5 Days More
by
BmblBee
Part Thirty-Six
5:52 am Saturday morning. Xander Harris has been dead nearly 7 hours
Xander wanted to scream.
Fear, pain, hunger and fury were the driving forces that consumed his paralyzed body. Yet, overriding all that was a need of undefined origin. A craving for something, someone that he knew could stop all this torture. Bring him peace. It crawled through his body and his brain whined for it.
Exhausted, he had stopped trying to force his rigid extremities to move, to comply. He still had no memory of who or what he was but it was irrelevant. Does the lion in the jungle care what human man calls him when he is stalking his prey?
Does giving him a name make his victim less dead or the kill less satisfying?
No, Xander was operating on pure instinct, and that told him that soon he would be released from this restrictive rigidity.
He also knew that when he was, the first thing he would do would be to satisfy his bloodlust on the irritating creature that had been pawing at him almost constantly.
It was agonizing. Each touch was like sharp knives scraping off the first layer of his skin, setting fire to the exposed nerve endings with the heat of her. Her breathing was loud, slamming into his ear drums and never stopping, but the worst was the smell.
It filled his nostrils and infused his body, kicking the level of the caving to almost unbearable heights. The artificial chemicals in her hair when she leaned over him roiled in his guts, repulsing him but the most prevalent was the smell of the blood.
Every time she walked by him he smelled it. Old blood. Rich blood. Blood excreted and held between her legs. She teased him with it. Tormented him. Thought him helpless.
'Yes' he hissed to himself, he would kill her first.
Giles slowly lifted his heavy arm and dropped his hand over his eyes. He wasn't sure what time it was but couldn't risk any light seeping through. His head already felt as though someone had sneaked into his room while he slept and put a hatchet in the center of his forehead.
He tried his best to remember what had happened yesterday that would cause him to go on a drunk of this obvious proportion but just the act of thinking alone caused his skull to separate form the grey matter inside.
He prayed fervently, bargaining that he would never drink again if God would just take away the pain, let him fall back to sleep, or at least make a large bottle of extra strength Tylenol appear on the night stand.
Cracking one eye open a tiny slit, Giles peeked out from between his fingers to discover that God was not delivering any pharmaceuticals this morning. In addition, the act of opening his eye had put in motion the swaying and spinning of the bed as well as the room around him that only made his situation worse.
"Oh, Hell!" He groaned and rolled over, burying his face as deeply in his pillow as possible, but to no avail. The next step in the morning's torture had already kicked in as his stomach reacted to the movement of the room with a severe case of car sickness.
With one hand clamped over his mouth, Giles struggled to balance on wobbly legs. Tripping and stubbing his toes along the way, he made it, with no time to spare, to the bathroom where he dropped to his knees, stuck his head in a less than April fresh toilet and proceeded to vomit his guts out.
Between heaves, he rested his face on the cool porcelain bowl and again tried to remember. The sense of doom that hung in the back of his brain told him it was bad, very bad, but he just couldn't bring it forward enough to put a name to it.
When it seemed as though his stomach was empty, even drained of the heavy acidic fire that burned in his throat on it's way up and out, Giles pulled himself to his feet.
He splashed cold water on his face and ran damp fingers through his wild thinning hair. He considered the advisability of leaving the sanctity of the toilet when the next phase arrived right on schedule.
The clawlike, unseen fingers that reached into his intestines, gripped them and twisted them in a gut wrenching cramp that had him spinning around and dropping down just as the first wave of stench and liquid shit filled the bowl.
Rocking and moaning with his arms wrapped around his belly, Giles had just one more prayer. "Please don't make me throw up again. Not into that."
When he was fairly certain that both ends of his body had eliminated as much vile, disgusting substance as they could, he peeled off the wrinkled, foul smelling clothes that he had been wearing since yesterday and took a shower. Hot. Scorching. Medicinal.
He knew whatever it was that he was trying to remember would come back to him once he had gotten a few more hours of sleep and maybe a dozen cups of tea.
He changed into his flannel sleep pants and an old tee before swallowing a handful of aspirin. Tossing back the blankets on his bed, Giles stopped before climbing in. He knew the burning lava in his stomach would only go away if he put something bland in it and decided to go down to the kitchen.
A piece of dry toast would do the trick. Toast and maybe a small hair of the dog.
His bare feet padded silently on the carpeted steps as he descended into the wonderfully still dark house. Maybe he was a merciful God after all.
Passing through the living room, Giles was startled to see Buffy curled up, sleeping soundly on the sofa. She lay on her back, her hands high over her head and resting on the overstuffed arm of the couch.
A knitted throw cover had been tossed over her but now lay mostly on the floor. Her miniskirt had rode up nearly around her waist, and Giles stared at the tiny thong underwear that almost, but not quite, covered her neatly shaved pussy.
His eyes travelled slowly down her long legs, thin ankles and tan bare feet to the toes polished hot pink. His gaze then reversed and crawled back up, pausing, studying, and examining intently the juncture of her body where legs ended and soft cotton crotch began.
Suddenly, the hatchet that had smashed into his skull earlier, struck again. Everything that had happened the night before came rushing back to him in a painful, migraine inducing awareness.
Xander.
Xander was dead. Something had killed him and they were standing guard over the body till morning. He was the adult. They were counting on him to know what to do. He would have parents to call. The authorities would have to be notified. Arrangements would have to be made for the body.
Xander was dead and it was all their faults.
Giles squeezed his eyes shut as a fresh wave of nausea swept through him. He swayed on his feet and felt lightheaded, faint, weak and old. When he was reasonably sure it had passed, he opened his eyes and looked into Buffy's face. Still asleep. She was still asleep.
Giles turned, as quietly as possible, and crept back upstairs to bed.
Part Thirty-Seven
2:00 pm Friday afternoon. Xander Harris has 9 hours left to live.
If Xander had been physically able to purr, he would have been doing so now. The heavenly domestic bliss felt like something straight out of an episode of Leave It To Beaver. Although he wasn't specific on who was Ward and who was June, he was more than happy to be the beaver.
Spike had cooked up one of his huge scrambly breakfasts and then plopped down on the sofa while Xander ate and cleaned up after. He stood by the small kitchen sink and laughed as his attention deficit vampire flipped rapidly through the seemingly endless channels of the stolen satellite hook up.
Surprisingly intelligent, he knew the answers to all the questions on the various game shows, wiggled his butt, dancing to the videos on MTV and cursed the fact that they had cancelled Passions.
Breezing up through the movie channels, he had the infuriating habit of watching just enough of a movie that Xander started getting into the plot when he would suddenly snatch up the remote and punch the button. If Xander complained, the answer was always the same. "Boring. Sides, I already saw it."
When the plates and cups were washed and back on their shelf, Xander hurried over to where his Master lounged. He shoved his feet over and before Spike could protest, he grabbed up the channel changer, sticking it down the front of his pants.
Spike just rolled his eyes. "Come now, Pet. If you were trying to keep it away from me that's probably the last place you should have tucked it."
Realizing his mistake, Xander immediately reached down to retrieve it but was not fast enough. In a flash, quicker than the human eye could see, the vampire, in full game face had leaped across the couch and pounced.
Looming darkly over his pet, Spike snarled, snapped and groped for the instrument. Neither man cared or mentioned the fact that the vampire's hands were everywhere except the spot where he would have easily found it.
Xander laid back and gasped as Spike's claws slipped up under the his shirt, scratching lightly over the chest that was rapidly rising and falling with the air that rushed in and out.
Staring down into the deep, brown eyes, Spike had expected to see humor. A challenge maybe, or just plain lust, but what he saw was something else. Something that threw him off guard. Something he had no previous experience with in this life or the last. It was devotion, trust, acceptance. It was love.
Xander reached both hands up and gently cupped the distorted face of the yellow eyed demon. His eyes travelled over the protruding veins and ridges and seemed fascinated with the razor sharp fangs that loomed just inches from his lips.
"Beautiful"
His voice was quiet and awestruck. It was as if he had just walked through a hurricane to see the most magnificent rainbow God had ever painted in the sky. His thumbs brushed across Spike's cheeks and he marveled at the feel
of the change in his skin. It was firmer, tougher, more smooth, with no hint of stubble. Apparently demons lounging about in the pits of hell didn't have to shave.
Of course Xander had seen Spike's game face. It had popped out at the strangest times. Fighting for Buffy, of course. Fighting WITH Buffy, naturally. If Xander had had a game face he would have shown it to Buffy a time or two.
He had see him intimidate with it and he had seen it when Spike fed, usually at the Watcher's from a Red Cross reject bag, but of all the times he had seen it he had never really looked.
"Amazing. Wonderful."
Xander ran his fingertips over the hard, bony ridges of his forehead down to feel the shape of the perfect nose.
Spike was stunned. He closed his eyes and felt the pure emotion flow through the blood bond as the warm gentle fingers caressed him with such care and affection.
Suddenly overwhelmed by the unfairness of it, Spike's face slid away. His sweet, boyish human one replaced it and he roughly scooped Xander up in his arms rocking and crying.
Now Spike knew his punishment for making a wish on the hellmouth. It was this. It was to give him true happiness, love and companionship, then slap a time stamp on it. Force him to sit here and watch the clock on the wall tick away the minutes till it all came to a crushing end.
It was unfair! All the thousands of worthless humans he had slaughtered over the years were not enough to warrant this. This was too much. This punishment was too severe.
At first Xander thought Spike was laughing. Holding him tightly and giggling with joy at Xander's silly demon worship but very quickly the bond told him something else.
"Spike? Spike! What is it? What's wrong? Did I say something wrong? Please, talk to me." Xander squirmed, trying to shove back the vampire that held him in the iron grip and sobbed silently on his shoulder. The overwhelming sorrow
that seeped through, infused Xander's mind and body as though it were his own, which now it was.
The sense of resignation and depression fell over him like a blanket and Xander stopped pushing. Now he clutched. He held tightly to the man lying on top of him and he cried with him.
When Spike realized what was happening, he did his best to pull himself together. He wiped his nose and eyes on the upper arm of Xander's tee and he tried to clear his brain. He didn't think the bond was strong enough for Xander to pick up specifics, but he couldn't risk it.
"Sorry. Sorry, Pet. Just never felt like this before. I think maybe, what with the bond and all, I'm being swamped with human emotions I haven't felt for over a hundred years. S'all just a bit overwhelming, it is."
Xander brushed his tears away with his hand and smiled. Yeah, that sounded right. Something about it felt off, but a little voice told him not to look too closely and he had found, in the past, that that little voice had a hell of a sense of survival.
Chuckling lightly, Xander ran a thumb over Spike's lips. He could feel the closeness, he could feel the connection of the bond. Xander thought maybe now, while Spike was at his most vulnerable, it was the best time.
The time to bring up a subject that had been on his mind all morning. He had thought about it, weighed it and considered it. He was surprised Spike hadn't noticed that it had taken Xander nearly forty minutes to wash one cup, one plate and a skillet.
It was time well spent. His brain had made a check list of pros and cons and given each one the thorough examination it deserved. He thought about his past, his present and his future. He considered his friends and his family.
Finally, as one last comparable, he put everything he could think of on one side of the list and on the other he wrote just one name. Spike. When he looked at the situation form that angle, it was a no brainer. Even for an IQ borderliner like Xander Harris.
"Spike, you said you would do anything for me that I ask. Was that the truth or were you just bullshitting?"
Spike frowned, slightly offended that he would even be questioned. Of course he meant it. He would do anything for his boy, his pet, his love.
"Course I did. I'll have you know I'm a very trustworthy demon. If I say I'm going to do something, I do it." Relieved for the break in the tension, Spike smiled, relaxed and snuggled down on top of the larger, warmer body of his human.
"So what is it, Love? You want to go dancin' again? Gotta tell you I'm not too keen on returning to the evil, demonic, Bunnyland Golf Course. Hey, you hungry? Want me to call for a pizza? What is it. Pet. You name it, it's yours."
Xander wrapped his arms around the cool, muscular man and held him close. Partly out of loving devotion and partly to prevent his escape. Xander was not as IQ challenged as most thought.
"I want you to turn me."
Part Thirty-Eight
3 p.m Friday afternoon. Xander Harris has 8 hours left to live.
Spike recoiled in horror. He leaped back and up off the couch, breaking all physical contact with the human who had just shocked the hell out of him.
His arms shot straight out in front of him, hands up, as if to ward off the evil that was threatening the poor innocent vampire.
"NO! NO! No, Xander you don't know what you're saying. This is the hellmouth for fucks sake. You can't even joke about something like that."
Immediately Spike spun around in a circle, speaking to whatever decider of destinies may be turning an ear earthward at that moment, praying he could do damage control before it was too late.
"He didn't mean that. Disregard the human. No turning of the claimed human happening here." He then turned an angry face to his pet, scolding his carelessness. "You have no idea how dangerous talk like that can be."
Xander scooted to a sitting position on the second hand sofa and frowned. "What the hell are you getting so worked up about. I wasn't joking Spike and this isn't something I decided lightly. I think we should......."
"No, Pet.....just.... no."
Spike turned to disappear into the bedroom. End of discussion. Leaping off the couch, Xander grabbed Spike from behind, stopping him before he could make a hasty retreat. Xander was not dissuaded.
He knew with several hours till nightfall, Spike was trapped. Captive in the small apartment with the human that planned on using every minute of that time to further his cause and persuade his master to see his point of view.
"Wait. Just let me explain."
"There's nothing to explain. The answer is no."
Xander turned the smaller man around in his arms and kissed him lightly on the tightly pursed lips. "You must have wanted me or you wouldn't have claimed me."
Spike stood firm, arms crossed over his chest. "Wanted you, claimed you, own you."
"And you did say that most vampires eventually turn their claimed."
"Key word, Pet. Eventually. Not happening. Not today."
Wrapping his arms around Spike's rigid, stubborn body, Xander pulled him close, kissing and nibbling on his neck. "I've never belonged here, Spike. I just don't seem to fit in the real world. I'm not made to attend technical school at night so I can get a job cleaning teeth or repairing hearing aids. I've flipped more burgers than I could ever count and I have no desire to take a course in court reporting. Besides that, I've been lonely. I was never meant to settle down with a little human wife and produce 2.5 children. I was floating, floundering like a fish without a fin. Lost. Confused. Then, out of the blue you popped up and I fell in love with you. I'm a demon magnet. I'm a claimed demon magnet and you are the demon I belong to. The problem is, I know you. You get bored. You move on. You'll leave me."
"HEY! I said I wouldn't. I told you......."
"Oh, I know you won't want to and right now you really mean it when you say you won't, but be honest, Spike, at least be honest with yourself. You'll be living the night life and I'll be on the day shift. I'm trapped with the needs of a human. Food, shelter, not to mention the whole sickness problem. Humans get colds, Spike, and worse. Are you going to sit
around while I blow huge amounts of snot out of my nose? Or worse? Cancer, heart attack, stroke? Humans are weak, Spike."
Spike felt sick. He wanted to assure his boy that it wouldn't be like that. That they would be together for the rest of the human's life. All eight hours of it. But he couldn't. There was no explanation that would sound even remotely plausible.
Spike had one hope left. One small ace up his sleeve and he had banked everything on it. It wasn't much but it was all he had. The boy had been killed in the graveyard. Caught by a vampire and drained of his precious life. If Spike could keep him inside, not let him out of the flat till morning, they might have a chance.
"Look, Xan, Love, tell you what, why don't we think about this. Sleep on it tonight then if you still feel the same way tomorrow, I'll do it. I'll turn you. I promise. We will do it tomorrow."
Xander looked into Spike's eyes. His mouth had said yes but the charge of negativity in the bond and the expression on his face screamed "Hell no". Xander knew there was something else at work here but had no idea what it was.
He was certain it would be pointless to ask. Spike was not in a sharing mood so Xander had to assume the worst. Spike didn't intend to keep him. The other thing he would have bet every cent of Spike's racing winnings on was that whatever Spike was going to do, he was going to do tonight.
His promise of turning his human pet tomorrow was a stall tactic. For Spike and Xander there wouldn't be any tomorrow. Xander wanted to cry, to scream and beg, but he didn't. He did his best to keep his breathing and heartbeat in check as his brain formed a plan of his own.
"Yeah, sure, tomorrow's good."
Reaching down into his pants, Xander pulled out the remote control and handed it back over to the vampire. He then sat down, crossing his feet at the ankles and folding his arms over his chest. "So, what do you want to watch?"
Spike scowled. That was way too easy. The boy gave in too quickly. Yet, in the long run Spike decided it didn't matter why. If they could just get through tonight, he would return to tomorrow, tomorrow. If he could stop the boy's death tonight, they would have a future. He would then come back to the apartment, collect his claimed and they would live happily ever after.
Spike sighed happily. It was a plan. It was a viable plan. He could still salvage this whole situation.
The rest of the afternoon was spent in silence. This time less companionable than strained. Both had plans and ideas moving about their brains and neither paid much attention to the cooking shows or Dr. Who reruns that Spike had turned on. Each in turn glanced repeatedly at the clock on the wall, acutely aware of the other doing the same.
Finally, when the stress was about as thick in the air as the smog on an LA afternoon, Xander leaped to his feet, a huge smile on his face.
"Well, that's it. Human here. Gotta see a man about a horse. Drain the lizard. Water the garden. Heyyyyyy, I know, why don't you give me about three minutes to answer nature's call then meet me in the bedroom for a little slap and tickle?"
Xander wiggled his eyebrows wildly.
Spike was swamped with relief. There was nothing that he wanted more than to "slap and tickle" his pet. Besides, it was the ideal way to assure that the boy stayed inside, under his master, full of cock. "Three minutes it is. One thousand one...One thousand two...." Xander laughed and hurried off.
When the count was done, or as near to it as Spike's patience would allow, he followed his claimed into the bedroom. He only had seconds to register his surprise at the seemingly empty room before the blow to the back of his head sent him crumpling, unconscious, into an undignified heap on the cold wood floor.
Xander looked down at what he had done. He knew Spike would recover. He had bounced back from a lot more than a brick cracked against his cranium.
"Sorry, Spike. I didn't know any other way to do it. I know when it's all said and done you'll forgive me. At least I hope so. I love you. See you tomorrow, I hope."
With that, he dropped the note he had written from his fingers and watched it float in slow motion, coming to rest on the vampire's bare chest. He slipped his feet into the worn tennis shoes that sat just inside the front door and, with one last glance back at his beloved master, he walked outside into the fading sunlight.
Part Thirty-Nine
10:30 pm Friday evening. Xander Harris has 30 minutes left to live.
Spike rolled over, slowly settling on his back. He spread his hands out at his sides, feeling around to assure himself that he was still at home. Actually opening his eyes would just be out of the question.
His fingers dug into the sod floor and he felt the cool earth pack under his dirty, ragged fingernails. The mud was irrelevant. He was home. He was safely tucked away in his crypt. He was in bad shape.
Taking a quick inventory, he knew that even for a vampire he was as close to death-death as he could be without becoming part of the dust and dirt that coated the inside of his cemetery abode.
Starting at the top, his hair was filthy. He couldn't remember the last time he had washed it. Probably the last time he took a bath which was? O.k. On to the head. As long as he didn't move it, no, even that didn't stop the excruciating, agonizing pain that split the skull neatly down the middle.
It was the hangover to end all hangovers. Probably made worse by the fact that he hadn't had human blood in more days than he could remember. He knew the Watcher had blood. Kept it under lock and key like he intended to drink it himself.
'Fucking selfish, sadistic prick. And they accuse me of being evil.'
Which brought him to his stomach. It was so empty it felt as though it was rubbing his backbone. Spike recalled someone telling him once that people who starve to death stop being hungry after the first few days. That was apparently another fucking lie.
Sniffing, he could detect the rotting bodies of the rats and raccoons he had caught in the graveyard. Unfortunately they would be listed on the menu as the 'Too little, too late special.'
So Spike did what he always did. He drank. He still had several stolen bottles of Jack Daniels and he opened them all. The last five days had then been a cycle of drink, drunk, wake up and start again.
His hope had been to die of starvation in a drunken stupor and put an end to this miserable, pointless existence that had become his unlife. Yet here he was. Still around. He moaned as he remembered smashing the last bottle of the last case.
'Guess the fuckin' universe ain't done with me yet. Shit!'
Spike continued to lay there as the fog in his agonizing brain tried to clear. When it did, he attempted to sort through what was real and what were vague alcoholic dreams.
He thought he heard a woman screaming several days ago outside his crypt, but shit, graveyard in Sunnydale, so even if that really happened, no big deal. He vaguely remembered the Slayer trying to force him to go help her, again. He told her to piss off, again.
Spike frowned. He thought for a moment that she had offered him a blow job if he would help. Immediately he disregarded that. Most likely a dream and even if it really did happen, she would just renege. He clearly remembered
refusing. 'Fuckin' Slayer could be such a cock tease.'
His next memory was of a dream He was creeping through a dark tunnel. He was happy, he was loved and he was in a sexually charged atmosphere. He could hear dance music in the background and he was having the time of his life.
Spike was certain that was an alcoholic illusion.
He knew there was no way it could have happened. There wasn't enough blood left in his body for a respectable hard on. He sighed at the waste of a decent wet dream.
One other niggling thought came to him. The fearful possibility that he had done something as stupid as making a wish.
A violent shudder racked his body. No, he decided, he would never be drunk enough to do something that stupid.
Rubbing his dirty hand over his painful forehead, he left streaks of fingershaped grime across his face as he conceded that whatever was dream or reality didn't matter.
Using the last bit of strength he could muster, Spike gripped the edge of his ratty old easy chair and pulled himself up into it. He sat there for a moment and finally pried his matted, crusty eyes open and looked around at the squalor he had created.
The crypt was as bad as any had gotten, but he no longer cared. He wondered if anyone would come along and clean it, sweeping aside the small pile of dust that laid in the center of the floor.
They would probably think local kids had been using the place to party. They would never know that a one hundred and twenty year old vicious Master vampire had lived and died here.
Spike sighed as he slumped into the soft, worn cushion of the chair. He thought about his life before he was turned. He smiled. He hadn't talked about his mother in more than fifty years. He wanted to. He longed to but there was no one who was interested.
Angelus had slapped him across the face one night telling him that no one wanted to hear his whiny little stories about a feeble old white woman unless she was being fucked or eaten. Dru had thought that was the funniest thing she had heard in years.
Spike's brain still felt as though it were being shoved through a meat grinder but he forced himself to go on. If this was to be his last night, he needed to remember it all.
He chuckled as he remembered waking up after Dru's attempt to turn him. As usual she had lost interest half way through the process and Angelus had to finish it by offering his own blood. Spike had always thought that made him special.
A childe with two parents in this day and age was almost unheard of. Not that it mattered now. Where were they when he needed them? No, Spike shook his aching head. He couldn't blame them. He could have moved on at any time.
He should have left Sunny-fucking-dale years ago. It was no one's fault but his own that he was in this situation. Depression had him holed up here instead of out killing and feeding like any self respecting vampire.
It certainly wasn't fear of Buffy that kept him from slaughtering the population. And it wasn't like he was trying to impress her or make her love him.
"Oh, FUCK!"
Spike bellowed, listening as his curse bounced off the stone walls and echoed back to him in a hollow empty, mocking sound.
Throwing his head back, Spike's hoarse voice cracked and broke as he tossed out his final challenge to the cruel fates that toyed with him so unmercifully. "Send me a fuckin' sign. Last chance or I walk off into the morning sun. I'm done you bastards. You fuckin' win."
Dropping his face into his hands, the tears fell as he whispered. "You fuckin' win."
Silence. Apparently fate couldn't even give him the respect of one last response. Dragging himself to his feet, Spike snorted and staggered to the door of his crypt. For one frightening moment he was afraid he didn't have the strength
left to push back the solid stone door. Relief flooded through him as at last one forceful shove and it slid back just enough for a very thin, very weak vampire to squeak through.
Leaning with his spine against the outside wall, he slid slowly down till his butt rested on the cold damp ground and he closed his eyes to wait for the healing rays of the morning sun.
"Spike? Jesus, Spike, what the fuck happened to you? I'm sorry, I didn't think I hit you that hard."
Spike's eyes popped open as he felt the warm arms scoop him up.
Part Forty
7 pm. Friday evening. Xander Harris is out of time.
Xander felt guilty as hell over what he had just done but knew there was no other way. If he had tried again to reason with Spike, well, it was Spike so there was no reasoning.
If he had just sneaked out, Spike would have located him through the tracking device in the bond the second the sun went down and dragged him back home.
No, he had given it a lot of thought. Allowing a plan to formulate and grow while pretending to watch hour after hour of sports and stupid sitcoms and he knew exactly what he wanted to do. The how had been more challenging to work out than the why.
By six pm he knew he had to make his move. He desperately wanted to see one more sunset, burn it deeply into his memory to carry with him for the coming dark years that he would walk the earth.
At first he worried that he had no access to a weapon. Nothing hard and heavy enough to incapacitate a vampire without doing him permanent damage, then he remembered the far corner of the bathroom wall.
It was crumbling brick and he had more than once bitched to the landlord to come and fix it. He was now very grateful that the lazy bum had put him off with a million excuses.
Prying one of the larger blocks out of it's spot, Xander had waited for what seemed like hours till Spike came looking for him. He had hidden behind the door, and before he could second guess himself, he swung, landing a blow that turned the vampire's lights out quicker than a toggle switch.
He left a note. He really didn't want his master to worry so he had explained it all in as few lines as he could manage. It had read:
|
Spike, |
As soon as he left the apartment, Xander had walked to the park down the street. He sat on one of the swings and remembered coming here with Willow when they were children. It seemed like a million years ago. He hoped Willow would still love him but if she didn't it was all right because the only acceptance and love he needed was Spike's.
Lifting his head, he tipped his face back and felt the heat of the late day sun warm him. It was glorious. A light breeze rustled the leaves in the trees and cooled his skin raising hundreds of goose bumps up his arms till the wind died away and the sun's rays again melted them.
He watched the children that played on the monkey bars and slides. They laughed and screamed with the excitement of someone who has no worries in the world. They are just spending time, waiting on a future that offers them all the wonders and opportunities the human world has to offer.
Xander smiled. It was like he was on the outside of a bubble looking in at a reality that was not for him. Surprisingly, it didn't upset him. He had spent his whole life living outside that bubble.
He had spent years circling and trying to find the door, an entrance that would allow him to enter and live inside like everyone else. Slowly he had come to realize that maybe he was not meant to step inside. The bubble had a locked door and Xander did not have a key.
As the afternoon wore on, the children went home. One by one, mother's, brothers, sisters all appeared, collected a small hand and took them down the path to the safety of their houses. Away from the terrors of the darkness. Home to safety, supper, warm baths and warmer hugs.
Xander continued to swing, watching as the sun dipped lower and lower in the sky, painting a picture in deep red streaks. It looked as though someone had smeared blood across the clouds in honor of his coming demise. Xander smiled, bolstered by the thought. He wasn't afraid. Much.
He would have much preferred to have Spike do the honors. End his old life and begin his new one, but it didn't seem to be an option. The vampire's promise of 'tomorrow' rang false and Xander felt driven by an overwhelming urge that told him it must be now.
Destiny had dictated it be tonight.
As the last of the blazing sun dipped behind the horizon, Xander hopped off the swing and stood on his tip toes not wanting to miss any of it. His last sunset. His last day. His last.
And it was over.
The sky was dark, the playground deserted and Xander was alone in the silence of the night. He wondered if it was the bond that caused the separation anxiety he was feeling. A need to rush back to Spike's side and close the physical space between them. No, he knew he had come too far to turn back now.
With a sad smile, Xander turned and walked away. Across the playground path to the sidewalk, he checked his watch and estimated he still had a couple hours before the demons of the night came out to prowl. Hours before Buffy would be doing the same. It was time he would use well.
Walking down 6th street, Xander headed for the high school. It wasn't a place that held particularly brilliant memories for him but it was a place that had been the center of their world for four long years.
It was where he lost his innocence the day Buffy showed up and the world tipped on it axis. He had volunteered for a job that should never have been his and he didn't regret a minute of it. As much as he had struggled and failed, they were the best years of his life. Years of almost belonging. Nearly piercing the outer shell of the bubble. Having friends, sharing secrets, fighting the good fight and being someone who mattered.
It was also important for another reason. It was the first time he had ever seen Spike. Angel's big ass had tried to hand him over. Oh, he had said later on that he really wouldn't have done it, but Xander knew better. He laughed about it now and wondered if Spike remembered too.
Standing there staring, Xander jumped in surprise when a dozen huge security lights all snapped on flooding the perimeter in a blue-white illumination. He decided it was time to move on.
Walking, casually strolling, Xander reached the edge of town. The poor section jokingly referred to as Welfareville. The part of the city he grew up in. Home. Heading directly for the brown shingle house with the sagging roof, Xander turned
and walked up the drive.
He stopped short of knocking. He avoided the broken door bell. There was nothing he wanted to say to them and he was sure he didn't want to hear anything they would say to him. Instead, he just looked. Standing outside the window he watched them.
They were sitting in front of the television. Both had the ever present beer in their hands and they were laughing at whatever antics Sienfeld and his friends were up to this week. Xander smiled and chuckled with them. There was no hate in his heart for them, only disappointment and sorrow at what could have been.
Looking again at his watch, he realized it was well after ten pm. Turning his back on the domestic picture of the Harris', he headed for the Longview Cemetery. He had a good feeling about the horse thieves corner. It would be a soothing place to die.
It was a beautiful night. Just cool enough to need a light sweater but no hint of rain. There was a quarter moon that made it hard to see, but then he had been here so often, he knew his way around by the feel of the head stones.
He had just reached the first row of crypts when he saw him. A small crumpled figure slumped against the side of the Jimson family mausoleum.
"Damn" Xander mumbled as he hurried over. "Fucker got my vampire bite. Shit. I knew I shoulda got here sooner."
The closer he got, the more the feeling of doom and gloom descended over him. Something was wrong. The mud streaked blond hair struck him first. The black leather confirmed what his eyes couldn't believe.
Xander rushed up to the man and dropped to his knees.
"Spike? Jesus, Spike, what the fuck happened to you? I'm sorry, I didn't think I hit you that hard"
Xander immediately scooped his beloved vampire up and cradled him in his arms.
| Back | Index | Next |
| Feed the Author |
