his way inside and barely made it to the toilet before he was heaving up bile and water and maybe some remnants of a Hot Pocket. He thought he'd had one. Some time.

And what were they thinking leaving a baby with him?

"Fuck." He coughed, clung to the bowl and gagged and spat for ages, his stomach clenched into a tight knot, his bowels like water and his head ringing. Disinfectant and vomit stink mingled in his nose and he heaved again - spat and spat and slumped down sideways, head pressed to the cold steel wall of the stall.

*Gotta get up, gotta...oh god, fuck...gotta - get back. Find all the pills, find - hide them better, can't let them find...* He pushed himself upright with a groan and made his way to the sinks. Rinsed and rinsed his mouth - rinsed his face and slicked a handful of water back through his hair. Then he stood up and looked in the mirror.

Fuck.

White as Spike, eyes like pits - stubble and cracked lips and too many fucking bones showing in his face - hadn't been this thin since fucking seventh grade when he shot up six inches in five months and felt like he was starving to death all the time. He looked like shit.

He looked like a junkie.

*Gotta get back.*

He ran all the way to the Hyperion.

It was dim inside, only a desk lamp on, and he stumbled on the steps and landed hard - gasped in a breath of carpet dust and staggered upright again - hit the elevator doors and the button and all but fell inside. He pressed the floor button and then sank down and down, gasping. Fists on his thighs and his lungs on fire - chest hurting, stomach roiling. Even his feet hurt.

He cringed when the doors opened again - got up and shakily walked down the hall, expecting Angel, maybe. Or the police. Something. But everything was dark - silent. He flipped on the light and stood for a second, just looking. Quilt and toys and the TV remote - dirty socks and a t-shirt and a pair of jeans falling out of the closet.

And a pill, red and oily, glimmering like a bead of blood in the lamplight. *Fuck!* Xander lunged for the pill - picked it up and looked around wildly. There - another one. Julian must have scattered them everywhere. Xander stared in horror at the pill in his fingers - shoved it between his lips and choked it down and scrambled for the next one.

And the next one and the next, crawling over the floor until he was sure he had them all. Head whirling as the pills started to float him - spin him - lift him right up and out. He wanted to lay down - wanted to sleep but he couldn't. Had to find the fucking pills and where the fuck was Spike? Why couldn't he be home, why couldn't he be here? Xander wiped his nose on his sleeve - wiped his streaming eyes and dug for the pill baggie. Two - three - spilled out under the cushions and he grabbed them - shoved them in his mouth and clutched the baggie to his chest. Fuck.

"What'm I gonna do? What'm I gonna do, fuck, Spike, what'm I gonna do...?" Rocking - crying - he twisted the baggie in his hands and felt the pills dissolving in his mouth and he swallowed and gagged and swallowed. Had to get the fucking pills gone and if they were in him - safely hidden away - nobody could find them and nobody would know.

And he wouldn't know, either. A win-win. So long as he didn't over-do it. *Like father like son,* Xander thought, giggling, then he counted the rest of the pills.

Not quite enough to kill him.

But plenty to make him forget.

He swallowed them dry and curled up on the quilt.