Elegantly Wasted
by Alexandria
sharidenise@hotmail.com
http://www.angelfire.com/rant/AlexandriaBrown
Part One
Spike sighed as he stared out the window. Bloody hell, the entire point of California was that it didn't rain. But here it was, pissing down outside. He hated rain, he hated being wet and miserable. There was no way he was going outside tonight. But he was hungry, starving in fact. But he didn't want to hunt, not in this weather. Smirking, he stalked over to the phone. Gods, it was great to be back in civilization. All the comforts of home, yours for the asking. Satellite dish, fast cars, faster women. And delivery services for anything you wanted. He dialed the number Dru handed to him the night after he came home. He drummed his fingers on the window sill, waiting for the answer.
"Trussler's Topiary, how may we help you?" The cultured voice was sweet on the other end.
"Yes, I need to speak with John please. This is Spike, I'm a friend of Angelus." Spike tapped his foot, impatient with these little games.
"Yes sir, I'll put you right through." The dreaded Muzak played for only a moment before another uptown voice picked up the line.
"Master Spike, it is a pleasure to speak with you. Angelus informed me that you were back in Los Angeles." Honey practically dripped from the phone and Spike simply rolled his eyes.
"Look, mate, let's can the crap, shall we? I was wondering if you had anything for me." Spike reached over and starting spinning his pack of cigarettes round and round.
"Certainly, Master. Whatever you wish. We recently acquired a nice AB negative. I think you would enjoy it. Male, in his early twenties. Not too used and I've had nothing but compliments concerning his willingness." John flipped through his appointment book, making sure the boy he sought was free. "As luck has it, he's in Century City at the moment. I could have him to you in approximately 45 minutes."
"I don't want sloppy seconds," Spike growled out, interest piqued. AB negative wasn't that easy to find.
"No, no, nothing like that. He's there on, other business, shall we say? With a human. Do you need him only for blood or would you prefer he stay longer?" John let a small smile cross his face. Ah, yes, another client. And this one would be a good one if the stories he heard were true.
"No, just a meal. Trust me, mate. I don't have to pay for it. How much?" Spike flicked his lighter, watching the flame appear and disappear. He was bored with the conversation and just wanted it over.
"Let's see, usually he's $1,000 a visit, but, due to your status and relationship with Angelus, I'll make it $750 for you." John leaned back, ready for the negotiations.
"Bullshit, he's $1,000 a visit. $500 and that's it. And I expect him here in half an hour." Spike's let a growl drop into his voice, just for the hell of it. If the tosser was used to dealing with Angelus, then he would know better than to haggle any further.
"Certainly, Master. He'll be there in half an hour. Are you staying with Master Angelus?" John's hand quivered slightly. It would pay to remember how Spike earned his name.
"Fuck, no. I'm in Hollywood. Right off Hollywood and Vine. Give your driver my number and I'll give him directions when he gets close." Spike wasn't about to simply give out his address.
"Fine, then how would you like to pay this evening, cash or credit?" The smoothness was back in John's voice now that all that was left was the final details.
"Credit. Amex." Spike rattled off the number, trying to remember which account this card was tied to. Not that it really mattered.
"Thank you, Master. We look forward to your business. Call should you have any other needs. We have a nice set of twins. . ."
Spike slammed the phone down and resumed his pacing before the window. Staying with his Sire indeed. He snorted at that. He hadn't even seen the wanker since he got back from Paris. He supposed he should go tomorrow night before he got sent for. That never went well. He shuddered slightly, remembering the whipping he received the last time he ignored his duties to his Sire. Ever since Angelus lost his soul again, what was it, Spike squinted through the smoke, three year, four years, ago, he was more vicious than ever. And with Dru and Darla back, it was taking all of Spike's ability to keep from being sucked back into their happy family.
At least Angelus got the fucking chip out for him. Spike sighed again, sucking the smoke deep into his lungs. He would never be able to repay that debt. He grinned slightly, remembering in perfect detail the shock on the doctor's face when Spike rose from the table and sank his fangs into the man's neck. Stupid git, who else did he think Spike was going to try it out on? Of course, Angelus thought that he could simply command Spike as he had in the old days. No fucking way, mate, Spike thought as he moved away from the glass. No fucking way. Too much water under that bridge. At least he had gotten the fuck away from Sunnydale before the shit went down. He heard rumors that the Slayer had basically gone insane when she found out that Angel had fallen off the soul wagon again. No one went there any more. It was a one way ticket to death.
Spike paced the length of the living room, casting a cold eye on the belongings. He hadn't lived here for two years and the air was still a little stale, even with the windows being open whenever he was here. Two years since he took off for Paris, unable to watch as Angelus flaunted Dru before him. Fuck, some things truly never changed. Dru stilled loved Daddy best. It was best for them all that he took off. Patricide never went over well. But even Paris had palled and he had come crawling back once again. He never could stay away long.
The trill of his cell phone pulled him out of his reverie. "Yeah," he snarled out.
"Sir, I was told to call for directions."
"Right, where are you," Spike felt a faint stir of anticipation. Dru had spoken highly of the quality of the humans this service used.
"On Hollywood, near the intersection with Vine."
"Turn onto Vine, go straight three blocks, another right. Straight two blocks. Right again. Straight half a mile. I'm in the large building on the left. Fourth floor. Buzz when he gets here and I'll let him up. Give us fifteen minutes then I'll let him out." He snapped the phone shut and moved over, turning on a few low lamps. He wanted to see his meal.
Fifteen minutes passed and Spike started to snarl, cursing L.A. traffic. The buzz of the intercom interrupted his silent tirade. He checked the surveillance camera. There, a man in a Trussler Topiary uniform and someone else. He pressed the button, unlocking the door. Another minute or so, then he heard the elevator doors open. A slow stride down the short hallway, then a soft knock echoed in the hall.
Spike opened the door, gesturing the man in with a brief toss of his head. The man moved in slowly, head down, water dripping from his dark hair. Spike led the man deeper into the living room, frowning faintly. There was something familiar about the man's scent. He stopped when they reached a pool of light cast by the tall lamp next to the leather sofa.
"Right, mate. Let's have a look at you."
The man slowly raised his head and Spike took an involuntary step backwards.
"Xander," he breathed out. "What the fuck?" He leapt backwards, waiting for the stake to appear.
Xander looked at him, eyes squinting shut as he tried to concentrate. That voice, that voice was familiar. "Spike, oh, hi." He let his head drop back down, shrugging out of his jacket as he did so. "Um, can I put this somewhere, I don't want to drip on your couch."
Spike took a step forward, shocked by the flat tone of Xander's voice. "Xander?" He stepped closer, stunned by how Xander simply stood there, coat in his hand. Spike reached out, taking the coat and draping it over a chair.
"Yeah, umm, so, what do you want, arm or neck? We usually aren't supposed to offer our neck, but I was told to give you whatever you want." Xander's head remained down and the flat tone of his voice never changed.
"Fuck, Xander, what the hell are you playing at? Slayer's here, isn't she? I knew she'd come for Angelus someday. Shit." Spike started to pace, trying to remember where he kept his gun. He hadn't had to use it in years, not since he was able to hunt again, but he still kept it around nonetheless.
A look of confusion crossed Xander's face. "No, the Slayer's not here. Why would she be here?" Xander unbuttoned his shirt, exposing his neck. "So, Spike, which side would you like?"
Spike just stared at him, stunned. There was something very, very wrong here. He moved forward, reaching out and shaking Xander slightly. "Xander, what the fuck is wrong with you?"
Xander just let Spike shake him, not responding in the slightest. Spike abruptly let go and Xander fell to the floor. Xander simply picked himself up and resumed his position in front of Spike. Silence fell and they simply stood there, Spike staring at Xander, Xander staring at the floor. The silence was suddenly interrupted by the beeping as Xander's pager went off. He automatically reached down and checked the message.
"Spike, I have to go in a few minutes. So, can we please just get this over with?" For the first time, Xander looked into Spike's face. Spike sucked in a breath as he looked up at Xander. A huge scar crossed from Xander's right temple, through his eyebrow, straight down his cheek, continuing down Xander's neck and disappearing under the edge of his shirt. But that wasn't what shocked Spike the most. It was his eyes. They were glassy and absolutely dead. Nothing like the humorous, life filled manchild Spike remembered.
"Xander, what the hell happened to you?" Spike reached out again, trying to suppress a growl as Xander flinched slightly.
"Look, I have to get going, please, just, take what you want." Xander's head dropped back down and he resumed studying the floor.
"Bloody hell." Spike just stared until Xander finally took a step back.
"I'm sorry, but I have to leave now. I'm sorry." Xander picked up his coat and turned and walked out the door. Spike just stared after him, shocked speechless.
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Spike hunched in the corner of the alley, keeping his prey firmly in his view. It had been a week since he began hunting for Xander and he finally found him earlier in the night. He caught Xander coming out of a small apartment complex in West Hollywood and he had been following the man ever since. All that was clear was that Xander wasn't working this evening, and Spike followed behind as Xander blended into the crowd. At first it appeared that he was merely wandering around, looking into windows and stopping occasionally to talk to someone. No, Spike shook his head, Xander never stopped to talk to anyone. Rather, people stopped Xander and he would talk to them. Otherwise, Xander just kept walking. That was the other thing Spike noticed. Xander had a slight limp. It wasn't very noticeable, but it was there. What the hell happened in the five years since Spike took off from Sunnydale?
Xander's apparently casual wandering had finally led him here to this dank alley. Spike watched as Xander took a quick glance both ways, then made his way into the darkness. Spike growled slightly as he watched. Surely the boy knew better than that. Hadn't all those years on the Hellmouth taught him anything? But Xander kept his head down and Spike followed, hanging back in the shadows. He watched now as Xander approached a man leaning against the wall of one of the buildings. A few quick words that Spike was too far away to hear, then Xander reached out a hand. Spike hissed. He didn't need to be any closer to see what just happened. He knew a buy when he saw one. He ducked back out in the crowd as Xander came back, his steps slightly faster now. Xander didn't look up as he made his way back to his apartment. Spike followed behind him, determined to discover the truth.
Spike settled down on the fire escape, blessing the god of poorly constructed building for this view into Xander's apartment. He doubted Xander realized that anyone sitting on the fire escape right across the alley had a perfect view into his bedroom. He watched as Xander tossed his coat onto the bed, then stripped off his shirt. Spike's jaw dropped at the maze of scars running over Xander's chest and back. Ragged, vicious and white, it looked like something had clawed him open over and over and over again. Spike shifted slightly as he watched Xander reach under the bed and pull out a small leather bag. Xander opened the bag and lifted out an ancient hypodermic. Spike went perfectly still, stomach lurching to his throat. "No," the word fell out him as he watched Xander light a small candle. "Dear gods, no." Begging now, as Xander lifted up a bent and battered spoon. "Please, no." Spike felt his world spin out of control as Xander tilted the small package, dumping the powder into the curve of the spoon. Spike watched, desperately wanting to turn away, desperately needing to keep watching. Horrified, he saw Xander stick the tip of the needle into the liquid. He kept watching, sickly fascinated to see where Xander would choose, what vein Xander was going to use. He almost fell off the fire escape when he saw Xander move to the mirror, open his mouth and lift up his tongue. Spike flinched when he saw the needle rise, finally turning his head, unable to watch as the needle pierced Xander's tongue. He dropped from the fire escape and took off at a run, needing to kill, needing to rip and rend flesh, needing to find and destroy whoever sold Xander that shit.
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He had been following Xander for nearly a month now. Xander's schedule was the same the entire time. Tuesday, Thursday, Friday and Saturday Xander went on out calls, going anywhere from four to seven places a night. It was clear that the clientele was varied. Men, women, a few groups, some vampires. Different things for each client. Spike remembered clearly the feeling of shock when he realized that Xander was selling his body as well as his blood. He still couldn't believe that the Scooby Gang was letting this happen. It was only five years, surely things couldn't have fallen apart that badly. Hells, that little gang was inseparable. That was the secret of their strength. Something must have gone horribly, horribly wrong.
Monday and Wednesday appeared to be Xander's days off. And each night Xander shot up. Spike never saw him do so on the other nights, but it was clear that some of his human clients appeared to drug him as well. The vampires would never allow that, they didn't want anything tainting their blood. He also noticed how thin Xander was, how pale. Xander always had a healthy glow before. Now, he looked like another denizen of the night, his skin pale, his hair matted down, his eyes so dead. In the entire time that Spike followed the boy, he never once heard Xander laugh, never once saw him smile.
Spike shifted slightly on the hood of his car, watching the window through which he could just faintly see movement. Something bothered him about this one, something just seemed very, very wrong. There was a glint in the man's eye that Spike didn't like one bit. He recognized that look, it was the one that came to Angelus' eye, right before the whip ripped through his flesh. No, he was staying right here, fuck it if he was in plain view. Spike stared at the stars, trying once again to sort through his emotions. Why was he wasting his time like this? Why was he following Xander? It wasn't just the strangeness of the situation, though there was that. It wasn't even that he was still slightly convinced that Xander showing up at his door was a setup. No, it was the look in Xander's eyes. Or, more accurately, the absence of any look in Xander's eyes. Those eyes were completely dead. Those beautiful, beautiful brown eyes that used to cut Spike to his very core. Truth be told, those eyes were the main reason he left Sunnydale. He could no longer stand to see the hate and pain in those eyes directed at him every night. Not when he wanted something else to be reflected there. But now those eyes were dead.
Spike nearly fell off the hood of the car, he turned so fast when the screaming began. He took off at a dead run, automatically shifting to gameface as the shrieking continued. It was Xander, he knew it in his bones. Xander screaming in unimaginable agony. Spike flew over the grass, hurtling headlong into the unknown. He slammed to a stop outside the window, peering through aghast at what he saw. Xander was lying naked on the floor and some man was above him, whipping him unmercifully. Spike heard the sharp crack, crack of the whip and he let out a fierce howl, startling the man inside. Spike slammed his fist into the window, shattering it into a thousand shards. He ignored the pain as the glass sliced open his face, all he cared was that he got Xander out as quickly as possible.
"Invite me in." He hissed at the man staring at him through the window. With a cold smile, Spike picked up a shard of glass and hurled it through the hole. His aim was true, and the glass sank deep into the man's thigh. "Invite me in." He screamed louder, desperate for Xander to hear.
"Spike," Xander coughed out, turning his bloody face to the window. He had to be hallucinating. That was it. "Come in." With that, he collapsed back to the floor.
Spike leapt through the window, stalking straight to the cowering man in the corner.
"I'm quite sure this isn't what you told them you were hiring him for. Too bad, I know a few places that could have sent you a nice plaything. But this one is mine." Spike reached down and pinned the struggling man to the wall by the throat. "Yes, this is mine. And I don't like people hurting my toys." He yanked the glass from the man's leg and tossed it across the room. "So, you like to whip. Let me tell you, hurts like hell. Think it's time you found out."
He dropped the man, hearing the body crash to the floor. Spike reached down and picked up the whip, quickly testing the tension in the leather with an expert flick of his wrist. It was a good piece, finely balanced, tapering down to a fine point designed to rip open the flesh of whatever it touched. Spike lashed out, lancing the first cut across the shivering man's face.
"Just a taste of what's coming." Spike let loose in a cold-blooded rage, quickly stripping the clothes off the man. Lash after lash rained down, until the body at his feet was a mass of flayed skin and open wounds. Blood coated the wall and bits of flesh were scattered around the room. Hearing the man's heartbeat begin to fade, Spike reached down and yanked the man into his lap.
"It's over now. You picked the wrong man to harm." Spike sank his fangs into the man's neck and drained him in one quick pull. He tossed the body aside, then knelt next to Xander's still form. Xander had passed out about ten minutes before, and Spike was concerned that he was still unconscious. He gathered the still form in his arms, then carefully left through the window. He practically ran back to the car, stunned again by how thin Xander was. Xander's every rib showed plain through the torn skin. He settled Xander on the back seat, covered him with a blanket he pulled from the trunk, then sped off, tossing quick glances in the rearview mirror as he did so. No one was following them. No police were on the scene yet. Spike headed back for his apartment, hands shaking as he lit cigarette after cigarette. He had no idea what he was going to do once they arrived, but one thing was certain. Xander wasn't leaving his side for the foreseeable future.
Part Two
Spike spun the steering wheel with a negligent flick of his wrist as he kept watch on Xander in the rearview mirror. He couldn't tell if Xander was conscious or not and that troubled him deeply. He didn't think that Xander was hurt badly enough to still be unconscious nearly forty minutes later. The bleeding finally stopped about ten minutes ago, for which Spike was truly thankful. The thick, rich scent of Xander's blood was driving him mad. He understood now why Xander was obviously the pride of John's stable. Despite the obvious disaster that was now Xander's life, his blood still smelled pure. Pure and innocent. Spike snorted as he returned his eyes to the road. Innocent and pure. When it was plain that innocence and purity had been ripped from Xander's soul long, long before.
He concentrated on driving, not wanting to waste a second getting Xander inside. The lashes needed to be washed clean, and he desperately wanted to get a good meal into the boy. He made the turn into the alley behind his building, then pulled to a stop, glancing around quickly to make sure that he was alone. Satisfied that no one was lurking in the shadows, he pulled the keys from a pocket, unlocked the padlocks, then rolled back the thick steel door. He hopped back in, then eased the car into the area he was using as a garage. He pulled the door shut, sliding the bolts across, sealing the entrance behind them. He yanked open the rear car door, then stopped, just staring down for a moment. Xander lay on his side, the blanket covering all but a portion of one shoulder and his head. Blood was caked on Xander's lips from the cuts across his face and one eye was starting to swell shut. Spike growled as he looked at the shattered body. The shattered, bloody body. If Xander's body was this destroyed, the gods only knew what his mind must be like.
Spike gently leaned in and gathered Xander in his arms. Xander never moved, never gave one indication that he knew where he was. Spike listened closely as he carried Xander over to the elevator. The heartbeat was there, a little thready, but there. Xander was breathing shallowly, but evenly. Too evenly. He wasn't exactly unconscious, but he wasn't entirely asleep. It was almost as if he were meditating, as if he simply had taken leave of his body for a short time. Spike turned slightly and pushed the button. The elevator doors opened immediately, the car still there from when Spike used it to leave. He pushed the button for the fourth floor, then leaned against the wall, vaguely registering the sound of the gears as they slowly rose.
Once again, his decision to keep the building solely for himself was paying off. Spike stared up as the seconds dragged by. When he decided to remain in L.A., he knew that he had to find his own place, there was no way he could live with Angelus, Dru and Darla once again. Too many memories. Too much hate. His time in Sunnydale changed him more than he cared to admit. He no longer had their taste for senseless violence and vicious games. Not that he was reformed, not by a long shot. He simply recognized the elegance of the small gesture, the purity of only taking what he needed.
Of course, Spike shifted slightly, pulling Xander a little more tightly to his chest, of course, his needs were fairly simple. Enough dosh to be comfortable. A decent place to call home. Booze. Blood. Violence enough to keep him sane. Sex. And now that he was once again whole, he could take what he needed.
The doors opened and Spike paced quickly to his door. He frowned as he realized there was no way he could fish out his keys, open the door and continue to hold Xander at the same time. He reluctantly settled Xander on the floor, checking the tells to see if anyone had bothered the door. No, it didn't appear that anyone was there. He pushed open the door, then stepped inside, going still, concentrating, focusing his senses. He heard nothing, saw nothing, tasted nothing, smelled nothing amiss. He let out a small sigh. Good, his family hadn't decided to pay a surprise visit. There was no way he could hold them all back and there was no way he was letting them near Xander. No way in hell.
Spike carefully picked Xander back up and headed straight for his room. He placed Xander down on the bed then turned for the bathroom. He gathered up some towels, a washcloth and a small bowl. His stomach tightened at the familiarity of it all. How many times had he done this for Dru. How many times had she done the same for him. Angelus loved whips. He always had. Spike could no longer even begin to count the number of times Angelus had reached back a hand and ripped open his flesh. So, kneeling beside the bed and dabbing water down Xander's flayed skin felt like nothing more than coming home. He worked quickly, moving in a steady pattern, back and forth, up and down, teeth clenched the entire time. Gods, he always hated this. He finally stepped back, cocked his head and cast a critical eye over his handiwork. It would do.
He settled on the end of the bed and lit a cigarette. Xander was still motionless, but Spike was no longer quite as worried. The human was breathing evenly and his pulse was even, the heartbeat sounding in the quiet room. Xander was asleep. Spike shifted slightly, then reached out and began running just the tip of a finger down Xander's back, tracing the thick scars that almost completely covered the skin. Definitely claw marks. And more than one creature's marks were there. He remained detached, cataloging the types in his mind, noting how the wounds ranged from huge, long, jagged streaks to thin, short, straight lines. Curiously, the wounds stopped right at the top of Xander's buttocks, the contrast with the smooth skin there serving to render the scars even more shocking. Spike frowned, leaning forward slightly. There was one scar out of place. It ran from the base of Xander's spine straight up to the base of Xander's skull. It looked like a surgical incision.
"What the fuck happened, Xan?" Spike spoke quietly, needing to put sound behind his confusion. "What happened?"
There was no response. Not that Spike expected there to be, not really. Not even if Xander was awake. Xander seemed so lost when Spike watched him, sleep walking through life, interacting only the bare minimum necessary to survive. The vampire stood, moving to stand at the top of the bed. A bitter smile crossed his face as he stared down. How many nights had he stayed awake, picturing just this over and over in his mind. Xander, face down, naked, his for the taking. Somehow in all that time, he never imagined seeing Xander naked for the first time occurring like this.
He moved over to the closet, flicking quickly through the clothes. In the past, there was no way that anything he owned would ever fit Xander. Xander was simply that much larger than he was. Spike shuddered slightly, well, that wasn't a problem now. Xander was so thin that one of Spike's silk shirts would easily fit. Pants, however, pants would be a problem. Xander was still taller than he was. Snarling slightly, Spike pulled open a drawer. Sure enough, a pair of Angelus' pants was there. Spike stared a moment, a huge wave of hatred cresting over him. With a quick shake of his head, he pushed the rage to the side. Angelus still had clothes here, still acted like he was welcome here. Fine. At least they would come to some use now.
Cautiously, he turned Xander over. Xander murmured a little, but didn't wake. Spike efficiently dressed him and then left the room, pulling the door slightly shut. He couldn't stay in there any more, not without shaking Xander awake and demanding answers. And he couldn't do that. He doubted Xander had had a quiet night's sleep in far, far too long. Spike took another look at his bedroom door, then slipped into the hall, locking the door behind him, setting the tells again. He hated to leave like this, but he was starved. And the scent of Xander's blood was still heavy in the air. Spike didn't trust himself to stay much longer. Besides, yellow eyes glittered in the night, he wouldn't be gone long.
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The man threw his head back, skull striking the wall of the building behind him. "Oh yeah, like that, just like that, suck me, bitch, c'mon, fucking cunt, that's right." The woman just tuned him out and kept up the steady suction. This guy wouldn't take much longer and then she could get out of this fucking alley. There was a party she wanted to get to and rent was due and she really, really needed to spike first. Well, just a couple minutes more and she could be on her way. And this wasn't so bad. She'd done a lot more on that old mattress right over there.
With a few quick pumps, the man emptied himself in her mouth. She automatically swallowed, then efficiently zipped him back up. She stood, wiping the dirt from her knees and turned, heading back for the street.
"Fucking whore, where do you think you're going?" She ignored the angry words behind her and just kept walking. She had her money, she didn't have to take his shit any more. She let out a strangled yelp as she was suddenly slammed to the ground.
"I said, where do you think you're going? Fucking whore, filthy cunt, hell beast, sending you back to where you belong." Her eyes grew wide as she was flipped onto her back. The man's eyes were pools of raw hate, and she suddenly knew that this was it. This was the moment of her death.
"Sent by Satan himself, strutting your ass up and down like that." A hand swung back and her head reeled as the fist connected with her cheek. "Sent from hell to lead honorable men astray." She tried to scream but the words couldn't get past the hand crushing her throat. "Whore, Jezebel, spawn of Lucifer." She tried to cry, tried to beg, but couldn't, couldn't, not with the world going black. She vaguely realized that a knife was hovering over her face, but she didn't have the strength to care. She waited for the blow to come. This was her fate. Of course it was, it was only a matter of time. She knew how things ended for a woman like her.
A vicious howl startled her out of her haze. She gasped in air as the hand on her throat suddenly gave way. She pushed her way up, staggering as she got to her feet, one of her heels broken.
The man was lying curled into a ball on the ground, a figure clad in black leather kicking him viciously. No words were spoken, but a loud growling echoed in the alleyway. She heard bones crack and blood began to spurt from the man's mouth. A hand reached down and a long piece of metal appeared in a pale hand. It wasn't a knife, the part of her mind that was still functioning informed her, no, it looked more like a railroad spike. She watched, pinned in place as the man was suddenly slammed into the wall. Blood dripped down, coating both men. The pale hand rose and with one smooth motion the stake was slammed into the man's chest. A blond head bent down and she saw the flash of teeth then that head bent down and tore the man's throat open. She doubled over, vomiting uncontrollably as she heard the slurping. It sounded obscenely like the noise she had just been making herself. When she regained a little composure she looked up. An inhuman stare met hers. The blond man tilted his head, then opened blood stained lips.
"Run."
She took off, obeying the command, sprinting into the night.
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Spike eased back into the apartment. He glanced over, checking the clock. Good, only twenty minutes since he left. That was one of the things he loved about L.A., there was always someone worthy of death just around the corner. He stuck a head into his room, checking on the figure in his bed. Still asleep. Good. He turned and made his way to the kitchen, flipping on the light as he entered. He managed to feed and still stop and pick up some food on the way back. He opened the refrigerator door, pushing aside the beer to make room for the milk and cream cheese. Xander liked cream cheese on onion bagels. He remembered that from the time he stayed with the boy. Spike stiffened as the memories struck him hard. He closed the refrigerator door, then backed away, moving into to the living room.
He paced in front of the tall windows, ignoring the view, one tiny part of him watching for the first hints of sunrise. When he left Sunnydale he never expected to see any of the Scooby Gang again. That was the point of leaving, really, to get away. To be free from the judgment and the pain. Nothing special happened the night he decided to leave. Just another night of sitting there, listening to them snipe at him, watching as they asked for his help and then threatened his life. Another night of listening to the boy in his bed tell him over and over how much he detested him. But that night it was too much. Too much of everything. Too much of self-doubt and self-loathing. Too much of wistful longing and never to be spoken desires. Too much of being barely tolerated. Too much of waking every day and trying to remember why he didn't walk into the sun. No, nothing special happened that night. It was just that he couldn't stand it for one more moment. Spike leaned against the cool glass of the window. No, nothing special happened at all. Xander simply threw himself onto Spike and pushed him out of the way of a stake Spike never saw in the demon's hand and which would have dusted him if Xander hadn't acted. Xander saved his life. And, for just a moment, Spike thought it was finally over, that Xander, while he may never trust the vampire, at least wouldn't hate him any longer. So after Spike picked himself up and dusted himself off, he turned and asked a simple question.
"Thanks, mate. Didn't see that coming. Buy you a beer?" Spike could see it all in perfect clarity, hear the careful tone in his voice. Just the right combination of gratitude and cockiness.
Xander simply stared back, then turned on his heel and walked away. "No. And just because I wouldn't let something else stake you, doesn't mean we're friends. I just want to make sure I'm the one who finally gets to do it."
Spike tapped his forehead on the glass, the pain of it still fresh, even all these years later. He still couldn't remember going back to his crypt that night. But he did remember his rage, the impotent fury and the howling pain. He remembered gathering up anything he could pawn, then shattering the rest, throwing anything that would break until the crypt was a shambles behind him. Then he got in the DeSoto and left. He never looked back.
But now the past he tried to flee was here in his bed. In his bed, a shattered and beaten shell of what Spike remembered. Something happened. Something desperate and evil happened. Spike pushed his way back from the windows, pulling the heavy drapes shut as he stepped away. Well, there would be plenty of time to find out what happened. Then to hunt down and kill whatever had done this. But, first things first. Right now he needed to sleep. Exhausted, he dropped onto the couch. Right now, sleep. Then feed the boy. Then maybe talk. And shopping. Xander would need some more clothes. And new sheets, they would need new sheets for the spare room. Spike's eyes slipped shut as he sank into the couch.
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Xander woke with a start, eyes darting around the unfamiliar surroundings. He slid out of the bed, heart pounding. Confused, he looked down. He was wearing clothes that he knew weren't his. He stepped back, moving towards the door. Bathroom. This was the bathroom. He glanced in the door quickly. No one there. He listened closely, nothing was moving, it sounded like he was alone. He slid into the bathroom, quickly relieved himself and then washed his hands. He splashed some water on his face, flinching when the liquid hit the cuts. The pain sharpened his mind and suddenly he remembered the night before. Well, some of it. He gingerly unbuttoned the shirt then turned from side to side. The whip marks stood out bright red, brilliant against the white of the old scars. He remembered showing up, getting paid, stripping and dropping to his hands and knees as he was told. Then the pain of the first few lashes. Then nothing. Then, then. Xander looked into the mirror, confused. Then Spike. He shook his head. No, that couldn't be right. Spike couldn't have been there. He must have been hallucinating again. But something happened. Otherwise, how did he get here.
He eased out of the bathroom and cautiously opened the bedroom door. Still no sound. He took a few steps forward then froze, seeing someone on the couch. He stayed perfectly still, waiting for the man to wake. Okay, he must have come to and gone on his next call. Maybe he had been drugged again. It wasn't the first time he came to not remembering the night before. There was no motion from the man on the couch and Xander took another few tentative steps forward. He froze when the man's profile came into view.
"Spike." Xander staggered back, the familiar cheekbones leaving no doubt who was before him. "Spike." His eyes darted around, frantically seeking an escape. He turned, finding the door. He yanked at the knob, trying to flee, unable to pull it open. He shot a frantic glance over his shoulder. Good, Spike was still asleep. He tugged again, trying to calm his frantic breathing. He took a step back and looked the door over. There, three deadbolts, that's why he couldn't open the door. Xander reached up and quickly turned the locks, then yanked the door open and sprinted down the hall. Automatically he hit the button for the elevator and ran through the doors as they opened, pounding on the buttons. The second the doors opened when he reached the ground floor he took off, running as fast as he could. He barreled through the entranceway, looking up and seeing the bright sun.
Spike's eyes flew open the second he heard the first bolt shoot back. He threw himself off the couch, ducking down and trying to find his intruder. It took a few moments for him to place the sounds, then he realized what it was. It was Xander. Xander leaving.
"Fuck," Spike screamed as he stood, catching just a brief glimpse of Xander flying down the hall.
"Xander, Xander, wait," Spike ran after him, but the elevator doors closed before he could get close. He ran past the elevator and down the stairs, leaping over last two landings, trying to make it down first. He threw open the door and started down the hallway after the dark haired man who was running like every demon in hell was on his heels.
"Xander, please, stop, please." Spike skidded to a stop, watching the doors slam shut in front of him, sunlight flooding the entire hall in front of him. "Xander." Spike sank to his knees, sobbing as the old, old feeling of helplessness crashed over him. "Xander, come back."
END PART 2
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