Good Mojo (1/6)

[whichclothes]

Title: Good Mojo (1/6)
Chapter Title: 1. Welcome to Zagreb
Author: whichclothes
Pairing: Spike/Xander
Rating: R
Warnings: a little language, a little angst, a little m/m, a little violence
Notes: I'll be posting the chapters all day. Lovely banner by zoesmith
Summary: Based on this prompt from reremouse: Post-Chosen Xander needs a place to live. It's Spike's turn to take Xander in. Why is he homeless? What happened? And why did he have to turn to Spike? (Extra challenge: The reason is something other than torture, captivity, slavery, abuse, or a falling out with the scoobies)






Chapter One--Welcome to Zagreb

He adjusted his eyepatch, tightened his grip on the suitcase handle, and squared his shoulders. He could do this.

He knocked on the door.

He heard the clomp of heavy boots approaching and the clank of a bolt unlocking. The door swung open.

“I’m not buying any, so-“

The look of absolute shock on the vampire’s face was priceless. Xander wished he had a camera to record it. He was pretty sure a digital camera would work.

“Harris?!” came the tiny whisper.

“One and the same.”

“What-what in the bloody hell….” Spike sputtered helplessly.

“Can I come inside, Spike?”

“You-you’re a vamp now too?”

Xander sighed. He probably looked more corpselike than Spike. “No. Still human. Just being polite.”

Spike blinked at him for a moment, then looked up and down the hallway, as if he expected more surprises to come popping out of the woodwork. There was nobody else there, though. Just grimy, scuffed greenish walls. Spike stepped aside and motioned Xander in, then shut the door behind them.

The apartment wasn’t what Xander had expected. A thick blanket was tacked over the single window, but the place was neat and clean. There was a futon flanked by a couple of end tables, an entertainment stand with a good-sized tv, and a small dresser. All the furniture looked like it came from Ikea. A Persian carpet in reds and golds covered a good part of the wood floor and the white walls were bare. There was a small kitchen area. No table, but then Spike probably didn’t do a whole lot of sit-down dining. There were two more doors. One of them was open and Xander could catch just a glimpse of a bathroom. The other was closed. Closet, probably.

“You came to inspect my flat, Harris?”

Spike had recovered enough to be sarcastic. Good.

“No. Although I could. Inspect, that is. Could fix that broken cabinet, too.” Xander pointed at the kitchen, where one cabinet door hung askew.

“Harris-“

“Yeah, yeah.” Xander sighed again. “I don’t suppose you have any alcohol around, do you? Anything will do. Beer. Whiskey. Antifreeze.”

Spike stared at him silently for a moment and then stalked into the kitchenette. Xander let his suitcase drop to the floor. It was strange how very un-Spikish this place was.

Spike came back with two tumblers pretty full of amber liquid. He handed one to Xander, who took a big, grateful gulp. The burn in his throat was delicious.

“Mind if I sit?”

Spike raised an eyebrow, but gestured at the futon. Xander limped over and collapsed heavily onto it, nearly sloshing some of his drink.

Spike crossed his arms and stared. “So? Getting a mite impatient for an explanation here.”

“You? Impatient? No!”

Spike scowled, and Xander grinned apologetically. It probably wasn’t a great idea to piss Spike off right now.

“Just give me a minute, okay? I’ve been traveling forever, I feel like shit, and I’d like to get several more ounces of this stuff in me before I begin.”

Spike glared, but then he stomped into the kitchen and came back with the bottle in his hand. He poured some more in Xander’s glass, drained his own glass, and then refilled it. Still holding the bottle, he sank onto the other end of the futon.

Xander drank several more swallows, imagining that the pain faded a little more with each one. It didn’t. It never did. But he could pretend.

Wordlessly, Spike reached over and gave him another refill. Xander sipped and let his head fall back against the cushion, allowed his eye to fall closed for just one moment. Then he sighed for the third time and looked at Spike. “Thanks,” he said.

“What are you doing here, Harris?”

“Looking for you.”

“Why?”

Xander grinned a little. “I need you to bite me.”

“What?!”

“Bite me, Spike.” Xander chuckled. “Really.”

Spike shook his head. “No. Look, I can tell you’re ill, but getting yourself turned isn’t the answer. You’d still look and talk like you, but it wouldn’t be you anymore.”

“Duh. Haven’t I been around vamps for a decade? I know how it works. I don’t want you to kill me, just feed from me. Just…a few swallows, I guess. I mean, if I wanted to get vamped, I wouldn’t have had to drag myself all the fucking way to-where the hell are we?”

“Zagreb,” Spike muttered.

“Zagreb. Not exactly in the neighborhood. And do I look like I’m in any shape for sightseeing?”

He looked like shit, actually, and he knew it. Pale. Much too thin. Kinda shaky. Ten years older than his true age. And that wasn’t even counting the missing eye.

Spike frowned at him.

Outside, a siren rang out, police or an ambulance, one of those weird, foreign-sounding ones that reminded you you weren’t in the USA any longer. Xander glanced at his watch, but he had no idea whether it was set for the right time zone. He might have changed it during his layover in Paris, or maybe not. Christ, he was so tired. But he supposed Spike was reasonable enough in expecting an explanation.

“Harris? What the hell are you looking for?”

“Salvation, I guess.”

Now Spike cocked his eyebrow again. “You’ve come to me for salvation? Bit of the wrong direction, innit?”

“You’re the only direction. Here’s the thing.” He drained his glass at once and set it on the little table beside him. “I was in England. Fighting the apocalypse du jour, right? Same old, same old. Only it turns out it’s a lot harder to fight without depth perception, so I ended up stuck on book duty. Which isn’t exactly my thing, you know?”

Xander wondered how much of his depression and self-loathing were coming across. He’d been miserable. There were his friends, powerful and brave as usual, off fighting the good fight, while he was hanging around Giles’s place with his nose between dusty pages. He knew he was useless, that they were only giving him things to keep him busy and make him feel like he was contributing.

Spike didn’t comment, though. He just waited, oddly serenely.

“I was struggling with this book. Big old thing. Creepy cover. No Cliff’s Notes or Classic Comics edition. There was this spell in it. For happiness, I thought. I figured, hey, I could use a little of that. And Xander Harris knows what he’s doing, he doesn’t need to wait for help from his incredibly powerful wiccan best friend. So I recited it. Only…my Etruscan is a little, um, rusty.”

Spike reached over to the table next to him and picked up a pack of cigarettes. He shook one out and lit it with a silver lighter, exhaling a long cloud of smoke toward the ceiling. “What happened?”

“Instead of happiness, I got a curse. Nex tarda.”

“Slow death,” Spike said softly.

“Yeah. Always with the Latin, right? Can’t have me a good old English curse, uh-uhn.”

“How long?”

“This was six months ago. Giles figures I’ve got another six months or so to go, only I’m gonna spend four or five of those in a bed. Slowly wasting away and becoming paralyzed, I understand.”

Spike took another puff. “Not a pretty way to go. But where do I come in?”

“Giles and Willow did some research. Real research, not my pathetic version. The only cure for nex tarda is morsus necis.”

“The bite of death.”

“Yep. Which apparently means vamps.”

“I can see that. But again, why me?”

“Because it’s not just one morsus necis. It has to be repeated once a month for twelve months, by the same teeth. And, well, most vamps, the bite is kind of a one-time shot, right? I’m not gonna be cured of anything if my throat’s ripped out.”

Spike let out another toxic cloud and then stubbed out the cigarette in a small glass ashtray. “So you reckoned you needed a demon you could trust not to kill you.”

“Giles said we could catch one and keep it locked up for a year, let it snack on me every thirty days. But…eww. The whole vampire prisoner thing sounded like trouble city. Especially with slayers on the premises.”

“Not generally a good combination.”

“Not generally, no. So, much as it pained me-and believe me, I know pain-I went off to LA, to talk to Deadboy.”

“Oh.”

“Oh is right. Seems that certain people don’t feel the need to share tiny little tidbits of information, like that Deadboy isn’t so Deadboy anymore.”

Spike made a pained face and looked away. “No,” he nearly whispered. “The pouf’s a real boy now, isn’t he? Still prancing around, though.”

“Yeah, well, he wasn’t doing any prancing when I saw him. He had a busted leg. I guess mortality’s almost as bad as Cyclops-vision when it comes to battling monsters.” Still, though, Angel had seemed oddly content to be human again. Maybe because he didn’t have to worry about the whole losing the soul thing anymore, and that meant he’d been getting very happy lately with some blonde babe.

Xander looked at his empty glass and considered whether he should drink some more. Probably not a good idea. If he mixed much more alcohol with the pain pills he was taking, finding a cure was going to be a moot point.

“So anyway, the brooding guy formerly known as Deadboy let me in on another piece of news, which is that the rumors of your death were greatly exaggerated, too.”

“I did die. Burned up. Just…got resurrected.”

“So Angel said. Death really doesn’t stick with you people, does it?”

Spike shrugged.

“Angel told me you were alive. Alive-ish, anyhow. And he gave me your address. He didn’t really tell me what the hell you were doing here, though.”

Spike rubbed his face. He looked tired, too, Xander realized. Older, somehow, even though that was stupid. “What I’m mostly doing is staying far away from that wanker. As if he wasn’t bad enough before, he gets himself a pulse and suddenly he’s too good to be seen with the likes of me.”

Wow. Spike was bitter.

“But what are you doing here, Spike?”

Spike laughed harshly. “I have a job. A job! I’m a bouncer, see, for this bloke who doesn’t mind employing a demon or two in his bar. I keep the peace and he keeps me in rent and fags and liquor.”

“How are you eating?”

“Vinko has some connections, so he keeps me in blood, too. Cow and pig, mostly, but sometimes human. Hospital cast-offs, that sort of thing.”

“And you’re okay with this?”

Another shrug. “Sometimes I get in a bit of a brawl, pick up a bird now and then.”

They were both silent a while. Then Spike said, quietly, “Does Buffy know you’re here?”

“Yeah.”

“So she knows I’m….”

“Not ashes? Uh-huh.”

“Oh.”

Xander was going to say more, to try and describe the whole complicated mess that was him and Buffy, but suddenly he was so overcome with exhaustion he could barely keep his eye open. Either Spike was going to go along with the plan, or…or Xander might as well finish that bottle of booze.

“Spike. Will you do it? Will you help me?”

“’M not going back to the States. Or Old Blighty.”

“I’ll stay here. You can go on with your life. Unlife. Whatever. Just have a little nibble of me once a month.”

Spike narrowed his eyes at him. “Got a place to stay?”

Xander shook his head. “I figure you owe me. I put you up twice, didn’t I?”

Spike snorted. “Bloody tied me to your chair.”

“You can tie me up, too, if that’s what floats your boat. But the big advantage to me as a roomie is that I’m much less likely to drain you in your sleep.”

Spike stood, and for several minutes he paced silently back and forth. Xander fought not to succumb to exhaustion. Finally, Spike paused and pointed at the futon.

“Only have the one bed,” he announced.

“I can sleep while you’re at work. And if this works, and I get stronger, while you’re sleeping I can make myself scarce. There must be places I could hang out in this town.”

“And how are you going to eat? My dinner won’t set well with you.”

“I’ve got a little money.” It was very little, actually, squirreled away from the carpentry jobs he’d had in Cleveland. He didn’t have the right papers to work in England. If he scrimped, it would probably last him most of a year. Giles had offered to give him more, but he’d refused. He was twenty-five years old and got himself in this mess and he needed to stop relying on his friends for everything.

Spike thought a while longer, then pursed his lips and nodded. “All right. I’ll give it a go.”

Xander heaved an enormous sigh of relief. Deep in his heart, he’d doubted whether Spike would be willing to do this. He’s not sure he would have made a sacrifice like that for Spike, had their roles been reversed.

“Thanks,” he said.

“You look knackered.”

“Yeah. I’m…. Is it okay if I sleep, just for a while?”

“Okay. Have to leave for work soon anyway.”

Xander nodded his thanks. He kicked off his shoes and squirmed around until he was lying on his side. Almost immediately, he fell asleep.

There’s always that moment of confusion when you wake up in a new place. Xander actually panicked a little, feeling trapped, but then he realized he wasn’t confined, he was just wrapped in a soft blanket. Spike had tucked him in.

Xander lurched off the futon and into the bathroom, which was as neat and unadorned as the rest of the place. He pulled his pills out of his pocket and swallowed a few with a couple handfuls of water. Then he stumbled back into the main room. The apartment was empty. Spike must still be at work, or wherever else the vampire went.

Xander wearily crawled back under the blanket and let the blackness descend again.

“Oi! Up with you!”

Xander blinked blearily at the vampire standing impatiently over him. He had no idea when it was. With the blanket over the window, he didn’t even know whether it was day or night. He sat up and rubbed his eye. The empty socket felt dry and itchy, and the skin around it was irritated from the patch.

“Hi, Spike.”

“I want my bed.”

“Oh. Sorry.” Xander stood and stretched.

Spike smelled like cigarettes and beer. He had a big red mug in his left hand and a pillow in his right.

Xander started toward the bathroom, but his legs gave out and he nearly stumbled. He managed to catch himself on the edge of the futon and pull himself upright. Fuck. That was happening more and more often lately.

“Spike, when can we-“

“Yeah, all right.” Spike actually looked concerned. He tossed the pillow onto the mattress and placed the mug on an end table. “Let’s do this.”

Xander slumped slightly with relief and hoped Spike hadn’t noticed. “I’d think you’d be happier about this. I mean, when’s the last time you got to sink your fangs into someone?”

Spike frowned. “Last time I remember was right before those wankers shoved that chip in my brain. But I guess I ate some people later, too, didn’t I?”

“Oh, yeah. The First. But even that’s been a few years. So now here’s your chance.”

“Harris, have you ever been bitten?”

“Ummm….” Xander fidgeted with the mattress seam.

Spike raised an eyebrow. “Harris?”

Lying was probably not a good idea right now. “Dracula,” he mumbled.

“What?” said Spike, even though he must have heard perfectly well.

But Xander repeated it, more loudly. “Dracula, okay? I…spent some time with him after Sunnydale imploded.”

“You and…and him?”

Xander was blushing, damnit. He found a fascinating spot on the carpet to look at.

He would have liked to blame the thing with Drac on the thrall, like the bug-eating. But the truth was, Dracula wasn’t the first male he’d been attracted to. It’s just that he liked girls, too, and that had seemed so much simpler. Even if most of the girls he ended up with were at least a tiny bit demonic. But then Drac had kidnapped him, and well, yeah. There had been a little biting. And it turned out that if you were going to have gay sex for the first time, you could do worse than a partner with seven hundred years of experience.

Spike stomped around angrily for a few minutes, muttering to himself.

Xander couldn’t help teasing a little. “You’re not jealous are you?”

Spike shot him a look that probably would have scared him, if he weren’t already dying anyway, and if wasn’t actually keen for Spike to chomp on him. “Not bloody jealous! Only disgusted that I’m getting that pillock’s used goods.”

Xander was too tired and in pain to be offended. “Yeah, whatever. He was actually nice to me, you know?” He was. Nicer than any of Xander’s other partners except Anya. It wasn’t some deep relationship or anything, but they’d had fun together for a while.

Spike rolled his eyes. But then he clomped over to the futon and threw himself down on it. “C’mon then.”

Xander sat next to him, and his legs thanked him. Xander tilted his head. Spike licked his lips, leaned toward him, and then suddenly moved away. “Give me your wrist,” he demanded.

“Not my neck?”

“You really trust me to do this and not drain you?”

“I don’t have a whole lot of choice, do I? Anyway, that’s a better way to die than what’s in store for me right now.”

“I…I haven’t done this in a while, yeah? Not sure I’d stop in time with a big vein.”

“Oh. Then here you go.” Xander held his arm toward Spike. Spike stared at it for a minute, kind of the same way Xander looked at his plate when Giles put some weird new food on it, something with a vaguely obscene name like bangers or spotted dick, and Xander wasn’t sure whether he was going to like it.

Almost delicately, Spike took hold of his forearm. He shuddered slightly and then vamped out.

Xander hadn’t been close to a vampire in gameface for a while. He certainly hadn’t sat complacently next to one on an Ikea couch. But he’d become used to a lot of strange things over the years, so he didn’t move at all as Spike bent his head over Xander’s wrist and then carefully penetrated the thin skin with his incisors.

Razor-sharp teeth cutting through delicate flesh always hurt, no matter how gentle the owner of those teeth tried to be. But as soon as the vampire began to draw on the wound, sucking the blood with soft lips, the pain would be joined with a pleasure better than any of the drugs Giles had given him, a deep, languid thrill that ran from his head down his spine and straight to his groin. It was like mixing heroin with Viagra.

He hadn’t been sure what his reaction would be to Spike’s bite. Not that Spike wasn’t hot-Xander had admitted to himself some time ago that the cocky little vampire was pretty much sex on two legs. But Little Xander had mostly given up soon after the curse. Xander hadn’t even had a hard-on for months.

But when Spike moaned quietly over his meal, and his eyelids fluttered a little, Xander felt his cock give an interested twitch and begin to slowly fill. Spike moaned again and then suddenly withdrew his fangs, pushing Xander’s arm roughly away. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Enough,” he growled.

It probably was. Xander felt a little light-headed. “Thanks,” he said.

“My pleasure,” Spike replied, and adjusted himself slightly.

Xander stood, slightly wobbly. “Um, you probably want to get to sleep. I’m gonna take a shower. And is there some place I can put my stuff?” He gestured at his suitcase, which was still exactly where he’d dropped it when he first came in.

“That’s all you have? For twelve months?”

“That’s everything I own. I lost all my stuff when Sunnydale was destroyed.” He shrugged. “Haven’t really accumulated that much since.”

“I’ll clear out a drawer for you later.”

“Thanks.”

Xander walked to his luggage and unzipped it. He pulled out a red t-shirt, a pair of boxers, and some jeans. He also pulled out his small gray toiletry bag. He carried them into the bathroom. Now that he was a little more wide awake, he saw that the room contained a toilet, a pedestal sink, a small mirror-not that Spike needed that--, one of those mysterious-looking washer-dryer machines, and a shower stall with a rounded glass door. There were two wood shelves on the wall, one with a brush and scissors and hair gel, and one was empty. Xander put his toiletry bag on the empty one. There was a small white rug on the blue tile floor. In the corner was a little wooden cabinet with towels in it.

Xander stripped, remembering to remove the medicine bottle from his pocket. He downed a couple of the pills and placed the bottle on the shelf. With a small sigh of relief, he pulled the patch over his head and placed it next to the bottle. He used the toilet and then turned on the shower tap as hot as it would go.

The water felt good. The curse made his wasted muscles constantly feel like he’d been running a marathon, and the needle-like spray helped loosen them up. He lathered up with Spike’s soap, which was unscented, and then used the vampire’s shampoo. At least he hoped it was shampoo-the label was in Croatian.

By the time he’d dried off and brushed his teeth and hair and pulled on his too-loose clothes and his eyepatch, he felt slightly human again. He hung up the towel and left his dirty clothes in a small heap in the corner. He’d discuss laundry arrangements with Spike later.

When he came out of the bathroom, Spike had unfolded the futon frame so it was flat like a bed. He was sitting on it cross-legged and barefooted, watching tv. He glanced at Xander. “I expect you’re hungry now.”

He was, and that was kind of surprising, because his appetite had pretty much disappeared lately. “Yeah. Is there a grocery store nearby?”

“About a block away. But I picked up a few things on my way home.” Spike waved toward the kitchen. Xander saw that there were some apples on the counter, and some cans of what looked like soup, and a loaf of brown bread. He opened the fridge and found a carton of milk and a couple of fruit juices, plus some cheese and sliced meat.

“Wow. You didn’t have to-“

“Didn’t want you fainting away after I fed, did I?” Spike’s eyes were on the tv screen. The program was in German, though, and Xander didn’t understand it. It might have been a game show.

Xander munched on an apple, then made himself a sandwich, which he ate leaning against the counter and then washed down with some blackcurrant juice. It had been months since food had had any appeal for him, but this tasted good. When he was finished, he cleaned his dishes and looked at Spike, who seemed to be absorbed in a telenovela.

“I guess I’ll go take a walk for a while. What time do you leave for work?” He wanted to make sure and return before Spike left, since he didn’t have a key.

“You look like you’ll make about two blocks before you collapse, and I can’t come rushing out to save you now.”

Honestly, Xander wasn’t sure how far he’d make it himself, but what else could he do? “I’ll find a café or a park bench or something.”

Spike rolled his eyes. “Stop being thick. You can stay here.”

“But you need to sleep.”

“Just keep it quiet, and I will.”

“Okay. Thanks.”

Spike turned back to the tv, and Xander looked around the small apartment. There was no place to sit except-

“Oh, for Christ’s sake! You can sit here.” Spike patted the mattress next to him. “I won’t bloody bite.”

Xander snorted out a laugh, and even Spike smiled wryly. Then Xander walked over and lowered himself onto the futon. There was a second pillow there now, and he propped it behind his head so he could see the tv. On the screen, a woman with a fancy hairdo was crying into a hanky while an older man with a moustache scowled at her.

“You always wear that thing?”

Xander turned his head to find Spike staring closely at him. Specifically, at his face. “When I’m not at home. It looks pretty gross.”

“Could get a glass one.”

“I tried. It was uncomfortable, and I thought it was kind of creepy. People would stare at it.”

“Won’t bother me if you want to take it off. I’ve seen worse, I’m sure.”

Xander said nothing for a moment, then reached up and pulled the thing off. He tossed it to the floor next to him and rubbed at the mark from the elastic band. Spike looked at him curiously, but without any trace of disgust.

“Yeah,” the vampire said. “Seen a lot worse.”

“If it wasn’t for you, I wouldn’t be seeing anything. Thanks.” He never had thanked Spike for saving his vision-and, most likely, his life-that day.

Spike looked slightly surprised, then shrugged. “Never would have heard the end of it from the Slayer if I’d let that bastard blind you.” He reached over and turned off the lamp at his side, so that the only light in the room came from the tv. He tossed the remote into Xander’s lap and pulled off his black t-shirt, which he dropped on the floor. Then he lay down on his side, facing away from Xander, and, presumably, went to sleep.

Xander watched the flickering screen for a time, but he probably couldn’t have followed the story even if it had been in English. The pain and exhaustion were gnawing at him again, reminding him that he may have managed one bite, but there were many more still to go. Reminding him what a useless idiot he was.

His gaze wandered, and soon he was staring instead at Spike’s pale back, which was almost bluish in the light from the tv. Spike was lying slightly curved into himself and his vertebrae stood out sharply. His shoulders were broad and sinewy and his waist was narrow. If he was breathing, it was so lightly that he wasn’t moving at all. Dracula never breathed in his sleep, except when he was dreaming. But Spike was a much younger vampire and somehow more human. Even before the soul. Right now, his lips were slightly parted and his face looked innocent and serene.

Chapter Two