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By Jackson
Song lyrics taken from Staind's 'It's been awhile'
"What do you mean you CAN'T FIND HIM?" Glory roared, grabbing the offending minion by the throat, lifting him off his feet. She tightened her grip, listening to the minute cracking of his bones, the terrified choking sounds that escaped from his mouth. His arms and legs flailed wildly, yet he still didn't dare to try to force her hand away. Repelled by touching his grotesque skin she tossed him aside with a flick of her wrist as if she were brushing away a fly. He crashed headfirst into the wall and slowly slid down, where he lay motionless, a wavy red trail along the wall behind him. She turned her furious gaze on the others, who stood cringing in front of her, their forced smiles belying the horror in their eyes.
"I don't want to hear any more 'you can't find him' crap! It's been a week since you promised me this guy, and here I am and oh look around," she flung her arm out to indicate her apartment and they all flinched back in fear. "He's still not here!"
Jinx gulped. "My deepest and most mortified apologies . . ."
"Screw your apologies, he knows who my key is!" She stamped her foot in frustration and the building shook around her, a long crack appearing in the floor. "Are you sure he's still even here? What the hell is in this miserable town worth staying for?"
"Oh believe us most wondrous and worshipped one, we have been watching all the exits, most assuredly he is still in town."
"Then why haven't you FOUND HIM!"
"He has left his home, vanished! We will redouble our efforts . . ."
"You'd better. Get out, out, out! I'm sick of looking at your disgusting faces! Follow the Slayer, follow all her little friends, scour this stinking town for him and don't come back without him!"
The others scuttled out while Jinx remained behind as Glory pulled at her hair, screaming in pure anger and frustration.
"Oh most divine of Gods, I beg you to remain calm . . ."
"Calm?" Glory whirled to face him and he recoiled at the mad light burning too brightly in her eyes. "This guy, we don't even know the name of has vanished knowing where my key is. Do you care that it's my only way of getting home?"
"Of course . . ."
"I have been trapped in this miserable dimension for decades and now my one shot to get home is here and nobody will help me! "
"I am here to help you . . . "
"So WHERE IS HE?!"
***
Unaware of the chaos and frustration he was causing Spike was enjoying a rare moment of peace. He sank comfortably back on the bed, arms stretched above him, childlike and content, and gazed dreamily up at the ceiling, watching the flecks of light making hazy patterns.
"Hey," came a voice, close to his ear.
Spike turned his head to see Xander lying next to him. His eyes were bright, his skin glowing.
"C'mere pet," Spike invited lazily.
Xander flashed a grin at him as he slid over, picking Spike up in his arms along the way. Spike laughed out loud as they rolled over and over. Just how big was this bed anyway?
Xander stopped rolling and shuffled around until they were lying in an embrace. Xander's hair tickled at Spike's cheek. Spike inhaled deeply, the unique Xander scent filled his senses. Sunlight streamed into the room, turning his pale skin golden. This was perfect. Except for that hissing, gushing sound that filled his ears. Where was that coming from anyway?
Spike glanced over at the bedroom door, it was slightly ajar, and through the crack he couldn't see anything but darkness, pitch black and for a second he could swear he had a flash of himself wading through the dirty water and grime of the sewers. Surrounded by chill and stench and dark. Shoving his fist in his mouth to choke back the sobs ...
"Spike?" Xander's voice spoke up sharply. "What's wrong?"
Spike looked back at Xander who lay in his arms. "Nothing's wrong."
Nothing was wrong. Spike was sure of it what could be wrong here ...?
A sick thud of fear slammed inside him as the sight of the sheets hit his eyes. Long filthy streaks were smeared over the white cotton. Spike bolted upright, and stared in disbelief at his hands, black, streaked with dirt.
The rushing noise roared in his ears as the sunshine faded away, the colour vanishing from the room, just the white sheets and the black grime he'd spread over them. He had to fix this, put it right . . .
"I have to wash my hands." Spike stuttered, holding them up in front of his face.
"Bit late for that." Xander said, his voice suddenly cold.
With a start Spike met Xander's eyes. Except Xander's eyes were never so empty and calculating. "You're not real." Spike said, and he knew it was true, but if Xander wasn't real why was he so scared? "This isn't happening."
"I thought it already had." Xander, sprawled in the filthy sheets, shrugged carelessly. "That's life huh?"
Spike shook his head. "No, it's not really black and white." And that was a pretty weird thing to say, but he couldn't think straight, the roaring noise was so loud and it was so cold and the right words were there somewhere, he knew that he just had to *find them*.
At some point tears had begun tricking their way down his cheeks, as Xander looked at him with a kind of disinterested compassion.
"Isn't it?" Xander took his hand, and the dirt oozed out from over Spike's hands covering Xander's skin. " See what happens when you touch me?"
"No." He frantically tried to rub it away, but it only made it worse, leaving trails of black all over them both, sinking into Xander's skin so much of it, he couldn't ever make this clean.
"He's with us now." Buffy appeared from behind him with a blanket that she wrapped around Xander's shoulders, her eyes like chips of ice.
"We'll never let you get near him again," Willow agreed as she sat down next to Xander handing him a flask of something foul smelling. "Just a sip of this and he'll forget all about you."
"I'm safe now Spike," Xander said calmly, lifting the flask to his mouth and this was all wrong Xander wasn't safe, Xander *needed* him, but the more he tried to yell at Xander to stop the more his throat froze up and all that came out was a choked cry, he could barely hear himself over the rushing noise.
"Xan -"
Spike snapped awake, tasting salt on his mouth, trying to force the lump down in his throat to get the rest of the word out.
" . . .der!"
Spike shot up, groggy and disorientated as his eyes darted around. A trickle of cold blue light filtered into the sewer tunnel harshly highlighting the emptiness. The rushing sound that he had heard, could still hear, was some water nearby gushing along. The icy chill registered. He was shivering, he'd been shivering all the way through.
Spike lifted his shaking hands to his face, they were clean, or as clean as living in tunnels would allow.
"Oh great." Spike said striving for normality, his voice echoing emptily around the tunnel.
"Another dream about Xander, just for a change."
His attempt at being casual was ruined by the immediate wrenching retching that followed.
***
The pealing of the phone was relentless, hammering at Xander's ears. He reached out his hand, and lifted the receiver.
"Hello?"
"Xander it's me."
"Hey Willow."
"Can you come over to the magic shop later today? We're having another research session."
"Sure, I'll be there in a couple of hours."
"Great, see you then."
"Great."
He dropped the phone back into the cradle, and slowly managed to sit up. He paused there for a moment, staring unseeingly at the wall. Waiting for his head to stop screaming in protest and his vision to right itself. He hadn't been to work in days, when he'd rung in he'd said he was sick and it wasn't a lie. He just hadn't told them what he was ill with, heartbreak, drink. The two were becoming entwined in his mind. He didn't like to think about how much he'd drunk since Spike had
/ripped him to pieces/
left, but it was way more than ever before. /Hey look at me dad! You proud yet? Your boy can put 'em away just like you./
He'd always known that sooner or later this would be waiting for him.
His hands were shaking badly as he grabbed the bottle by the bed, there was only a little left, but enough to soothe him inside. Stop the shakes. Numb his feelings. The pain never vanished but it kind of distanced, like it was happening to someone else. Until he sobered up. Sometimes he wished he could just carry on until the numbness swallowed him up and he'd never have to come back, but that was suicide, and he wasn't the suicidal type. As he finished the bottle he focussed on the clock at the side of his bed. It was ten in the morning.
He slowly moved off the bed. As he walked he pulled off his T-shirt and boxers, letting them remain where they fell. He flicked on the light and blinked against the brightness that flooded the bathroom. He didn't look in the mirror.
The light hurt his eyes. White light, reflecting off the stark white tiles and the taps that shone blankly back at him. He closed his eyes as he leant against the wall in the shower. His head hanging, he let the hot water cascade over him. He was fine. He was coping. He just needed to rest for a while.
***
Afterwards, when Spike had stopped heaving and shivering, eventually he was able to stretch out his arms and legs, letting tense muscles move, cold and stiff from being curled up so tightly. He groped for his smokes and lit up. He still smoked. Still drank blood when he was hungry, slept when he was tired, ran when he was restless. His body healed as the days passed by and he was doing okay. Sure he was. So okay he was letting himself rot down here in the sewers for the sake of being near someone he didn't even see. So okay he woke up crying. So okay he was cold, dying inside and nothing could make it stop.
This was love alright. Love, it held him here trapped and chained down, behaving - God help him - like Angel. Imprisoning himself down here, alone with his thoughts, risking his life if he got caught as though it would somehow atone for what he'd done. Except when Angel had done it, he'd kind of thought that there was something pathetically showy about it, all tormented and anguished. Sure Angel had felt bad, but didn't he kind of like the romance of the situation?
Except there was nothing romantic about throwing up over and over. About missing Xander so badly he couldn't look at it directly. It came out in the crying spates that came on him unawares and left him shaking and exhausted with tears of loss and self-hatred. In the pain that had settled heavy and sharp on his chest, stabbing him every time he moved, swallowed, blinked. In running so scared he couldn't even settle in one tunnel. Running, always running along the sewers, trying to burn himself out. Running until his head roared and spots danced in front of his eyes. And all the time no matter how fast he ran and how loud he screamed in the silence he couldn't blot out the look that had been on Xander's face. The look that he had put there with his bloody plan.
And yeah he wished he could take it back, yeah he wished he could do some time travel and go back and just *fix it*, kill his old arrogant, manipulative shit bastard self and take his place and do it fucking right this time, but he couldn't.
After Dru had been bad. He'd roared, killed, fucked, drank, cried, all the usual post-break up destructive crap. But this was worse. Oh so much worse. At least with Dru he hadn't been imagining the sunrise.
It wasn't that he wanted to go out in it . . .exactly. He just couldn't stop wondering about it. About how close he could actually get to it. How bright would the sky be? Would it be pink? Blue? How high would the sun be before his skin started to smoke, before the fire caught? How hot would he have to be before the coldness went out of him?
Spike buried his face back into his duster that he'd been using for a pillow. It was clammy against his cheek with tears he'd shed in his sleep. He managed to hold back another draining crying bout, but he lay there cold and cramped, unable to get back to sleep, until his thoughts tangled together about dark eyes and the sunrise.
***
Some time later Xander opened the door to the magic shop wincing as the bell rang out announcing his presence. Buffy and Willow looked up from the table where they were surrounded by books; he nodded awkwardly to them, the heat sending prickles along his skin, and his eyes scratchy and sore. He carefully made his way towards them. Mustn't let them know he'd been drinking. They'd worry. Ask questions. Make him stop.
Giles stood behind the cash register his grey eyes watching him closely. Though the girls had stopped by frequently over the past week this was the first time he'd come to the magic shop. The first time he'd seen Giles since all this had happened. Of course Buffy had told him. How could she not?
"Hey Xander." Willow greeted him with a smile.
"Hey." He glanced past her. "Hi Buff."
"Hey," she said, the guilty torment on her face at odds with her casual greeting. "Nice to see you back."
He let his eyes drift over to Giles.
"Hey Giles," he said, his voice catching in his throat.
"Xander." Giles' eyes were cool, his tone expressionless giving nothing away.
"We're looking into Glory," Willow said, beckoning him over to the table and he sat down, looking at the huge pile of books they were working on.
"Now there's a surprise. Got anything?"
"Not so much," Buffy sighed. "Hellbitch, unstoppable."
"So what's the problem? We call Cordy get her to take on this chick and we all go to Disneyland." He had to keep the light-hearted banter coming, it stopped them asking if he was okay.
Buffy half smiled, but quickly frowned again. "There has to be something, a weak spot, but I can't find it." She rubbed at her eyes.
Hopelessness radiated off Buffy and he didn't have anything left in him to comfort her with. Everything he had was directed towards on just getting through this moment, there was nothing left over. Besides what could he say to help? Something they all knew, but just didn't dare to say. There was no way to beat Glory. She was going to win. It was kind of scary how little that bothered him.
"We'll find a weak spot." Willow snapped. "Will you two stop looking like that! We'll find a way guys."
Buffy nodded. "We will."
But her voice lacked conviction.
The three of them looked blankly at the books in front of them before reaching out to make another start. Time ticked painfully slowly by, Xander shifted in his seat as they read. The stillness and the silence of the room should have been easy to bear, but he hated being so quiet, he needed noise, movement, something to stop himself from exploding under the pressure. His mouth was dry, and he could taste the alcohol in the back of his throat. Foul and oddly comforting, he wanted some more. Needed some more. Now. His skin was overheating, and the book was shaking in his hands. He rubbed his face hoping it would take some of the edge off, and found himself looking straight at Giles who quietly slipped away into the training room at the back.
"Xander?" Buffy said.
"Yeah?"
"Maybe, we could go out - just the three of us, do something a little down time would probably be a good thing, for all of us ..."
"Oh. Um ... sure. Sometime." He barely knew what he was saying, he was burning up in his own skin, he had to get *out*.
He shot up from his seat and the girls looked up at him in confusion. He couldn't leave, the weight of their concern pinned him down. He groped for an excuse that they would accept. "I'm just going to go ... you know." He nodded towards the door to the training room.
"Oh, sure." Buffy agreed. "Go talk to him."
He could feel their eyes on him all the way across the room.
"Do you think a night out will help?" Willow asked Buffy as the door closed behind him.
"Probably not," Buffy admitted. "But it's a start. He can't keep locking himself away."
"And you can't keep blaming yourself."
"Can't I? I just wish I could *do* something. Mend the black hole where his heart used to be."
Willow flicked randomly at the pages in her book. "You really think it's that bad?"
Buffy shook her head. "I think it's worse."
***
Xander carefully closed the door behind him. It was cooler back here in the training room. The light was dimmer and easier on his eyes, and although he couldn't bear the thought of a humiliating lecture from a disappointed and furious Giles they had to get it over with sometime. He watched Giles in silence for a moment, clearing assorted weapons away from Buffy's training session.
"Hey," he said nervously. "Can I help?"
"You can help put the pads away." Giles pointed to the padding he wore while Buffy was practising her punches.
"Sure." He began to put them away. For a moment they worked in silence then Xander said numbly, staring at the bright blue padding in his hands. "You know huh?"
"Buffy told me some, not all thankfully, but enough."
Xander nodded, staring at the blue pads like they could somehow anaesthetise him from this conversation. From this life. "I guess you must be really let down."
Giles sighed and he sat down on the bench, taking off his glasses and rubbing his eyes. " I knew of course Spike was up to something, I even knew it involved you. I had no idea though . . ."
Xander dropped his head, unable to look Giles in the eyes. "I bet you never thought you'd have to yell at *me* for getting involved with a vampire huh?"
"When I first found out, I couldn't believe it."
"Now you know how I felt." Xander said dully, "I wanted to stop, I tried to stop but I . . ." He stopped before he started raving. No crying though. He didn't have any more tears left, he was cried out and dry inside. "I'm sorry I let you down," he finished painfully.
"No, I'm sorry Xander." Giles said unexpectedly.
Xander's head shot up as he stared at Giles in bewilderment. "What?"
"I am responsible, for Buffy I know, but all of you. If I'd have only noticed . . ."
"No!" Xander denied, horrified. "Giles it's not your fault, like I was going to discuss the interesting new turn my life had taken?"
"Even so."
Xander sank down on the bench next to him. Giles didn't speak, but his eyes didn't hold any disgust, only compassion. Support; wordless but real flowed from him, somehow cooling Xander's skin, loosening the tightness in his chest that didn't seem to ever want to go away.
Xander heaved a shuddering sigh as the words that had been trapped in his throat managed to come out haltingly. "Buffy blames herself as well. So does Willow. Everyone seems to think that my mistake is their fault. I really screwed up Giles."
"No! Well . . .yes." Giles admitted. "But Xander punishing yourself like this is pointless. Yes, mistakes were made, by all of us, and you're allowed to be hurt, but you're also allowed to uh ... go easy on yourself," Giles finished slightly self consciously, and also without much conviction. As if he already knew that Xander would be completely unable to go easy on himself about this, ever.
"I won't lie Xander, this is going to be a hard and lonely time for you. Will be for a while I suspect. But you can always come to me. No matter how you may feel right now, you're not alone. And I'm not let down."
He placed a gentle hand on Xander's shoulder. Xander kept his eyes fixed steadily on the floor, unable to move, to speak, as gratitude so intense it hurt twisted with awful ripping shame inside him.
"How are you getting on?" Giles asked carefully.
Memories flashed through his mind of how he covered the cracks with dry eyes and flip remarks. How he kept going, kept breathing, speaking, smiling, and it was all an act because reality was him unable to eat, to unclamp his jaw even the smallest amount in case it let out the screams of rage and misery and pure fucking pain. Reality was the sleepless nights and the empty bottles at the end of them. Reality was how he'd been invaded, the most private part of his body and soul exposed, used and humiliated and it would never get better. He'd offered his poor heart out to an evil soulless monster who had thrown it back at him, turning it into something disgusting. Used him and taken everything he had, everything that was good and strong and destroyed it, so all he was left with was this shell of flesh and bone.
Xander shrugged. "I'm coping."
***
As the sun set Spike emerged from the sewer entrance, nerves lodged firmly in the back of his throat tasting sour in his mouth. He set off towards the butchers on the outskirts of town, keeping to the shadows, people came past him and he dodged away from them like a rat on the run.
He found the butchers, and bought his blood where the guy he dealt with took his money with a barely concealed grimace of distaste. Whether it was because of what he was buying or how he looked he didn't know.
He slipped into the alley behind the butchers and slowly sipped at the blood. Pigs blood, cool and bitter. It hurt as it slipped down his dry throat, and burned as it hit his stomach. He slowly managed to drink almost all of the bag and wiped his mouth with a shaking hand, forcing his game face back down. A sudden blast of loud music caught his attention and he looked down the street to see a bar.
Spike drifted down the street and paused in the doorway of the bar. Less classy than even Willy's. It was dark, depressing and semi-full with people trying to drink themselves into oblivion. It was just the kind of place he needed. The chances of bumping into Buffy or any of her little gang in here were zero and Hell did he need something tonight. Anything to make him stop thinking, stop picturing that damn sunrise. As he walked to the bar he caught some hostile glances being shot at him. Later he'd probably find himself on the receiving end of some punching because his hair was dyed, or maybe because he didn't know when to keep his mouth shut. It didn't matter.
The guy behind the bar looked distastefully at him, and in this dump that must really be saying something. He probably already know Spike was going to cause some upset, Angelus had once said despairingly that he carried the threat of trouble around him like a beacon.
That didn't matter either. All that mattered was the guy served him.
***
Xander sank down on the couch and uncapped a bottle. Nights were the worst. The quiet seemed to press against him in a way so much more frightening than daylight, and in the silence he felt like he could almost hear it, whatever it was inside him that was still wailing. He couldn't drown it out with noise, the only thing that worked was this.
He should feel safe, there was no risk of Spike anymore. Buffy had swung by his crypt repeatedly and reported no signs of life, or unlife, he hadn't even hung around to pack up his stuff. Willow had done the dis-invite spell on his apartment, just in case, and the Spike madness was over, just an odd glitch in his past, a mistake that he could forget about as he picked up his normal life again. But there over by the door was where Spike had grabbed his wrist. Over by the fridge was the first time Spike had touched him. Here on this couch Spike had slept. And in there on that bed. On that bed.
He took a huge gulp out of his bottle. He wasn't going to think about that anymore. Fuck love, just *fuck it*, this was what love got you, got you ripped up, smashed destroyed, bleeding and never, never, *never* again. Not that he loved Spike anymore. All he felt now was hate.
Hate and awful, tearing pain that he just had to force down, keep buried.
/Don't *think* about it!/ He took another swig and the burning down his throat distracted him for a second. Maybe less. But it was something, something to take the edge off. It was routine now, his drinking fell into a rhythm that he found almost soothing. The gurgle of the liquid. The swallow. The slow steady black out of his thoughts, as the level in the bottle sank, eyes unseeing, not thinking. Not feeling.
Time trickled by around him, and when he came back to himself again he didn't know how long he'd been zoned out drinking. The bottle was still a quarter full, and the liquid had faded from being rough and hot in his throat to a smooth warmth.
Smooth like sliding his hand over Spike's skin.
He flinched. If only he could blot out that last night he'd spent with Spike. He tried not to think of it, but sometimes he just couldn't stop himself. Torturing himself as surely as if he was pulling out his own fingernails.
His lips had been tingling with how much kissing they'd done. How he'd been scared he wasn't doing this right but Spike somehow made him know just what to do, never known Spike could be like that, so free from his usual cynical, jaded veneer, shivering under him, sweet and open and tender. So tender. Spike under him giving himself up to his hands, his mouth, whispering yes it's good, yes he likes it, yes he loved him so much . . .and he'd never really known his body could be like this, slippy and hard and soft at the same time, sinking in and smooth, liquid heat and Spike wrapped around him, fingers clinging on to him tightly. And eventually wrapped in Spike's arms speechless with happiness and feeling *whole* for the first time.
And all the time Spike had been lying. Wanting Buffy, with all that Buffy stuff so close to where they'd been. *Using* him, making him love him just to tear him apart, all for Buffy.
Spike must have thought he was pathetic.
"No!" He yelled it out in the quiet his foot kicking out in angry protest and hitting the coffee table. A glass wavered under the movement then toppled. It didn't break but he heard a sharp crack. He snorted with a bitter amusement.
"Like my heart."
His words were slurred, and he flinched away from his tone, bitter and hopeless, just like his fathers, and he hates that, fucking *hates* it, but he can't stop because his skin is so hot he wants to rip it off, and it hurts so much, this thing inside just won't stop tearing him up and *why* can't he stop missing Spike, even now he hates him so much? He just has to take the edge off, *has to* ...
Trying to distract himself he leant over and picked up the glass. It was still in one piece - just. A huge spiderweb of a crack had spread through it.
"My heart." He tested his voice experimentally as he turned the glass over and over. It came out rough, cracked, like the glass.
Wondrously he let his fingers explore the cracked glass, revelling in the slightly raised edge he could feel. He pushed harder on the crack and a large piece of glass fell out. Broken, like he was broken. He put down the glass and picked up the piece that had fallen from it.
Almost hypnotised he traced the edges with his finger. One was smooth, safe where the lip of the glass had been, the others were wickedly sharp. Flashing against the light it winked up at him, cool in his hand, dangerous and uncaring. He lightly let his finger pass over the sharpest edge, almost like a tender caress. It sliced idly over his skin, leaving a thin red line on his finger. He retraced over it, pressing down slightly harder, excruciatingly slowly. It swelled up into a deep bleeding cut. Still he didn't stop. He dragged it lightly across the palm of his hand, over up across his wrist. For the first time he couldn't hear any wailing, nothing but his own breathing, his mind miraculously empty, just this, indescribably awful in the relief it brought as he pressed down harder.
Press down hard enough and he might get to the heartbreak. Let it all out.
***
Spike was losing track of time as his money vanished. He drank, a lot, but still couldn't really manage to get drunk. Not drunk to the point where he wanted to be, where he could forget. His head sank lower and lower until it was resting on the bar, his cheek resting in beer and the pain still sat on his chest. The place was filling up and the music playing on the jukebox was roaring through his head.
It's been awhile, since I could hold my head high
Spike half giggled, snorted, and nearly sobbed as the sour smell of the beer spilled on the bar attacked his senses. Wasn't that the truth. Couldn't even lift his head up off the bar.
And it's been awhile since I first saw you
/"The first time I saw you was in here." "Was it?"/
Spike grabbed at his drink to blot the memories out. Tried not to remember the first time, the way Xander had thudded down on the bed the air all knocked out of him as he watched eyes wide and pleading and hurting inside as Spike lowered himself onto him. Tried not to remember the graveyard, the taste of mud and rain as Xander hard and hot made him open, made him ache in such a *good* way, made him want to open up and take it in and never, ever let him out again. Tried not to remember the date, the beer and the awkwardness, so tentative and needful.
Resting his head in his hand he tried to light a smoke. His fumbling fingers let the lighter drop.
And it's been a while since I could stand on my own two feet again
A light flaring up in front of his cigarette shone through the blur in his eyes, and he guided his cigarette towards it.
He hadn't even noticed anyone sitting next to him, as he inhaled deeply he met the eyes of a woman over the glowing tip of his cigarette. She was mid thirties with the restless air of someone looking for a little distraction. Her hair was dyed black and her mouth was outlined carelessly with deep red lipstick. She was watching him, as she flicked her lighter over and over in her fingers. Someone the Little Bit and her bitch of a sister would identify unerringly as a 'skanky ho'.
And it's been awhile since I could call you
He didn't thank her. Just looked away and inhaled deeply. Maybe another time and another place he'd have taken her up, but not now. It's not what he wants. Not anymore. Would her eyes change to nearly black? Would her mouth taste like mint and air and beer? Xander had mentioned a guy that had made a robot girlfriend. Spike had laughed at the time. How much of a loser must this guy have been? But if he could do that - make a robot look, smell, act just like he wanted ...
Everything I can't remember, is fucked up as it all may seem
Maybe he should go and pay a visit to this guy. Except he didn't want a programmed perfect robot. He wanted the original back. Lonely and smart and complicated and *real*.
And he couldn't have him.
The consequences that I've rendered, I've stretched myself beyond my means
He clamped his fingers over the lit end of his cigarette, the pain blotting out everything else. For a moment, and Christ this bloody *hurts*. Way more than the stupid cigarette burn. How the hell has Xander done this too him? How can someone just not being there make him feel so fucking *alone* so much bloody pain? Trapped and alone in his own skin, sealed off from the rest of the world, with him bumping up against the glass unable to talk, to touch, because his body had died so long ago, and now the rest of him was following. Cold inside, cold and hurting and so alone, mumbling tunelessly along with the words as the song played on.
"'S been a while since I can say that I wasn't addicted, 'n' 's been a while since I can say I love myself as well."
He knocked over his glass, spilling the contents over the bar. The bar guy shot him a filthy look.
"Give me another," Spike said dully.
"Don't you think you've had enough?"
"Give. Me. Another," Spike growled, his game face flickering over his face for a second. The bar guy jumped and hurriedly slopped another whiskey out for him, sliding it over to him without even asking for any money. Spike gulped at it as the vibrations from the music rattled around inside him like some kind of bloody echo in there.
"'S been a while, since I've gone and *fucked things up*, just like I ALWAYS do, but all that SHIT seems to disappear when I'm WITH YOU."
The bar guy was talking to some other guy, glancing over at him, he was probably getting restless. Wanting a little action maybe? Well he wasn't the only bloody one. Misery and a hopeless anger boiled up and over inside him, and he couldn't really remember the last time he wanted to kill someone this badly.
Not because he was hungry, because he's really not, and not even really for the fun of it, but those moments, when he was chasing someone fleeing from him down a dark street, those sounds as their breath came out in pants they desperately tried to suppress so he wouldn't hear them, those moments where he could damn near taste the terror pouring off them as he finally reached out to grab them, and then that moment when his fangs pierced the skin and the maelstrom of *taste* filled his mouth. Hot, rich, pure, *real*. That was when he knew he was truly still alive.
But he couldn't. No bite and no Xander and dead inside, and feeling a flash of guilt for even wishing that he could kill someone. Xander would hate that.
His barstool rocking violently under him, he grabbed his drink and pushed away from the bar.
He couldn't get his feet to move where he wanted them. Or maybe he just didn't know where he wanted to go. He didn't know what he damn well wanted anymore, and it was because of Xander, not the stupid chip. Xander could have changed him, changed him into something, someone, he barely even knew what but something good. He didn't know who he was anymore. He wasn't the murdering evil bastard he'd once been. But the new him, unformed and cut off before he could really arrive hadn't taken his place. He was nothing. No one. All he had was an overwhelming love with nowhere to go and a glowing core of anger, at himself, at Xander at fate for throwing them together only to keep them apart and he couldn't stand it.
"And everything I can remember, is FUCKED UP as all may seem!"
People were watching him now, wary or annoyed as he howled along loudly, staggering blindly into tables and chairs.
"Right that's enough!" The guy from behind the bar appeared at his side with another guy, and under normal circumstances he'd have backed off because these guys were looking pretty pissed off and pretty big, but these weren't normal circumstances, he was too bloody angry and let down and guilty and *hurting*.
"Stay away from me you bloody pair of poofs," Spike snarled and waving his hand violently at them, as though just his will could keep them back. Liquid flew out his glass, splattering all over them. They took a couple of wary steps back. He grinned, sourly amused. They wouldn't be so wary if they knew that was about all the damage he could do to them. Yeah he was a sodding poof himself with no fangs but he didn't have to bloody advertise it. He could still intimidate with the best of 'em. William the Bloody reduced to starting a fight he couldn't finish.
"The consequences that I've rendered, I've gone and FUCKED THINGS UP again!"
"Get him out of here ..."
"Grab him *now* ..."
"You're going to regret this you ..."
He was about two steps away from being thrown out of this dump, and probably going to get a bloody good kicking in the process. He hurled his glass, not at them ... exactly, just close enough to make them nervous. It flew past, hitting the wall, it shattered, even past the music he could hear it, and it was crazy but the sound brought a kind of wrenching release, matching exactly how he felt inside. Something else was as shattered as he was right now, and right now it was the only thing that made any damn sense.
Grabbing blindly at glasses, bottles, people were yelling and ducking for cover as glass shattered, against the walls, on the floor, crunching underfoot as it was ground down even further. The sound of things breaking inside and out, loud and harsh and now he'd started he couldn't stop. He picked up a chair, smashing it into the wall and it disintegrated in his hands.
Why must I feel this way? Just make this go away
"You hear this Xander Harris?" Spike half yelled, half sobbed as he hurled another glass, the smash ripping at his ears. " This is what you're bloody doing to me! You come in and change me then you piss off and I."
And it's been a while since I saw the way the candles light your face
Smash.
"Won't."
And it's been a while but I can still remember just the way you taste
Smash
"Take."
And it's been a while since I've said I'm sorry
Smash
"It."
Drowning, in the music, in the shattering and in his own head where everything was black and broken, other people were just shadows, and he had to get this out, couldn't stop, couldn't bear to stop and know that Xander was still gone.
He turned back blindly and ricocheted off the bar guy's chest. He could barely even see him anymore.
"I told you to get out! I'm not playing games here ..."
A whistling sound preceded him staggering back as the force of the hit shuddered through his body. His face was a ball of hot pain, his nose crumpled under whatever the hell he'd been hit with. Maybe a chair leg from the chair he'd destroyed. Now there was fucking poetic justice. With a roar his game face burst out as he tried to attackkilldestroy the guy.
Bolts of blue sizzling agony opened up in his brain electrocuting him inside. /Ohfuckstopstopstoppleaseohpleasestop/
He screamed, clasping his hands to his head, trying to force it back underground couldn't see past the black and red pain that shot across his eyes, couldn't hear past his own screaming.
***
Xander was floating now. Watching the deep red that spilled from his arm over the glass, and it was so hot and clear. So pretty and straightforward and this edge was sharp alright but it was okay because at least this one was outside trying to get in, not the other way around. His other wrist was tingling now, he felt a kind of dreamy contentment. He'd get to that one soon, there was no rush. Because when he was done he'd just lie here for a moment and let it all drain out.
A frantic voice in his head was screaming for him to stop, stop it *now* but that voice seemed so distant and faint and even as he heard it his glass pressed a fraction harder into his arm and that was far closer. And what was there for him outside this moment anyway?
Nothing. Out there he was frantic, screaming for a relief that would never come. But the swell of blood that tricked out was almost good enough. As he pressed harder again tears, fat like the drops of blood that fell from his arm, ran down his face. The first he'd cried since the night he'd first found out.
It *couldn't* be, could it? Spike couldn't have been like that without caring at least a little bit could he? But hadn't Spike tried to explain, to apologise? He hadn't listened, but Spike had never let that stop him before. Surely he was going to come back and try again? Spike wasn't going to leave him here to
/die/
*hurt himself* was he?
The peeling of the phone shocked him, ripping the hazy web he'd been spinning in two. Before he could stop himself his hand shot out to answer it.
/Spike/
***
When the pain dulled to an ache in the base of his skull and Spike came back to himself enough to take in his surroundings he was lying on the ground outside the bar. The bastards had thrown him out. Call that a fucking fight? He could have ripped that place and everyone in it to shreds ... once upon a time. At the moment he was lying face down on the ground unable to move as he waited for the nausea to fade. He lay still, his face throbbing from where he'd been hit. It wasn't much, nothing he couldn't handle compared to the pain of the chip going off, or a beating from the Slayer but it still hurt, more than it should.
Eventually he managed to drag himself to his feet and staggered down the alley towards the sewer entrance.
Blood that had poured from his nose stuck to his hands. Bleeding without Xander. Was Xander bleeding without him? He passed a pay phone, and the need surged up so suddenly it left him feeling sick. He couldn't stop himself; there was no reasoning, just the instinctive urge to hear his voice, to know he was okay, to say something *anything* Xander take me back, take me in, just take me any damn way you want, hard, easy I don't care, fuck me hard, make me cry, just make me feel, let me feel you ...
He jammed a coin into it and feeling sicker than ever his fumbling finger hit the buttons to dial Xander's number, hearing the tiny clicks as the numbers were punched in, waiting for them to connect him, /hurry up hurry up hurry up .... /
***
Xander couldn't speak when he lifted the receiver, could only cling on tightly, his knuckles turning white as his arm throbbed in pain, blood running over his fingers, the phone and dripping all over the carpet.
"Xander?"
Xander felt his shoulders buckle.
"Hey Buff," he said dully.
"How are you doing?"
Xander closed his eyes so he wouldn't have to look at what he'd just done. His heart was thumping wildly in his chest, like it was trying to make up for the moment it had slowed down. Could have stopped if he'd carried on. He clamped his hand over his mutilated arm, trying to stem the flow, it poured out from between his fingers. So *much* of it.
"I'm good."
"Sorry to call you so late."
"I wasn't asleep."
"Oh. Do you want me to come over?"
"No. Not tonight Buff, I need ... I can't ..."
"Okay I understand. Listen, tomorrow I'm going away with Giles, I have this thing I want to try, a kind of a retreat, I'll be gone a couple of days and I was wondering . . ."
"If I'll be okay? Sure Buff, you go do the Slayer thing . . ." He ran out of breath, his arm hurt. Oh shit it *hurt*. Was he bleeding to death? His fingers were clamped tightly over his wound, and the blood was building up behind them, sliding out from between them, making them sticky and red.
"I was going to ask if you'd take Dawn to the movies." Buffy said. "She's staying with Tara and Willow, but I thought it'd be good to give them a break, but, uh Xander, *will* you be okay?"
"Oh sure." Xander looked at himself in the mirror and bit back the hysterical urge to laugh. A deathly pale, pinched face with lank hair and reddened eyes stared back at him. Blood all over him, his arm, his shirt, his hands, pattering on the floor around him. His eyes dropped and he found himself staring at the piece of broken glass. His stomach heaved at the sight of the traces of his blood smeared across it. Repulsed, he kicked it away, and it shot under the couch out of sight. "You know me. I'm coping."
***
Xander's line was busy. Spike slammed the phone down so hard the casing cracked, and he knew he wouldn't be picking up the phone again. The courage, cowardice, whatever the hell it was that had fired him to pick up the phone had ebbed away as fast as it had surged up. He turned away, heading wearily towards the sewers again. Sunrise was still a couple of hours away, but it was best to get under cover now. If he hung around he might not make it inside at all.
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