Sore - A Love Story

By Xanpet

Chapter Twelve

"How many chambers?" Asked Xander, staring at what appeared to be a throne room. This had to be a trick. He could see what looked like Cupid surrounding a figure, but it was like looking through a window covered in grease.

"Seven. Hepta means seven. We're in seventh heaven!" Spike teased.

"So one more." Said Xander ignoring him and checking off the tasks on his fingers.

"Yeah, this is Pepper's Ghost."

"Old pal?" Xander quipped.

Spike batted his lover's shoulder with the back of his hand, "Old Music Hall stunt, hardly sophisticated. A way of making something appear where it isn't. Like they say in the flicks, it's all done with mirrors." He reached out until he touched a surface and pushed. It swung away from him and they walked forward.

Each mirror swung on a pivot. "It's like one of those fun houses you get at the fair," thought Xander, "Only less fun." If that were possible. The route was labyrinthine, twisting and turning, this way and that. Spike was certain that the throne room lay in the centre.

After about fifteen minutes he'd had enough, "Sod this for a game of soldiers, let's just break the fuckers!" He snapped.

Xander looked at him incredulously, "Whoa, hold up there smash and grab! You know how many sevens are in that amount of bad luck?!"

Spike just laughed. "You're good for me, you know that?" He wondered if Xander had noticed just how well they were now working together. Six months ago, he would never have thought it possible, but now he could not think of going on without this man by his side. It was as if they were indeed climbing the Ladder of Eros together.

Xander took hold of Spike firmly by the shoulders. He studied the vampire's face intently. Spike's hair had lost most of its gel and now curled softly around his face. He pulled him in and kissed him long and hard on the mouth.

"What was that for?"

"Just in case." Xander looked at the mirror nearest them. "Look, still reflecting here." He commented.

"Still got a soul, still essentially human." Spike's right arm snaked around the waist of the taller man, his left hand he pushed into Xander's thick brown hair. The young man glowed, Spike decided. Even under death's pallor, his skin still carried the remains of a tan. His entire colouring was as warm as the Californian sun, from the dark brown of his hair to his chocolate coloured eyes.

Xander looked in the mirror at where his lover wasn't, but all he could see was the both of them. Spike's body ruffled Xander's, now dried, tee shirt, his right hand stretched the waistband of Xander's jeans and his left lifted Xander's hair. Yes, Spike was right there with him. He looked back at the Englishman and directly into those bright blue yet soulless eyes. Did it honestly matter?

"Does it bother you, the whole beast bit?" He asked.

"No." Spike shrugged, "I was never much of a man."

"And the evil?"

"Evil is as evil does. Selfish, unkind, criticising, false and cruel? Anyone can be them things and I won't say it's not fun. But it's an easy way to be, without remorse or guilt, and it can get bleeding boring. So, you look for the bigger kick, the grander plan, until you either make so many enemies there's nowhere left to run, or you go the other way and learn subtly, only to end up hiding in drains like The Master."

Spike looked angry, for a moment Xander thought he heard a growl but just as quickly, the vampire smiled and kissed him lightly on the lips. "You be my Jiminy Cricket eh?"

Xander didn't think he really had the credentials to be anybody's conscience. Spike's definition of evil had shaken him somewhat. He'd always thought of it in terms of White Hats and Black Hats, goodies and baddies. By Spike's reckoning the opposite of evil was a person who was selfless, compassionate, accepting, truthful and kind. That wasn't a person. That was a saint! People it seemed weren't good or evil, they did good and evil things and he'd done his fair share of both.

He glanced around at his reflection repeating ad infinitum in the many mirrors of the chamber. "Good Xanders and bad Xanders." He thought. However, in some places there seemed to be fewer reflections. "How come I reflect here but not there?" He asked pointing to an apparently empty mirror.

"No wall? Shitting FUCK! I must be brain dead along with the rest of me!" Yelled Spike, making Xander jump.

"What?!"

"We've been moving the walls! Let's just hope there's enough of the pattern left or we are royally buggered!" He took Xander by the hand, "Come on!"

Wherever they saw Xander but not Spike they knew to turn the other way. It became easy to tell which were mirrors and which weren't. A pattern definitely began to emerge, first round to the left, double back and round to the right. The arcs seemed to be getting bigger but the next bend brought them right up to the image of the throne room. It was a traditional labyrinth, seven concentric circles, which led them eventually to the centre of Heptamychaos. They rounded the last bend, the mirrored walls seemed to dissolve and they were at last in the Inner Sanctum.

Chapter Thirteen

The necromancer, Roberto De Silva Cassia, Orifiel, sat enthroned in all his terrible glory. His rich purple robes hung in swags across his broad shoulders and enveloped the chair. Xander stared at his face, unworn by time and marvelled at it. He'd expected a wizened old 'Merlin' style figure; this was a young man, little more than his own age and good looking to boot. The Cupid that surrounded him beat their wings in a gentle fanning action.

Xander felt it hard to look Orifiel in the eye. He dropped his head to the floor involuntarily, and admired the tile work. Instead of rough-hewn stone, there was a mosaic of purple marble with cloud like swirls of grey and black. A feint circle of gold could be seen, tracing its way behind the throne.

"Some prison!" Spike exclaimed mentally. The necromancer's magic was clearly strong down here. How long before he was out altogether? The Council had been right to panic. He gazed at Orifiel and thought, "He is beautiful." Feeling himself drawn towards the necromancer, Spike approached the throne as if propelled by invisible hands.

"Son of Lilith yet also of Eve, you abhor me with your presence." The sneering tone screamed of power and knowledge of supremacy. "Son of Eve yet not of Eve you have adulterated your body, infected it with this thing, you too are an aberration, unnatural, a thing to be despised."

Xander raised his head, "Hey, rude much? And who's the thing? You live in a cave."

"Xander..." Said Spike in a warning tone. He had found over the many, many decades of existence that insults were a good way of goading someone into making a mistake. He took another step towards Orifiel trying to place himself between Xander and the necromancer. "Now for some mud slinging of me own." He thought.

Too late, he realised his own error. Orifiel smiled and indicated the floor with his head and Spike looked down, his face filling with horror. He had crossed a sacred circle and was now within the hold of the necromancer's magic.

He tried to step back but De Silva shook his head, "I don't think so, Son of Lilith. You are strong, clever and brave. You have passed seven trials and you will be rewarded. I am going to cleanse you of the last vestiges of that which is called man. You will be pure in my sight and serve me at my rising. You will sit at my right hand when the separation is complete and together we will rule the darkness, as it was in the beginning and shall be again."

Spike didn't want to lose the small piece of humanity within him. Once upon a time he had seen it as a burden, something that made him somehow less of a demon. It drove him to act out in the most outrageous and vicious fashion in an effort to prove himself. But it was also what allowed him to love. He hadn't expected this when he'd agreed to do the job. He thought he had nothing to lose; now he was about to lose everything.

"Can I bring a friend?" He said stalling for time and all the while trying to step back out of the ring but the necromancer just laughed.

"I'd hoped for the witch. The great power I sensed but I suppose you will do. He however, is excess baggage. Destroy him."

The command seemed not to come from De Silva but from something far older, far deeper and far more evil. Ultimate Evil. Spike knew that, as true undead, this was his God and he could not disobey him. He turned to Xander and the young man realised to his horror that his lover was going to kill him.

Xander wanted to beg him, tell him he loved him, but instead he stood shock still and watched Spike slip into game face. He somehow suspected that nothing he said would bring Spike back to himself this time. No rough and tumble, no declaration of love.

Spike took Xander into his embrace and for a moment it seemed to be a ruse. He lowered his head and nuzzled into his lover's neck like he had a million times before. He licked along the collarbone and into the sensitive hollow. He held him in the same attitude as he had by the mirrors. One arm snaked around the young man's waist, the hand coming to rest in the small of his back. The other threaded its way into thick dark hair, "Yes Spike," Xander thought, "Love me." But then he felt fangs grazing his throat and the sharp prick as they punctured the skin. He knew Spike would drain him and he would truly die.

Pressed against his lover and assassin, Xander felt something hard and slender hidden in Spike's coat. "Is that a wand in your pocket," He thought, "Or are you just pleased to see me?!" He slipped a hand under the leather duster and pulled the wand from its protective charm.

Spike prepared himself for the final bite. He fought as hard as he could but Colin Hartshorne had been right all along. He was a beast, a creature of darkness; he was being tested and was failing.

He felt Xander's fingers under his coat but ignored them. It was no good he couldn't overcome the voices willing him to destroy his love both physically and metaphorically. He would kill this human and with him, the last vestige of humanity he had. He would remove himself once and for all from everything that was good. He punctured Xander's neck and felt something tingle under his lips. Xander's pulse. The sand had run out and Xander's soul was calling his life force home to him.

As the spell receded, Xander inhaled deeply and immediately wished he hadn't. The air was stagnant and foul and stunk of sulphur. It was definitely not for the living. Time had run out. He dragged the wand from Spike's pocket, and felt its evil. His throat burned, his eyes stung, his skin felt as if it had been scoured but he had to do this - NOW. It was no longer because he needed to be the hero nor even because it was good or right. It was for the simple reason that his lover couldn't. This wasn't for the world; this was for love. This was for Spike.

He felt the borrowed vampiric power start to leave him. With the last piece of vampire strength, he hurled the wand like a dagger. It sailed over Spike's left shoulder and the Cupid beat their wings furiously. For a heartbeat he thought they had deflected it but when they pulled back there it was, imbedded deep in the chest of De Silva.

The creatures screamed the cry of the damned. Orifiel's chest erupted in a sea of light and glory filled the room. In the beginning there was darkness but God had divided the light from the dark, the day from the night, the good from the evil. They still hung together by invisible threads, keeping the world turning.

But before even that was the word and Xander had called the word into being because that word was love. God was love. But he couldn't say it. He couldn't say anything. He was dead.

Chapter Fourteen

Deep inside the cold, unforgiving granite of the Mendip hills was a hollow chamber, encased in solid rock. There, Spike held the slumped and lifeless body of his lover and howled. Xander had died for him after all. Hartshorne's words rang in his ears, 'You're a creature of the darkness. You'll be tempted by the First and you will fail.' Now he was trapped and alone, sealed inside the rock, cradling Xander's dead body. He knew this was the end. They had saved the world but he had no way out. His body wracked with sobs until he could taste the blood in his tears.

It was blacker than the blackest night in that void. Even night vision relied on some light entering the eye. Spike was blind. He lay the body down as gently as he could and straightened it out. He ran his fingers over the arms until he found Xander's hands. He raised them to cross them over the chest and then he sat back. "I love you, you fucking stupid prick." He said, kissing his fingers and placing them briefly on Xander's chilled forehead.

He wondered how long it would take him to fade away. The vampires in chamber three could have been there for a hundred years or more. Maybe he should drain Xander while the blood was still fresh. But even if he could have brought himself to do it, what use would it be? It would just prolong his agony.

Other thoughts began to push their way, uninvited into his mind. The corpse was going to begin to decompose. His sweet Xander was going to smell and that smell was one of the most repugnant to a vampire. No undead could stand the smell of the grave. Nauseating terror began to take hold and he recoiled until his back touched stone. "Oh God, help me!" He begged. But even as he spoke the words, he knew no one was listening. Ultimate Good did not heed the prayers of demons.

Minutes, hours, days? He felt like he'd already been there for an eternity, hugging his knees and rocking gently back and forth. He would go mad from sensory deprivation before he starved. There was nothing to do but pray. He had forever to attract God's attention if only something could intercede for him. Maybe...? What if...? He said another silent prayer.

Spike was vaguely aware that he was no longer alone. "Show yourself." He snapped, "I'm not in the mood for pissing games." The chamber seemed lighter and he could make out an outline of a young man. "Who are you?"

"You call, I answer and you ask me who I am? You're not very bright sometimes, are you William?"

Now Spike could see the individual quite clearly. He was tall, slender, with dark hair, and pale skin. So pale in fact that the light seemed to emanate directly from his body. His eyes were also pale. Neither blue nor grey but rather silver and Spike found they transfixed him.

"I am Orifiel, a Prince of Thrones and Angel of the Apocalypse. I am the Angel of the Wilderness, Herald for the Ending of the World, Keeper of the Gates of Paradise and your Guardian Angel."

"I have a guardian angel?"

"Well, yeah. You see your mother, was always rather into angels." The creature, for Spike was sure this wasn't a man, had a way of speaking that swung from the ornate and, quite frankly pompous, to the 'buddy down the pub on a Friday night'. For a moment, Spike was cross.

"Great job. Bet you got the Oscar." He sneered.

"Now there's no need to be sarcastic. I actually have better things to do than run around after you and even the omnipresent can't be everywhere at once!" The angel chided.

That just screamed for a cutting reply but Spike bit his tongue. This might just be a gift horse and he wasn't about to check its teeth.

"Anyway," Orifiel continued, "I did try to ward her off," Suddenly it wasn't the angel's melodic tones but Dru's, coming from his mouth, "That and burning baby fish swimming all round your 'ead." He looked mildly annoyed which, in one of the heavenly host, was terrifying. "A perfectly good protective aura and she sees fish! That creature's mad."

"So she's been told." Said Spike determined to hold his own even in the face of an angel.

"Okay, I know I tend to take my eye off the ball every now and then."

Spike threw up his hands in exasperation at that. He couldn't help himself. "Every now and then! Your first reign had men sleeping with beasts and building thumping great towers!"

"Actually that was my second go and the Son of God was executed in the third. My first reign was at the beginning of the universe, that's why De Silva chose to defile my name, not because I'm the Angel of the Apocalypse. Some call me Eros. I am there at the beginning and the end, but the middle gets tedious." The angel looked wistful for a moment. Spike really wished he wouldn't. Whatever emotion the Orifiel showed seemed to permeate the very rock around them.

"You called me but why should I help you? I gave you the gift of language and you squandered it on bad poetry. I gave you the gift of love, the greatest gift of all, and you squandered that as well. You don't want my help." Now it was Spike's own voice emanating from the mouth of Orifiel, "Might even find redemption. No, wait, not looking for it. Be redeemed? I bloody well hope not."

Spike knew he didn't deserve the angel's help; he needed it for Xander's sake. "Fine, I'm William the Bloody fool. Look I don't ask anything for me. I'm damned and I know it. But he.... Please, you don't have to resurrect him, just send him back up. He deserves a proper burial, with a marker. He needs to lie in the warm earth of his native soil not cold foreign stone."

The angel softened his attitude, "I'm sorry, I was harsh. I know we all foul up sometimes. Look at me, three goes at governing the world and they have me on gate duty. I'm a soul-check guy! Your appeal has been selfless and he died for you, made the ultimate sacrifice. That is powerful magic.

"Here's the deal. You will work for your redemption. I will not restore your soul, that stays where it is, but if, at the time of your destruction, you have earned it then I will negotiate with The Fallen for it."

Spike didn't respond, and there was more, "You will stop hounding and killing MY warriors and I will ask him if he wishes to return. I will not drag him forcibly from the arms of My Lord, he has already earned his place in Paradise."

Spike looked at the floor, "I don't have much choice, do I?"

"Oh we always have a choice." Said Orifiel glancing around the hole.

But the vampire knew he didn't, "I agree."

"Oh and one more thing, I think I'll take this." A sharp pain shot through Spike's skull and the angel was holding the chip in his open palm. "Now your actions are truly your own. Time to fly without the wires, boy. Ah, I think we have an answer from your friend." He reached out and gently stroked Spike's cheek and leaving a scalded trail in the wake of his fingers, "Well, good luck. I'll be monitoring your progress," He smiled, winked and began to fade, "But not too closely."

Xander was warm, like sunshine on a doorstep, or a bath by candlelight, or being hugged against your mother's chest. It was comfortable and without worry or fear. It was a rest well earned. But something nagged on the very edges of his consciousness. Something he needed to tell someone, something not quite finished.

Then he was being gently asked a question. If only he wasn't so warm, if only he could think more clearly. Maybe he should go. Was he sure? Well no…and yes. Yes, he was sure. He couldn't stay, he wasn't done yet and people were waiting for him. Most importantly, his lover was waiting for him. It was okay though; he'd be back, when it was time, when he had really completed...life.

Suddenly he was no longer warm. Infact he was distinctly chilly. He opened his eyes and sat up. He was in the car park of the Cheddar Visitor's Centre. The sky was pale with the hint of pre dawn and there was Spike, looking like he'd seen a ghost.

Xander fell into his lover's arms and held him tight. Spike was trembling. It both amazed and frightened Xander, "Hey buddy. It's okay. See, I'm okay. World not ending - yet again." But Spike buried his face further into Xander's chest.

"Um.... Look - O2 dependant again. Need some.... Like now!"

Spike finally relaxed his hold and they checked each other over the way only lovers do. Most of the injuries were superficial, bumps and scratches. Xander frowned at the finger marks burned into Spike's face. "I was touched by an angel." Spike shrugged by way of explanation. They kissed each other
passionately and walked to the car.

When they got to the door they stopped and Xander ran his fingers through Spike's hair. They came up bloodied. "Touched by an angel? Isn't that just a bad TV show?" He said but Spike wouldn't elaborate any further.

He wouldn't tell Giles or Colin either, when they arrived back at the house. In fact he refused to be de briefed at all and was his surly, belligerent self until they came to be paid. Then he refused any reward and stormed off to pack. Xander took the money. He decided he would find a way to share it with Spike later.

They were soon packed and standing at the door ready to go. Xander hugged Giles and shook Colin by the hand. He would have been happy to stay but Spike seemed anxious to get going. Heptamychaos, the tasks, De Silva and even dying, already seemed like a dream. His time as Clark Kent had been so short but he promised himself that the Xander who returned to Sunnydale was different. He felt more confident than he'd ever been before. He'd grown in the last few weeks he could feel it. He would leave behind boyish things and face life as a man.

"A proactive Xander - a Xander who's actively pro, or should it be proley active?" He thought. Whatever, he was taking control of his life. He wasn't going to be dragged by the tide of existence, tossed this way and that by people and events, because it was he who'd sealed the hole that Willow rent. He who had strengthened the universe and he'd done it through love.

Spike agreed to be crated for the return journey and Giles made sure that the final flight landed at night. No one questioned the cargo. The Council had a vast network of connections. It gave him time to reflect, alone with just the drone of the engines for company. He was happy to return to Sunnydale he decided. He had a clear purpose now, a reason for being that was larger than just being. And if Xander would share his soul with him, then he had a means of doing it as well.

He would never tell anyone about his meeting with the angel. The burn would eventually fade until it could only be seen in certain lights. It was a constant reminder of his guardian and Spike's promise to him.

The taxi dropped them both outside the Magic Box and suddenly the pavement was filled with their friends. Willow wanted to know about Heptamychaos and all the tasks, Buffy wanted to find out how Giles was and Dawn wanted to know if they'd bought anything for her. In the midst of the hubbub, there was a squeal of excitement from the shop door and Anya came hurtling into Xander's arms. She hugged him and kissed him, chiding him over the bruises, "You should have let Spike do the fighting, that's what he's for, after all. And you have lost weight. Really, the English don't know how to eat correctly. We'll have to alter the tux and where are the brochures for the Honeymoon?"

Xander didn't know what to do. He wanted her to stop until they could sit down alone and he could try to explain everything. He looked from one eager face to another and did the only thing he could think of...he kissed her. Everyone crowded round them and Spike slipped away. It wasn't until they were going inside that Buffy noticed he was no longer there.

---

Spike dumped his bags with a weariness born of a century of existence. Well, what had he expected? He didn't get the romantic interludes he knew that. He also knew that he was sore. He needed a wash, a whiskey, a smoke and bed. Not necessarily in that order. He striped to the waist. The bed frame creaked under his weight. He closed his eyes and drifted into an uneasy sleep.

He awoke when he felt a life force enter above him, heard the song of the blood. He didn't move however as the person descended the ladder and entered the lower part of his lair.

"What are you doing here?"

"Well it's a funny thing really," Said Xander. "Anya and I finally had that chat. Turns out she really was avoiding talking to me in case she let slip, that she'd been sleeping with her accountant since about a week after we announced the wedding."

"Oh." Said Spike.

"Thought she'd been queen of discrete."

"Oh."

"Didn't stop her from being majorly angry with me though."

"Oh."

"So she packed my things and I left. I apparently have little in the way of material assets; no fiscal sense and the financial commitment of marriage would seriously eat into her long-term wealth. One in three marriages end in divorce anyway, so it's the American thing to do."

"Right."

"I thought you were going to say oh."

"I thought you'd know by now that I never do what you expect."

They looked at one another and smiled. Xander sighed, "I love y..."

"Shhh. Don't tell me, show me." And with vampire speed, Spike tumbled Xander onto the bed. He was still weary. He still needed a wash, a whiskey, a smoke and bed. "But not," He reflected, as his lover ran his hot tongue down the groove between his pecs, "But not necessarily in that order."

~Fin~