Fiction by Lorraine

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Xander heard voices in the street to his left. Then he saw Buffy running away toward her home and Spike on his knees in the wet road.

“I did it for her, to be hers, I’m hers . . . and she just left. Not a word. Not a sodding word.” Spike held his head in his hands, suddenly aware that he was not alone in the alley. “What d’you want, Xander? Come to gloat, eh? Still not good enough for her, for any of you—I know it.”

“What the hell are you talking about, Spike. You did what for her?” Xander leaned down close to him, his hands around the ubiquitous Scooby-issue stake. “Spike, did you try to hurt Buffy again?” Xander demanded.

“No . . . No! I didn’t . . . I did before, and now this . . . thing . . . inside me just bleeds. It screams and . . . there’s nothing to show for it. Stake me, just bloody stake me. I’ll float down so many ashes, and she will forgive. Stake me, stake me, stake me,” Spike sobbed over and over again, even reaching out to touch the other man’s arm.

Xander flinched. Something was wrong with Spike beyond his evil-undead-I-tried-to-rape-your-best-friend-and-then-lost-my-marbles condition. Spike never touched him, except to scrape him off the ground after the latest demon had flung him there. Spike never cried or begged or pleaded, except when Buffy died, and not even Xander could hold that against him.

Spike was still babbling, his blonde head held between his slim hands. “How can it burn me when I’m so fucking cold?”

Xander could hear footsteps in the alleyway drawing nearer. He was relieved to see Anya round the corner instead of something more sinister. Not that he found many things less sinister than Anya these days.

“The boyfriend will recover. The paramedics said he may lose some function in the muscles affected, but he won’t die.” The vengeance demon looked uncomfortable. Xander thought, probably all the giving a shit she’s done tonight.

“What’s wrong with Spike, Anya?” he asked. “You know something. He wouldn’t have gone all gameface and tried to rip you in half if you didn’t know something.”

Anya walked to where Spike crouched beneath Xander and lifted the vampire’s head to see into his eyes. Spike squirmed and looked away. Anya let his head drop but kept her hands on his shoulders. “He has a soul, Xander. I don’t know how he got it. It couldn’t have been easy. But he did. Can’t you see it in his eyes, shining?”

Xander felt his voice approach the squeakiness he usually reserved for apocalypses that involved death and dismemberment. “Great, just what this world needs, another broody McVamprick with a soul. He can’t even mope properly like Angel. No, Spike’s gotta crawl around in school basements and try to claw himself to death.”

Anya looked at him like she looked at customers who asked for full refunds thirty-one days after the sale. “It’s not a joking matter, Xander. You take your soul for granted. It’s always been a part of you. Not having a soul is the embodiment of emptiness. It’s like a till with no money inside. You put in other things—vengeance and blood and lust, but underneath, still the emptiness. Spike fought against the demon within him to make this happen.” Anya took her hands off Spike’s shoulders and pulled him standing. “Xander, take him home. I remember what it felt like after my soul came rushing back into my body after so many years. I could hardly stand to breathe or move. He can’t do this alone. He’s been your roommate before. Maybe you’ll freak him out less than everyone else.” Xander started to object. “It doesn’t matter what he did before. He’s saved your life, mine, Dawn’s. He’s helped save the world. He gets a real chance at redemption now. He’s obviously sorry for his past. Just look at him, Xander. He’s itching to impale himself on Mr. Pointy.”

Xander looked; it was true. Spike kept glancing at the stake in Xander’s hand as he listened to the demon and her ex-lover discuss him as if he weren’t even there. The man felt torn. He hated Spike. He hated Spike almost more than he hated Angel. When Xander thought of Spike, he thought only of a monster, a demon. He hated Spike for loving Buffy and Dawn in spite of what he was. He hated Spike for being so damn annoying all the time. Mostly, he hated Spike for doing all these things while seeming so . . . human. But maybe Anya was right; maybe Spike did deserve the chance to atone for what he’d done. Maybe Xander would feel better with Spike tied to a chair in his apartment where he couldn’t hurt Buffy, or anyone else.

Xander sighed and put the stake back in his pocket. He took Spike by the arm and led him down the alley. The vampire didn’t speak. He followed Xander with his head hung low, his hands slack at his sides. His profile in the moonlight was pale and wet with tears.

***

Buffy looked down at the sleeping Spike. “Are you sure you want to keep him here, Xander? I don’t think he can hurt you; he’s still chipped. But he can’t be very good company.”

Xander snorted. “I’m not keeping him here for his company Buff. I want to make sure he’s not going to hurt anyone . . . or himself.” Buffy looked at him in surprise. “Anya made me feel sorry for him,” Xander explained.

Buffy kind of laughed. “She must’ve really said something to make you feel sorry for William the Bloody.” Xander shrugged. “If you change your mind, I can always help you drop him back by the school basement. The only thing he can hurt there is the vermin. Just be careful. Even with a soul, Spike is dangerous.” The blond turned on her heel and left her friend’s apartment to patrol.

Almost as soon as Buffy left Xander’s apartment, Spike began to moan from where he lay on the couch. Xander had decided the vampire didn’t need to be physically restrained since his chip apparently still functioned. The pale form writhed on the sofa, the hard muscles in his body tensing and spasming.

“Silly bint. Why do they always turn their ankles? Blood, blood on my hands,” and then Spike laughed, a choking, gasping laugh that turned to sobs.

Xander shook the sleeping vampire. “Um . . . Spike. Wake up. You’re having a nightmare.”

Suddenly, those blue eyes were open and fixed on his own. “I killed her, Xander. It was just like a bleeding movie. She ran through the house with nothing but her skivvies on, and I chased her. And then she tripped. Fucking tripped. I would have caught her anyway.” His voice broke. “But the stupid bitch tripped, and I tore out her throat, and gave her body to Dru to play dolly with.”

Xander stared at Spike. The vampire looked at him through lashes thick with tears. Xander didn’t quite know what to say. “Sorry you were an evil monster that did reprehensible, hell worthy things, and even though you have a soul, I still hate you,” didn’t seem to cut it. He licked his lips and struggled to find something even remotely comforting to say. “Spike, you can’t undo the past. You’re going to have to get over it.” Not particularly soothing, but better than his initial impulse. When the vampire continued sobbing, Xander sat down beside him. To his surprise, Spike reached for him. Xander stiffened, but let the other man cry on his shoulder. When he had stopped crying, Xander got up from the couch and crossed the apartment to his room. Spike’s voice stopped him.

“Xander, I’m scared to be alone.” Xander looked at Spike. He could see real fear, anger, embarrassment, and pain in the vampire’s eyes. He knew that admission had cost Spike. He sighed, yet again. Xander could sense he would be doing a lot of that in the coming days.

“Okay, come on in here then. I’ll fix you a place on the floor in my room. Just don’t try anything. If you even look like you’re up to mischief, I will stake you.” Xander dragged the mattress from the guest room into his room and threw the bedding from the couch on top of it. Leaving Spike to sort out his bed, Xander climbed into his own and shut off the lights. Before he fell asleep, he heard the vampire whisper, “Thank you,” into the darkness.

***

It had been a week since that night in the alley. Spike and Xander had settled into an uneasy routine. The vampire slept from about four in the morning to four in the afternoon each day. He had horrible nightmares that woke them both in the early morning hours and often degenerated into incoherent ramblings when he was awake. Xander worried about leaving him alone in the apartment all day while he was at the construction site, but saw no alternative.

Something had changed fundamentally for Xander in the days since he brought Spike home. It actually bothered him that the vampire might stake himself or open the curtains to the noonday sun. Xander felt invested in Spike’s redemption in a way he never had been when the undead in question was Angel. Why, he wasn’t entirely certain. He still hated things about Spike, but he could now admit to himself that the vampire had always been extraordinarily feeling for a fiend from hell. He could let himself realize that Spike really had cared for Joyce, that his bunch of flowers was not a ruse to bag the Slayer, but a heartfelt token for a woman who’d treated him like a man. He could admit that Spike’s love for Buffy was real, as was his unswerving devotion to Dawn. Hell, his love for Drusilla had been real. Xander could even admit that they hadn’t told Spike about resurrecting Buffy because they knew his love for her would never allow him to gamble with her soul that way, even though he dreamed of having her alive again. Xander had felt these things at the times they happened as well. He just didn’t want to see it. Spike’s humanity had been too much for him to deal with. Spike was complex in a way Angel never had been for Xander. Xander had never once lost sleep over Deadboy’s feelings. But from the beginning, Spike had gotten under his skin. He did things demons weren’t supposed to—like love and laugh.

Xander turned the key in the lock after a long day at the site. A subtle mistake in the blueprints that had cost his team a whole day’s work and an annoying amount of tearing down and rebuilding. The carpenter was more bone-weary than he remembered being in a long time. He really wanted to just drink some beer and mindlessly watch television before falling to sleep. But he never knew which version of Spike he was going to get. The suicidal one, apparently, as he opened the door to find Spike standing before the bay windows, arms outstretched to open the curtains.

“Spike, don’t!” Xander tackled the vampire to the ground. Spike looked at him as if he was the one who’d lost his marbles.

“Wasn’t gonna do anything drastic, mate. There’s a spider nesting there in the corner. Can’t abide the crawlies. Not since Africa. One of the tests was . . . I just can’t stand the buggers anymore.” Spike picked up the shoe he’d been holding before and smashed the arachnid.

“Sorry.” Xander was embarrassed that he’d mistaken the situation, but what did Spike expect? Xander walked to the fridge and noticed distinctly more beer than he remembered seeing last night before he went to bed. “Hey, you got more beer. Thanks. I didn’t know you’d left.”

“Last night. While you were sleeping. I couldn’t sleep myself. Creature of the night, ya know.”

“Spike, even Sunnyhell has liquor laws. Where’d you get this beer?” Xander tried to look disapproving, but he could tell the vampire saw through his act.

“Relax, Harris. Demon bloke runs the Conoco on the corner. He sells beer to the beasties all hours of the night.” Spike pretended to be offended at Xander’s question, or so Xander hoped.

Xander smiled and said, “Thanks. Hey, you wanna watch The Peacekeeper Wars? I taped it last night while I was at the Scooby meeting.”

He was surprised when Spike answered, “You mean Farscape? Bloody right, mate. Can’t believe those bastards could end it with Crichton and Aeryn blown to bits. I didn’t know they were making more. Haven’t paid much attention to the telly lately.”

Xander grinned again and started the tape after he’d loaded every snack imaginable, including a mug of blood, onto the coffee table and dumped all the beer into a mini-cooler beside the couch. “What?” he said at Spike’s raised eyebrow. “Like I’m gonna want to pause this.”

Xander was having a great time. The miniseries was spectacular. He felt the tension in his body settle to one small knot in his lower back. He had to say he was enjoying watching Spike watch the miniseries more than he was enjoying the show itself. Spike was the perfect focus group. He squealed with glee when Scorpius killed “that traitor bitch,” almost snorted blood out his nose when Crichton took the baby out of Rigel, teared-up in a manly and secretive way when D’Argo died. When the credits rolled, Xander stretched and said, “I know it’s Saturday and all tomorrow, or today, but I’ve gotta turn in.”

“G’night then.” Spike picked up the remote and started flipping through the channels.

Xander fell easily and dreamlessly into sleep. About five, he woke with a start. Something was wrong. He glanced at the floor next to his bed. Spike’s pallet was unrumpled, unslept in. He heard soft moaning coming from the living room. Xander padded on bare feet to the couch, where Spike was curled in the fetal position. The vampire kept repeating, “Sorry, sorry, sorry.” When he noticed Xander’s presence, Spike became more agitated. “Didn’t mean to. Didn’t mean to. Don’t make me leave.”

Xander was perplexed. What is Spike talking about? He looked around the room and noticed an overturned mug of blood on a blanket on the floor. He sighed in relief and compassion.

“Spike, look. It’s okay. Nothing got on the floor. It would be okay even if it did. I’m not gonna kick you out ‘cause you’re messy. I mean, did you see my room?”

The vampire let him lead him into the bedroom. Xander tucked Spike into his bed and turned to climb into his own. Before he could, Spike grabbed his arm and held on with barely contained strength. “I don’t know why you do this, Harris. Let me stay here. Nobody else would, ‘cept maybe Dawn. I know you hate me. Spent a fair bit of time hating you back. Don’t hate you anymore. Sort feel like you’re a chum.” Spike looked at Xander earnestly.

Xander sat beside him on the bed and thought of what to say to his roommate. “I don’t hate you, Spike, not anymore. Even before, when I did hate you, I hated you because you were too human. A little too close for comfort, if you know what I mean.”

“And now you pity me,” Spike said bitterly.

“No,” Xander shot back. “I admire you. You are the only demon I’ve ever heard of who asked for his soul back. Not even Prince Angel did that.”

Spike muttered something dark and unintelligible. Xander thought he could make out the words “bastard” and “Scourge of Europe, my ass.” “Whatever you said, if it’s about Angel, I wholeheartedly agree.” Spike managed a rueful smile.

“G’night, Xander.”

“Night, Spike.”

***

Xander walked into the Magic Box. All the gang was there except Buffy. The Slayer was out patrolling solo. The Hellmouth had been blessedly quiet lately, so no one had accompanied her. Nothing was on the agenda for the evening, but the Scoobies gathered in the shop most evenings to socialize.

“Hey, Willow. What’s up?” Xander sat in the chair next to his best friend who stared intently at the New York Times crossword.

“What’s a five-letter word for complex?”

“Spike,” Xander answered, without thinking.

Willow looked at Xander. “Complex, huh? I wondered how this roomie thing was going.”

“It’s not bad, Will. We actually get along pretty well when Spike’s not going psycho.”

“And that is how often?” Willow asked tentatively.

“Not as much now. At first, I was worried he was gonna stake himself, but he seems to be coming out of it.”

“You really care what happens to him, don’t you?”

“Yeah, I really do. It’s weird. I’ve gone from his mortal to enemy to his babysitter. Bizarro world.”

Willow smiled. “I’m willing to give him the benefit of the doubt. You’re the best judge of character I know, Xander, despite all the going on dates with evil demony types. If you say Spike’s changed, he’s changed. Let’s not tell Buffy I said that, though. She has a blind spot where Spike’s concerned. All she’s been able to talk about this week is when Spike’s gonna turn on you and how much she’ll enjoy staking him.”

“Buffy doesn’t know what she’s talking about, Willow. Being the Slayer forces her to think in shades of black and white that don’t apply to the rest of us. It’s killing Spike that she hasn’t been to see him. He thought this soul would matter to her, but it doesn’t.”

“Maybe she got burned by Angel one too many times to trust the soul business.”

“Maybe,” Xander said thoughtfully. “I think we’re missing something, though.” He stopped talking as he noticed Dawn approaching them.

“Hey, girlie,” Willow said.

“Hey, Willow. Xander. What’re you guys talking about?” The young girl sat on the corner of the table and swung her legs back and forth.

“Nothing important. Just everyday not important stuff,” Xander replied. Dawn raised her eyebrow. Damn, Xander thought. She does that almost as well as Spike. I bet he gave her lessons at some point. “Okay, you caught us,” he said aloud. “We were talking about Spike.”

Dawn’s eyes brightened. “How is he? I really want to see him. I miss him.”

Willow shook her head. “I know you do honey, but I think it would be better if you waited ‘til Spike’s back on his feet. He’s just not himself yet.”

Dawn’s face fell, but she didn’t push the point. “Just tell him I miss him and that I’ve taped every episode of Passions since he’s been gone.”

“Will do, Dawnie.” Xander knew Spike would appreciate the message. “As a matter of fact, I’m headed home right now. I’ll tell him as soon as I get there.” As Xander walked back to his apartment, he kept telling himself that he was going home because he was tired, not because he wanted to hang out with Spike more than he wanted to hang out with the gang.

***

“Spike, if we have to listen to “Seventeen” one more time, I swear I will dust you. I can only take so much Sex Pistols in one day.” Xander mock threatened the vampire with a pencil he’d left on the coffee table with his blue prints.

“And I suppose you want to listen to N’Sync instead. You lot are musically challenged. Wouldn’t know a good tune if it bit you in the arse.” Spike shook his finger at Xander. “Might as well go ahead and stake me if you’re gonna put on that treacle.”

Xander was horrified that somehow Spike had discovered his five-minute fascination with N’Sync when the band had first debuted. If Buffy didn’t actively avoid Spike, he’d think she’d spilled the beans. His eyes narrowed. Dawn . . . I will kill her and wrap her body in the poster I gave her when I came to my senses. “I do not like N’Sync, Spike. And I like your ancient Old World music fine. I just can’t listen to any CD for three hours straight. Put on Come on Pilgrim. I know you like that.”

Spike seemed about to object, but changed the CD. He sat back down on the couch and poured a handful of Chexmix into his mug of blood. The vampire’s eating habits didn‘t faze Xander any longer. If it could be dunked, dipped, or saturated in blood, it had been. Xander didn’t even flinch when Spike separated an Oreo and dunked one-half into his mug.

“Did I ever tell you about the time I met Oscar Wilde?” Spike licked the blood and white frosting from the Oreo.

“No,” Xander answered. This should be interesting. He could never tell when Spike was lying, but his stories were always great.

“Well, I was in London with Drusilla. We were having dinner with Ouida, this big-shot writer of the day. She invited us because Dru spouted some nonsense on the street about her dogs and the stars. Ouida was crazy about animals; always had dozens of yappy little mongrels with her. She’d let ‘em just piss all over the place. Right nasty. That one was kinda off her nut, but she wrote trash that had every schoolgirl in England getting off in the broom closet. So they called her bloody eccentric instead of the raving loon she was. Leave it to Dru to find a kindred spirit. Anyway, Dru makes nice over her puppy, and next thing we know, we’re having dinner with the most important people in London. Richard Burton was there and Oscar Wilde. Burton kept going on and on about his translation of The Arabian Nights; nobody gave a shit, and Dru kept whispering to me that we should just eat him. Actually what she said was, ‘Wouldn’t his eyes look beautiful in Miss Edith’s little bowl?’” Spike grinned. “Dru always had the best ideas for what to do with boring-ass wankers. I told her she’d have to wait until after dinner; I wanted to talk to Wilde. Did you ever read The Importance of Being Earnest?” Xander shook his head no. He’d tried not to read anything that had been assigned to him in sophomore English lit. “It’s bloody fantastic. Very funny. You’d like it. Well, all during dinner, Wilde keeps pressing his leg up against mine, kinda playing footsie with me under the table, ya see. And I think, wouldn’t it be fucking hilarious if I feel up the most famous man in London in this crazy woman’s pee-stained flat and then scare the shit outta him. Vamp out and say something diabolical in Latin. Maybe get him to put me in a play. So, after dinner, I cornered Wilde on the stairs and managed to plant one on him . . .”

“Wait a minute! You kissed Oscar Wilde? He’s a guy. Not to disparage the manliness of the Big Bad, but . . . that’s kinda gay.”

Spike rolled his eyes. “You sodding humans and your stupid notions of sexuality. Not to sound like Willow, but desire isn’t gendered, Xander. I’m not gay, just sexual. If some bloke gets me all hot and bothered, it’s all the same to me. You humans get mired down in labels that don’t really matter.”

“Spike, I have seen pictures of Oscar Wilde on the covers of other people’s books. He’s not the kinda guy I picture getting you all hot and bothered. Not that I am now, or will ever be, picturing anything of that nature.”

“Didn’t you listen to the story, you stupid git? I wasn’t attracted to him. I wanted him to write something me and Dru could read over Richard Burton’s eyeballs. Now, Sid Vicious, that’s a man gets me all hot and bothered.”

“Okay, that I can see. Damn, it. Not seeing,” Xander said, flustered. Unfortunately, Xander’s mind was paying little attention to his mouth. Suddenly he could see Spike’s body pressed tightly against the rocker, who in Xander’s vision was taller than Spike and wearing the tightest jeans known to mankind. Xander shook his head and forced himself back to the present as the pair in his head began slowly leaning back over a set of speakers.

“What’s the big deal, Harris?” Spike looked like he was having more fun than he’d had in weeks.

Xander shrugged. “I just never thought you’d be so . . . ah . . . open to . . . man sex.”

Spike actually laughed. “Sex is sex, Xander.”

Part Two