Belonging
by RubyWisp
Part ThreeThe next night, Xander stared at the very tall, scaly, spiny demon standing in front of Spike, and wondered why he always got himself into these kinds of situations. He didn't bother asking himself how, because he knew how. It was simple. Xander opens mouth, Xander gets in trouble. Not difficult to understand, really. Or so one would think. ((Should have called Buffy. No, maybe not. Dusted Spike would be bad. Or would it? Yeah, bad. He's a pain in the ass, but I don't want him dead. Deader. Not undead any longer. Whatever. Should have called Buffy.))
Spike and the unknown demon - Xander supposed it was the mysterious Xruunas - were deep in conversation, hissing and gurbling and growling at each other in some demon language or another. Xander wondered how many languages Spike knew - he remembered hearing that Spike knew Fyarl, but other than that, he had no idea. After much - to Xander, anyway - incomprehensible noise, Spike nodded his head in satisfaction and walked over to Xander.
"Right, then. Let's go," Spike said, jerking his head in the direction of the cave entrance. He started walking away from Xander, rummaging in his duster pockets as he did so, no doubt looking for a cigarette, Xander supposed. ((Good thing those things can't kill him. He smokes more than anybody I've ever seen.))
"We're done? Already? That didn't take very long and he didn't do anything," Xander said as he followed Spike out of the cave. "I thought he was going to help you get your chip out. Or at least throw you around some for daring to ask him to help you."
Spike chuckled. "I appreciate the concern, Xander; didn't know you were so interested in havin' me chip-free an' all. Don't worry; everything's goin' just how it should." He stopped and leaned against a tree as he lit a cigarette. Inhaling deeply, he started walking again, and glanced sideways at Xander. "Why are you so
interested, pet? I thought for sure you'd have run to the Slayer with your little tale by now. Why haven't you?"Hands deep in his pockets, Xander shrugged. "Don't really know, Spike. I can't say I ever liked the idea of what those commando guys did to you and the others. Killing demons is one thing - we meet, we fight, may the best man win. But the stun guns and the experimenting and the chip - it doesn't seem right. You ought to be able to defend yourself."
Spike stopped walking and looked at Xander, shocked. "You tellin' me you want me to be able to kill? 'Cause that's what it means, Xander. Hunting and feeding and killing. You know that." He was incredulous. Spike thought surely the boy had lost his mind, or was fucking with Spike's. ((Hey...)) "What is this, a joke? Where's the Slayer? You called her, didn't you? She's 'round here somewhere, waitin' for me to come out de-chipped so she can stake me?" He started looking around, searching for any sign of Buffy.
"Slayer?" he called. "You can come out now; game's up."
"Spike..." Xander tried to explain, but Spike ignored him.
"C'mon Slayer, I'm still harmless. For now." Spike grinned evilly.
"Spike," Xander tried again. "She's not here. Nobody's here. I told you - I'm not going to tell anybody. You'd be dust already if I had, don't you think?"
"Bloody hell!" Spike exclaimed, dropping what was left of his cigarette, and beating his slightly smoking fingers out on his jeans. He stuck his burned fingers into his mouth to cool them. He'd forgotten about his cigarette, looking for the Slayer. "Not a word, moron," Spike growled around his fingers.
Xander looked at the ground, at his boots, anywhere other than the vampire with his fingers in his mouth. ((Poor baby's got an owie. Oh, don't think that. Now there'll be laughing and that'll be bad. Oh, fuck it.)) He snickered, thought better of it, and then snickered again anyway.
Spike threw him the dirtiest of dirty looks, but Xander just shrugged and said, "I didn't say anything, did I?" And snickered one more time.
Spike briefly contemplated whether slapping Xander would be worth the pain in his head, but decided that discretion was the better part of not having a whacking great headache and kept his hands to himself.
Rolling his eyes in frustration, both at his inability to cause Xander pain and at Xander's daft brand of humour, he thrust his hands into his duster and sighed. "Let's go home and you can tell me all about why you haven't let those prats you call friends in on my little secret." Not waiting for a response, he turned on his heel and walked away.
Xander followed quickly, hands in pockets, head down and crossing his mental fingers in the hope that he'd have an answer not only for Spike but for himself as well by the time they got home. Truth was, Xander didn't know why he hadn't told Buffy what Spike had been up to that night in the cemetery. He couldn't explain it any more than he could explain why he'd invited Spike to move in after Spike's crypt was destroyed, or why he felt the need to defend Spike to Buffy lately. He just had, he just did, and he just didn't want to tell Buffy what Spike was doing. Xander checked to see if his inner voice had anything to offer on the subject, but it was silent for once. ((Oh, fine. Leave me to handle this on my own, why don't you?)) He was certain that if his inner voice had a face, that face would be wearing a smirk right now.
As Xander crossed the street, he realized that it was almost as if some part of him felt like he had to take care of Spike. Xander snorted softly at the idea of Spike needing someone to take care of him. ((OK, so maybe it's more like Spike needs someone who's willing to help him out once in awhile. Which is true - he can't exactly go get a normal job and earn the money to buy blood and he can't get it himself anymore.))
((For now.))
((Shit.))
((Shitshitshitshitshit. What the hell am I doing? I can't help Spike get the chip out! Chipless Spike means we're nothing but a bunch of Scooby Snacks. Oh, man...))
"Oi, whelp - c'mon, shift your arse. Don't want to stand out in this hallway all bleedin' night, waitin' for you to open the door."
Xander's thoughts were interrupted by Spike's complaint. He looked up to see Spike waiting impatiently outside the door to their apartment with a long metal pole in one hand.
"What are you doing with that? You gonna pry the door open with it?" Xander asked, a flicker of familiarity at the scene before him dancing at the edges of his memory. "I think your key would work better, Spike."
"I'll be damned!" Spike exclaimed, leaning the pole against the wall. "Why didn't I think of that? Oh yeah - I lost my bloody key. Consider yourself lucky that I didn't just break the lock and go right in. Why are you so slow tonight? I've been standing here for a good five minutes, waiting..." Spike trailed off as he noticed that Xander didn't appear to be hearing a word he said. "Xander?" he asked, noticing the far-away look in the brunet's eyes.
Spike's "I'll be damned!" echoed in Xander's head, bringing with it a cascade of rapidly-changing images that flickered in his brain like an old movie...
...Spike, wearing a red shirt and his ever-present duster, holding a pole like the one he'd just laid against the wall, saying "I'll be damned!" and tossing the pole away...
...Spike laughing as Angel, one arm wrapped tight around Xander's neck, grabs Xander's hair and pulls his head back with the other, baring Xander's throat in an ages-old ritual offering that sings and resonates to something in Xander's blood...
...Remembering the brief thrill that burned a path up his spine at the thought that with Spike's acceptance of this peace offering, Xander would finally have a Place, a Home, a Pack...
...And the breathtaking sense of rejection that engulfed him when Spike dismissed the (admittedly false) gesture and him with a well-placed punch to Angel's jaw, sending Angel reeling and Xander running out the door, trying to escape the danger of the fight and the disappointment at the way things had turned out...
"Xander?" Spike asked again, snapping his fingers near Xander's face, attempting to bring the day-dreaming man back from whatever reality he'd obviously slipped off to inhabit. "Whelp? C'mon, zone out on your own time, boy; if you don't get this door open, I *will* break the lock and be done with it." He snapped his fingers again and shoved Xander lightly.
The slight movement brought Xander back to consciousness. "What? Huh?" he said, shaking his head, trying to orient himself. "Sorry. Guess I spaced out for a minute. Why haven't you unlocked the door yet - lose your key again?"
Spike rolled his eyes in exasperation. "Told you I did already, didn't I? What the hell's wrong with you tonight?"
Xander dug in his pocket for his keys, found them and unlocked the door. "Nothing, Spike, nothing. I'm fine. I was just thinking about some stuff and got distracted," he said. He entered the apartment and flipped on the light switch next to the door. "What's that big pole for, anyway?" he asked as he went to his bedroom to put away his jacket and shoes, before going into the bathroom. He splashed some cold water on his face and washed his hands, trying to collect himself and make sense of the memories flooding his mind before facing Spike again.
"It's a good weapon, that's what," Spike answered, carrying the pole into his own bedroom. He took off his boots and threw them in his closet, threw his duster over a chair, and went into the kitchen. Taking two blood bags out of the refrigerator, he tossed them in the microwave and started it. When the microwave stopped, he poured the blood into his favourite mug, grabbed a couple of bottles of beer from the fridge and headed for the couch.
Xander came out of the bathroom and looked at Spike apprehensively. "I don't suppose there's any way I can get out of this?" he asked.
"Nope," came the decisive reply. "I want to know what's goin' on, Xander. I don't trust you any more than you trust me, and you are going to tell me why I should believe that you're not gonna end up sendin' the Slayer to bollocks up my plans at the worst possible moment." Spike stretched out lazily on the couch, propped his feet on the armrest and started drinking his dinner.
Fair enough, Xander thought, and went into the kitchen to find something frozen he could heat and eat for dinner. He wasn't sure, however, how he was going to explain to Spike what he'd learned from his little episode out in the hallway. He was even less sure that Spike would even believe him. ((Nothing's easy, nothing's simple, and I never know what to say - it's the overarching theme of my life.)) He grabbed a frozen dinner without even checking to see what it was and popped it in the microwave. While his meal heated, he took a beer from the refrigerator and drank it quickly. ((A little alcohol to help ease my way and loosen my tongue. Better grab another one; I think I'm going to need it.)) The microwave beeped and Xander took his food and his beer and went to face Spike.
---
That went well, Xander thought wryly, watching the laughing vampire roll off the couch onto the floor. Spike was laughing so hard tears were streaming down his cheeks.
Xander had been anticipating various reactions to his explanation that he felt compelled to help Spike because of what had almost happened the night the vampire and his pals attacked the high school. Hysterical laughter wasn't one of them. ((Should I be relieved that Spike isn't angry, or should I be upset that he thinks it's funny? And what's funny about it anyway? I don't think it's funny at all - it's disturbing, actually. I do NOT belong to Spike!)) Xander tried to ignore the tiny thing that whispered to him ((not yet, but you want to)) and waited for Spike to stop laughing.
And he waited.
And waited some more.
Finally, Spike started to calm down. The tears stopped, the laughter got quieter and eventually stopped, and Spike stood up and looked at Xander. "That's a good one, whelp. Nice joke, very funny."
"It's not a joke, Spike. I wish to God it was, but it's not." Xander sighed and leaned back in the recliner. "Maybe I'm wrong; maybe that's not what it is at all. Maybe I'm just a nice guy with a soft spot a mile wide that's big enough even for a not-as-evil-as-he-used-to-be-or-wants-to-be-again vampire."
Spike snorted derisively and resumed his place on the sofa. "Yeah, that's it. I think you've had too much to drink, Xander. Or mebbe you've been knocked on your head one too many times, I dunno. Any rate, the crap you told me about you belongin' to me is more believable than the idea of you havin' a soft spot in your bloody heart for me."
"Hey! No belonging!" Xander protested, sitting up quickly in his alarm at Spike hitting the nail squarely on the head.
"'S what you said, moron." Spike pointed out.
"The word belonging - or belong - or any variation on the theme never passed my lips, Blondie," Xander argued.
"Mebbe not, but it's what you meant. 'S what Angel was pretendin' to do, anyway - give you to me as a peace offering - and somehow you know that. We just got interrupted is all," Spike put his feet up on the table in front of him and lit a cigarette. Taking a drag, he continued, "'course, who's to say I'd have actually kept you. Probably just would have drained you and left your empty body for the Slayer to find the next mornin'."
"Gee thanks, Spike. I feel so much better now." Xander said dryly.
"Not anymore, moron. You're useful - told you the other night I'd turn you if I had a chance," Spike said, taking another hit off his cigarette.
"I'm not interested in being turned, Spike," Xander said.
Spike's eyebrow lifted at that. "No, you just wanna be claimed, right?" He grinned at Xander's blush, and cut him off when Xander tried to protest. "Don't bother, whelp, we both know it's true. Explains a lot, too. The blood, the place to stay, Buffy...you're such a good little minion, Xander." Spike smirked. "Other than the part where you're still alive - but you've got the 'taking care of your master' thing down already. I'm so proud." Spike sniffed dramatically, and then chuckled.
Ignoring Spike's antics, or at least trying to, Xander got up and went to the kitchen to throw his empty beer bottle and dinner container away, in an attempt to hide his conflicting emotions from the vampire.
Pride at the idea that he'd done a good job of helping Spike; resentment at the idea of being a "minion" and being teased; fear, anger and confusion at the idea that he wanted any of this, any part of it at all. Too many emotions to sort, too many thoughts racing through his head to be able to seize on a single one and examine it, much less to articulate a response to Spike's patronizing comments. He decided to ignore it all for now and just go to bed. Maybe some of this would make more sense in the morning, when he wasn't so tired. ((Too bad tomorrow's Sunday. If it was Monday, I could go to work. I need time away from Spike to think.))
As he walked past Spike on the way to his bedroom, Spike looked up at him and teased, "Going to bed? Shouldn't you be asking my permission first?"
"Fuck you Spike," Xander said as he went into his room.
As he closed the door, he heard Spike say, "Now there's a function of minions we haven't explored yet."
---
When Xander woke up the next morning, Spike was gone. Xander spent the day watching television, doing odd jobs around the apartment and wondering where Spike was. Spike's crypt was still un-inhabitable. He knew Spike hadn't done anything about cleaning or fixing it after Riley and Buffy had blown it up, but Xander couldn't imagine where else Spike would be spending the daylight hours. ((Not that I care. Nope. Not me. No caring about the whereabouts of the undead bleached one here.))
Xander knew he had a perfect opportunity to think about what was going on, but decided that for once he was going to be like the rest of Sunnydale and ignore the creepy things in his life. ((And belonging to Spike definitely falls into the creepy category.)) He contemplated going to the Magic Box to find the gang and hang out, but he didn't want to end up in another argument about Spike with Buffy; he considered going to see a movie, but there wasn't anything new out that sounded interesting. Finally he decided to just stay home with his beer and his television set. Nothing like a little familiarity to make a guy realize how much he's stuck in a rut, he thought, cracking open a beer and settling in to watch The X-Files movie for the fifth time.
Two hours and three beers later, he realized Spike wasn't coming home today, and went to bed. ((I hope he's all right and not a pile of dust somewhere.)) That thought promptly went on the "To Be Ignored" list and Xander took a shower and got ready for bed, all the while pretending to himself that he wasn't worried about the possibility of Spike being gone. ((Oh, shit. What if it was our talk the other night? What if he didn't like the idea that I think I bel - no, not using that word - what if he thinks I'm an idiot - nothing new there, really - but what if he decided to skip town because of that conversation? Damn, I can't even get an evil pain-in-the-ass to want me around.)) This train of thought was going nowhere except Insomniaville, so Xander added it to his rapidly-growing "Ignore" list, turned over and went to sleep.
When Xander awoke the next morning, he noticed Spike still wasn't back, and the idea that Spike was gone for good, whether by car or by stake, pressed itself upon his mind again. Xander tried not to think about it while he showered, dressed and ate breakfast. He tried to ignore the growing hole inside his heart that told him he'd been rejected yet again, that he'd managed to find one more place where he didn't belong. And that, in an ironic reversal of his situation with Anya - where then he'd realized that he had no desire for something he'd thought he believed important, he now craved something he'd never believed he'd want under any circumstances. Not that he was willing to admit it to anybody, not even himself.
Sighing in frustration, Xander grabbed his keys and his hard hat and left the apartment. ((Thank God for a job that requires enough energy and attention that I can avoid thinking about this for a little while longer.))