Modus VivendiBy Wiseacress
Chapter Fifteen
He only meant to lie down for a few minutes, but when he woke up it was dark. He had a moment of complete placeless panic, and then there was a tap at the door and he realized that was what had woken him in the first place. He was back in his apartment, and someone was knocking at midnight. Bony Nose.
No. He was in the Hyperion, he was safe. Calm down.
He sat up, rubbed his hand over his face, and wondered where the Demerol was. No—the Tylenol. T3. Whatever. Where was it? Never mind, there was someone knocking.
"Yeah?"
The door opened slightly, and a bar of light from the hall cut across the floor. Angel was standing there, looking indirectly at him. He had his coat on.
"I'm going out for a while. Just wanted to let you know, in case you woke up while I was gone."
There was no clock, but Xander looked for one anyway. Then he looked at his wrist; no watch. He settled for gesturing at the window. "I've been kind of...out of it. Sorry."
"It's fine. You need the rest." Angel started to pull the door closed, and Xander turned and swung his legs off the bed. His knee moaned. Where were the drugs?
"Where you going?"
Angel paused, then opened the door and stood in the frame, watching Xander test his feet. "Back to Spike's. I need to talk to him, and there is some chance he's in danger. Mostly I just need to talk to him."
Xander nodded, staring at his toes. "You going to bring him back here?"
Angel was silent for a minute. "Do you think I should?"
"Hell, I don't know. I'm just asking."
"How would you feel about it if I did?"
"Pretty shitty." He patted his pockets, found the pill bottle, and pulled it out. God bless whatever nasty had pounced on Wesley, that there might be T3 for Xander. He popped the top and shook a couple into his palm, then sat staring at them. "But I can't see just sitting here while he gets dusted by those apes, either. So...whatever. I'll be out of here tomorrow anyway."
"You can stay, Xander. You should stay until you're—"
"Thanks. But I kind of want to put some mileage between me and all of this." He took the pills, capped the bottle, and put it back in his pocket. "I appreciate the offer."
Angel said nothing, and Xander raised his head and squinted at him. With the light behind him, it was hard to see his expression. Not that he usually had much of one.
"And I, uh, wanted to say thanks for everything else," Xander said quickly, before he could lose his nerve. "For, you know, showing up. And getting me out of there. And taking a bullet for me. Two bullets. Thanks." He was immediately embarrassed; it ought to be eloquent, or at least not glib. He was thanking Angel for his life. He flushed and started to try again, and
Angel shifted.
"It's okay, Xander. You're welcome."
Probably Angel was just as uncomfortable as he was, and that was an odd kind of relief. Xander rubbed his face again and took a breath.
"You get the bullets out?"
"Yeah. I've been shot before, Xander. It's not new."
"You got a collection of musket balls and buckshot rolling around your desk drawer?"
Angel didn't say anything, and after a moment Xander reached for the bedside lamp and switched it on. It was too bright, and he winced and looked away. "Liv still down there?"
"Yes. Don't untie her, no matter what she says."
"I have no plans to, no. Did she say anything useful?"
Angel shook his head. "She seems convinced it would hurt Spike, or maybe just her. And in some ways she's probably right. Demons don't look too kindly on servants who talk."
"Servants, right. I'm feeling remedial; I don't remember ever hearing about humans working for demons before. Except Cordy and Wesley, I guess." He realized what he'd just said and blushed hard. "Not that you're a demon. Well, I guess you are, but not a real—I mean, it's different, you're, uh..."
Angel studied his thumbnail and let a polite pause draw out. "It happens. I've seen kids like her before; they drop in by accident, and they end up staying and working. They don't last very long."
"Did you tell her that?"
"I think she knows."
Xander rubbed the ache in his shoulder and smiled thinly. "Man, this is one crazy town."
"It's ten o'clock now. I'll be back by one, or I'll call. Don't untie Liv."
"Again, no plans to do so."
Angel pulled the door partly closed, and left. Xander sat listening to his footsteps go down the hall and down the stairs, and then across the lobby and out. The door banged behind him.
Well, he was awake and hungry. And he needed to brush his teeth.
He heaved himself up and into the bathroom, did the best he could with the soap and washcloth and his face, and swished around some mouthwash that looked to have been gathering dust in the cabinet since the late eighties. In the mirror, he was still thin and bruised, but not as pale. He didn't have such awful circles under his eyes. He wasn't grey.
Walking back into the room he had a brief fantasy of calling for a pizza, but he didn't have any money. His wallet was with his stuff, and his stuff was still in the loft. He should have asked Angel to get it. His credit cards, all his ID, his goddamned AAA card. Spike had probably bought a bigger TV, maybe a humidor for his blood, then cut them all up with Liv's ER scissors. Fuck.
Then the irritation ebbed and the true realization hit him. Everything he owned—everything—was gone. He was a T-shirt and a pair of shorts from desert asceticism. He couldn't order a pizza, he couldn't make a call from a pay phone. He couldn't even leave without borrowing clothes from Angel. And if he did leave, he had nowhere to go. No apartment.
Well, there was the Nova. With a quarter tank of gas and some failing belts. It wouldn't get him to Sunnydale, but he had some clothes in it, and his tools—thank God, his tools—were in the trunk. Sweet Jesus, that was something.
Slowly, he pushed himself away from the doorframe and started the trek downstairs. He was going to eat toast until he couldn't cram another bite down his gullet. Until he was jammed so full he couldn't move or think. Or at least until the bread ran out.
It was too bad Liv was stationed in the middle of the lobby, because it meant he had to stump down the stairs with an audience. He gripped the railing with white knuckles and tried to go Zen about it, forget she was there, just focus on the next step, the next step, the bitching in his knee, the next step. He was breathing heavily when he got to the bottom, and neither of them had said anything. He started to limp past her to the kitchen.
"Is there anything to eat?"
He paused. "Toast." Silence, and he ground his teeth and forced himself to turn and look at her. She was sitting in exactly the same position she'd been in before, of course, but she looked drained. Pasty and tired and sore. "You want some?"
She nodded. "Yes. Please."
"Okay." He limped out.
In the kitchen, he sat on the counter to take the pressure off his knee, and ate three pieces of toast with Joyce's jam an inch thick. Strawberry something. Maybe rhubarb—she'd been rhubarb- happy a couple of summers ago. Good stuff. The loaf of bread looked pitifully small, too small to share, but he put a little less jam on the next one and stumped it out to the lobby. Liv watched him approach in silence.
"Here you go." He held it out and she leaned forward, bit out a huge chunk, and chewed fast. "Hey, don't hold back on my account."
She shot him a look, swallowed, and tore off half the slice in another bite. When she'd swallowed that, she spared enough breath to say, "I haven't eaten all day," then snapped up the rest of it so sharply that he jerked his fingers away.
"Jesus, it’s like watching Animal Planet."
"Can I have some more? Please."
He paused and smiled. "I'm having a flashback. What was the wisdom—'you'll just get sick'?"
"Xander."
"Later. You can have more later. For now, just don't throw up."
He limped back to the kitchen, ate another piece, and made another piece for her, with a little more jam. When she saw him coming back with it, her eyes widened and the corners of her lips went up.
"See, I'm not such a bitch, is the thing." He held it out and she finished it in three bites. "If you choke on that, I'm in no position to give you the Heimlich."
"Thank you." She wiped her mouth on her shoulders, first one side, then the other. "I'd be neater if you untied my hands."
"Okay, hear this now: there will be no untying. Any further requests will just piss me off."
"I've been tied to a chair for a day, Xander. It hurts."
"I guess it does."
"I need to—"
"No. I'm not going to do it, so spare us both the agony, please."
She licked a little jam off her lip and stared at the floor. "Then can I have another piece of toast?"
"Maybe. In a minute. When my lumbago lets up." He lowered himself painfully onto the stairs, and leaned on the railing. He was tired again.
She sat still, watching him. Well, there wasn't much else for her to amuse herself with. He scratched his neck and yawned.
"I can go get it myself if you—"
"No."
Silence. Something creaked somewhere in the basement and he jumped, listened, and decided it was just the building settling. Liv hadn't registered it at all; she was still staring at him. It was getting kind of annoying.
"So you going to spring for the laser surgery?"
She frowned. "What?"
"You going to walk around the rest of your life with those tattoos? Might make it hard to get a job at Chase Manhattan."
She half-smiled, without much real amusement. "Tattoos aren’t that weird. Not the weirdest thing I've heard of."
"Man, I don't want to know what you've heard of."
"Branding, for instance."
"I'm serious—shut up."
She smiled and pushed the chair back on two legs. Watching, Xander had a sudden ugly desire to see her lose balance and fall on her head. She didn't.
"Angel's gone to see Spike." She wasn't asking a question; Angel must have told her. Xander nodded. "What's he going to do?"
She asked so simply that it startled him. "I don't know. Talk to him, I guess."
"Hm." She tipped a little farther back, gauged the distance to the floor behind her, and hung for a moment in space. He sat watching, waiting for her to let it fall, wondering what he would do when she did.
She eased the chair back down onto four legs and looked at him. Her expression was set, as though she’d just made a decision. "Xander, I really have to get back to Spike."
"Ah, man."
"I'm serious. That trip I took—I talked to someone. He agreed to meet with us."
"Well, that's certainly compelling. Hang on, let me get the scissors."
"He was in that group, the ones who made the chip."
Xander sat up straighter and stared at her. "The Initiative."
"Yeah."
"You met with an Initiative guy, and he agreed to meet with you and Spike. Why?"
"To fry the chip."
"To—" He sat staring at her. He was surprised for just a moment; then it ebbed and he was left feeling heavy and inexplicably sad. Liv stared back. She had dark circles under her eyes. "To…fry the chip," he repeated.
"Yeah."
"So Angel was right. That's your job."
"Sure."
He looked away and wiped his lips; his mouth was dry. "You don't—" He stopped. His hand was on his neck, and he dropped it. He needed a drink of water. "If the chip stops working, Spike goes Cujo. You know that, right?"
"If the chip stops working, he stops getting hammered every time he looks sideways at someone. You saw what it does to him."
Xander nodded vaguely.
"If the chip stops working, I'm finished. I take my cut and walk away."
"Your cut of what?" he asked, studying the stair beside him. "Spike panhandles to buy gum."
"Not anymore. Like he said, I'm good with the accounts. The chip stops working, I take my fifteen percent of whatever I've made for him, and run."
Xander touched his knee lightly; the bandage was still under there, beneath the fabric of the trousers. It felt bulky and warm. "Or maybe he just eats you."
She was silent for a minute, and the building gave out a couple more creaks. Old building. Creepy, the way they talked to themselves.
"If the chip stops working, Spike can deal with the plug uglies in his own way," she said. "He won't have to worry about them anymore. And neither will you. They'll be gone, Xander."
He raised his head and looked at her. "Dead, you mean."
She pursed her lips. "Maybe. After a while."
He sat for a minute, processing that. Then he pulled himself slowly, painfully to his feet, and saw surprise and guarded hope light her face. He shook his head.
"Don't get excited, I'm not helping you. I'm getting another piece of toast, and then I'm crawling back into bed and forgetting that you exist."
"Xander—"
"Oh, shut up."
He stumped wearily past her and down the hall, into the kitchenette. There wasn't much bread left. The jam was getting low, too. He put another slice into the toaster and opened the fridge, stared into the arctic void and wondered with some part of his mind what the hell he was going to do tomorrow, how the hell he was going to live from now on.
There was a creak in the hallway and he ignored it. Then there was another, and he glanced up.
Spike was standing in the doorway.
Xander stood frozen, one hand on top of the refrigerator door, the other on the counter. He couldn't think. Spike still had bruise stains on his face—not proper bruises, just the outlines of where they'd been—and a little mark on his lip where it had been split. He was in the Big Bad outfit. He was looking at Xander with cold dislike.
Instinctively, Xander looked past him for Angel. They must have come back together, Angel must have brought him, he'd said he might. That must be it. But it was too soon, Angel had just left. He couldn’t be back already.
Spike saw Xander's look, and turned his own head to look out into the hallway behind him. When he looked back he was wearing a mock look of surprise. Nobody there.
"Where's Angel?" Xander asked reedily, surprising himself.
Spike had his hands in the pockets of his coat; he shrugged and spread them wide. "No idea, mate," he said. "Not here then, is he?"
Xander swallowed and realized he was still standing in front of the empty refrigerator. He started to shut the door, then realized it was the only thing between him and Spike and held it open. Then he felt stupid holding it there, and closed it.
Spike watched without expression. When the door was closed he looked Xander up and down, and raised an eyebrow. "Swapping clothes with the poof, eh? Bad habit to get into."
Xander looked down at himself and felt oddly guilty for a moment. He wanted to say something in explanation or excuse, but he had just enough brain function not to do it. Instead he said, "How did you get in?"
Spike smiled. "Same way he got into my place. Slipped the latch."
"What do you want?"
"Lots of things." Spike took a step forward and looked at the bread and jam on the counter. "What are you eating, toast?"
It suddenly seemed like a stupid, childish thing to be eating. Xander glanced at the jammy knife and said nothing. He felt sick.
Spike smiled at him. "That's nice. Glad to see you've got an appetite."
Something was pressing into Xander's back; dimly he realized it was the counter, and that he must have been retreating. He took a breath and tried to stand up straighter. "Angel's gone to your place, Spike. To see you. He's going to be highly pissed when he finds out you're here."
"And here I am being so accommodating, saving him the trip."
"Wesley's upstairs. He'll come down—"
"Don't be stupid."
Xander fell silent, his fingers locked on the edge of the counter. Spike couldn't hurt him. He could hurt Spike, but Spike couldn't hurt him. His heart was jackrabbiting in his throat.
Spike took a step forward, and Xander looked past him to the doorway, gauging the distance. Spike noticed, frowned, and stepped closer.
"Where's Liv?"
If he tried to push past Spike and Spike didn't move, what then? He couldn't think. His eyes kept going back to the door.
"You've got her tied up out there, haven't you? While you're in here feeding on toast. That's not very civilized."
"I took her some," Xander said automatically, and then flushed. He tried to push off the counter, but Spike put an arm down on either side of him and didn't move. He was far too close, studying Xander's face with cold eyes.
"You took her some," he repeated. "Well, my apologies. You're a stand-up guy, Xander. You're a Boy Scout." His tone was acid.
Xander took a breath. "What do you want, Spike?"
Spike said nothing. He leaned in, his eyes hard and intent, and Xander's heart kicked into a sprint. He felt sick and hot and strangely giddy, and there was a part of him that wanted to lean forward.
He turned his face away. Spike didn't pause; he lowered his head close to Xander's neck and simply stood, not touching him, not moving. His mouth was an inch from Xander's throat.
Xander unlocked his left hand from the counter, made an awkward fist with it, and lifted it to Spike's shoulder. He pushed. It wasn't a punch; it was a push. Spike let himself be pushed back a bit, and when Xander turned his head again he saw that Spike was in game face.
Xander's heart skipped a beat, then another, and he swallowed hard and looked down, away from the yellow eyes. Spike couldn't hurt him. Couldn't bite him. A line of cold sweat ran down Xander’s ribs.
"You're afraid of me." It was impossible to read Spike's tone; was he satisfied, gloating? He must be. What else could he be?
Xander stared at his feet and said nothing. After a moment Spike stepped back, the demon stowed, and suddenly Xander couldn't smell cigarettes or booze or leather or Spike anymore. He hadn't realized he'd been smelling it. He had an odd warm feeling in his stomach and spine.
Spike studied him, sniffed, and smiled. "That's right," he said. His tone was bitter and satisfied.
"What's right?" Xander asked faintly.
Spike said nothing. Then he lifted one arm and his fingers were in Xander's hair. Xander stood still, staring at the knife, but the warmth in his stomach was in his groin now.
"I could have you," Spike said. Gloating tone.
Xander blinked hard and tried to breathe. "You and what army?"
Spike laughed, a genuinely amused laugh, and the fingers curled and pulled at his hair, and Xander finally reached up and pushed them away. Spike stepped back and regarded him with a smile.
"You're a caution, you are. Think you're being noble or something?"
"Get out, Spike."
"I plan to. Just have to collect my investment, and I'm off." He took another step back and raised an eyebrow. "Sure you don't want to come along?"
"You can't take Liv."
Spike smiled a little wider, then turned to walk out. Xander pushed off the counter and grabbed his arm.
"You can't take her." If he untied Liv, they were back at square one. They'd disappear into the night, and when Angel got back Xander would be sitting next to a bunch of rope and toast crusts, looking like an idiot. Or maybe not. Maybe once Liv was untied, Spike wouldn't give him a choice about coming along.
Spike looked at Xander's hand on his arm, then up at Xander's face. He smiled unpleasantly. "Thought you were being noble."
Xander's right hand was in a fist at his side, but there was no way he was throwing any punches with it. For a minute he just stood there, holding onto Spike's arm and breathing hard, wondering what happened next. Maybe if he stalled long enough, Angel would get back and sort this out. Yeah, maybe.
"Just get out, Spike. Before I rip my stitches on you."
Spike's eyes widened a little, and his smile grew. "Oh, that was good. Now say it again in a manlier tone."
"I'm serious, Spike."
"Yeah, like that. Keep doing like that and they'll never find out you're a fairy."
Xander made a small involuntary sound of disgust and rage, and yanked Spike sideways into the counter. He lost his grip and almost his feet, had to grab at the wall to stay upright, but Spike didn't take the opportunity to walk out. He stayed leaning where he'd been thrown, his eyes bright and furious, grinning.
"Did you learn that from the poof? He always liked tossing people about."
"Spike—"
"'Course, you're getting the edited-for-telly version. In my day, if you spent the night in his tender care you didn't walk for a week afterward."
"I don't—"
"Spare the rod and so on. Though I think his interpretation strayed from the Biblical."
Xander turned away and stared at the baseboard. "Shut up."
There was a brief silence, while Xander tried to catch his breath and not think. His mouth tasted foul, and he felt queasy and light-headed. He heard Spike stand up and straighten his clothes.
Xander put his hand against the wall, stared at it, and then pushed himself around until his back was braced and he was facing Spike. He wanted to give up. Just sink down the wall until he was sitting on the floor. Curl up and sleep. Let Spike take Liv, let them both disappear, whatever, it was easier and better and cleaner than this, and he was so tired of feeling dirty.
"Spike," he said, and stopped.
Spike was watching him with hard eyes and a slight nasty smile. He was still beautiful. Staring wearily at him, even hating him, Xander had to admit it. He still wanted Spike. In some dark rotten corner of his mind, he even knew why Angelus had turned William in the first place. He was beautiful. How could you see him and not want him?
"Look—" he said. Spike raised an eyebrow, and the smile seemed to go from nasty to...guarded. There was something different in his eyes, too. Hard to say what, exactly.
"Spike!" It was Liv, calling from the lobby, and Xander jumped. Of course she knew Spike was here; she'd heard his voice, maybe even seen him in the hallway before Xander had.
Spike's face closed over, and he just looked annoyed. "In a minute," he shouted back. He didn't take his eyes off Xander. When Xander didn't say anything immediately, he made a prompting gesture with one hand. "Yeah?"
Xander stared at him. What was he going to say? I'm sorry, I hate you, come here. It made no sense. None of it had made any sense, from the start. He couldn't see how to say any of it, and dimly he knew that tomorrow, in the cold clear light of day, he'd wonder why he'd even wanted to.
"Spike?" It was Liv again, her voice sharp and edgy. Spike scowled, put his head back, and bawled, "In a minute!"
"No," she yelled back. "Now. Right now—there's someone—"
They both heard the front doors open.
"Angel," Xander said automatically, flooded with relief.
"No," Spike said. "That's not Angel."
"Then who—" He was talking to himself; Spike had already pushed past him and gone out. Xander hesitated an instant, his mouth dry and a strange cold vibration building in his belly. Then he knuckled off the wall and followed Spike out.
He entered the lobby just as Bony Nose was walking through the door, then turning back to hold it open for someone else to come in. Someone small. A small brown woman in a pink dress and sandals. She glanced at Xander and the cold vibration in his belly turned to a glossy smooth pain, as if something inside him wanted to swell and rupture.
Tan and Bullet were already inside, looking around the inside of the lobby with appreciative expressions. They didn't seem to notice Spike, who was standing in plain view a few feet from the hallway entrance. They didn't seem to notice Liv, either.
The woman raised a hand and pointed at Xander, and said something to Bony Nose. He said something back—a couple of words, haltingly. It sounded a little like Russian, a little like a chest cold. She looked back at Xander and frowned.
Bony Nose seemed shorter, and not as wide. He looked at Xander without interest, almost without recognition.
The pain in Xander's belly rolled and he grabbed at the wall, wondering whether he was going to throw up. Then it was gone, as suddenly as it had come, and he stood splay-legged and cold and shaking, staring at Bony Nose.
"Spike—" Liv was pulling at the ropes again, more urgently now. From where he was standing, Xander could see how the blood had run down from her wrists and stained her hands.
"'s all right," Spike said, staring at the little woman. "Saves us some trouble looking, doesn't it?"
Liv didn't reply, just worked the ropes a little harder. They held.
The little woman said something else to Bony Nose, and he shook his head. She shrugged and made a desultory gesture with one hand, then tucked her dress around her knees and sat down on the step. Her face was calm. She looked entirely human.
"You know who we are, right?" Bony Nose said to Spike.
Spike walked forward a few steps, until he was standing just behind Liv's chair. "Got some idea, yeah. Don't think I got your name."
Bony Nose ignored that and looked past Spike at Xander. "He give you the message?"
Spike glanced back too, very briefly. "Oh yeah," he said, turning back to Bony Nose. "Bang-up job on the knees, incidentally."
Bony Nose frowned. "You got the message?"
"Such as it was. Want me to tell it back to you?"
Bony Nose paused, then looked back at Xander. "What did you tell him?"
Xander stood frozen, staring at Bony Nose. He had a terrible feeling that something was cycling up, like a machine set in motion somewhere just out of sight. A machine with just one purpose. He couldn't force his mouth to speak.
"Jesus Christ," Bony Nose said. "You were supposed to give him a message. Pretty fucking simple message." He shook his head, then turned his gaze to Spike and pointed at Liv. "That’s got to stop."
Spike frowned.
"Spike—" Liv said again. Her voice was quiet and desperate.
"Just a minute," Spike said. "I never got any message about that."
Bony Nose jerked his chin at Xander. "Yeah, tell it to your buddy there. I gave it to him four times."
Spike turned and looked at Xander, and Xander shook his head wordlessly. Spike's eyes narrowed.
"When did he tell you this?"
Xander kept shaking, and finally found his voice. "He didn't—he never—"
Spike turned back. "He says you didn't give it to him. I never got it. So we call it even, and next time pick up the bloody telephone, mate."
Bony Nose shook his head ruefully. "No, man, it doesn't work like that."
"I'll tell you how it works," Spike said. "It works with you and your boyfriends fucking off directly, and very nice to meet you, milady, but your presence is not required." He directed the last part to the woman sitting on the steps, and even threw in a small ironic half-bow. She watched him without expression, then said something to Bony Nose. He nodded absently.
"I'm really sorry about this, Spike," he said. "You seem like a decent guy, but—" He shrugged and reached into the back of his jeans, and Xander stood frozen, staring, while the machine whirled faster and Bony Nose brought his hands back around holding a gun.
Oh God.
Spike tensed, and Liv stopped moving.
"My employer's been more then reasonable," Bony Nose said. "You just can't do business like this. She’s got fucking tattoos. You’ve got her going around killing people with tattoos like that—that’s just…” He paused, looking at a loss for words. “You can’t just piss all over someone’s lawn like that."
"Spike—" Liv whispered.
"Just a minute," Spike said. "Just a minute, this is ridiculous—"
"Sorry," Bony Nose said, and raised the gun.
The explosions seemed to come before he even moved his finger, as if they couldn't stand another moment in the barrel. Liv's chair snapped back and broke on the tile.
There was a red spray on the floor behind her, like wine blown through a straw.
Someone was making a high light struggling sound. Xander stared at the spray across the floor, then at the dark oval creeping out from beneath Liv, the lights reflected in it as trembling points.
Spike said something, Bony Nose said something. Xander stared at the oval, at the bit of broken wood that had come off the chair and landed near his feet. She was right: if you dropped it, it broke. He hadn't thought it would.
Spike was leaning down, and then he was kneeling, his fingers on her neck and the other hand pulling up her shirt. There were two small neat holes in her chest, close to the center. He was kneeling in the oval, or the oval had grown around him; he was going to be covered in it.
Bony Nose was watching Spike sadly, the gun almost out of sight by his leg. The little woman had leaned forward and was craning her neck to see over the chair. She looked curious. Mildly curious.
The high thin struggling noise came faster, and Xander looked back at Spike. The oval had crept out further, and because the floor was old and out of level the oval was drawing out, reaching out like a finger, and soon it would touch Xander's feet. He didn't want it to touch him.
Spike said something quietly to her, and the struggling noise caught, held, started. Too fast. Like a little engine forced to run beyond its strength.
Spike turned and looked at him. "Xander. Come here."
He dropped his eyes to the dark finger creeping toward his feet, and didn't move.
"Xander."
He looked up, blinked, and then he was walking forward automatically. It was like walking through the barest inch of warm seawater. He couldn't kneel, so he put one hand on Spike's shoulder and lowered himself awkwardly to a tailor's sit beside him.
"Put your hand on her face," Spike said, and Xander sat dumbly, not moving. The struggling sound was Liv, he realized. She was staring at the ceiling, and her face was white and grey, and the tendons in her neck were standing out. Her eyes were round and bulging. Dimly, he smelled urine.
Spike took his hand and put it on Liv's cheek. "You're human," he said somewhere, from a great distance away. "Come on, you idiot, she's dying."
What was he supposed to do? He didn't know. He brought his other hand up and put it around the back of her neck, cradling her skull. Her hair was wet. She didn't look at him.
"It's all right, Liv," he said. "You're all right, you're going to be fine."
He kept saying it, and her eyes flickered over him once without recognition, then went back to the ceiling. The struggling sound—it wasn't breathing, you couldn't call it breathing—got faster and higher, and cut out again.
He waited for it to start up. Waited.
After a minute, he felt Spike stand up and walk away.
The room was silent. His trousers were soaked, warm and cool, and there was a terrible rich iron smell in the air, so heavy he could taste it.
He took his hand off her cheek, but didn't know what to do about the one under her head. If he took it away her hair would get wet again, and he had a feeling she wouldn't like that. Out of the corner of his eye he noticed that her shirt was still pulled up, and pulled it carefully down with his free hand. He left red stains where he touched it.
They were talking on the other side of the room; Spike was yelling, actually, and Bony Nose was being patient. The little woman had stood up and was waiting to leave. Tan and Bullet were waiting with her. From here, Xander could see that Tan did have the tattoo, right there behind his ear, just like the other two. He just hadn't noticed it before, or maybe he'd forgotten.
Spike told Bony Nose to fuck himself, and Bony Nose started to put the gun away but Spike's hand whipped out and took it from him. At first he pointed it at the floor, and he was telling Bony Nose he was going to kill him, and Bony Nose was looking sympathetic and nodding. Spike brought the gun almost all the way up before he dropped.
Bony Nose crouched down and collected the gun. For a moment he watched with concern while Spike writhed and retched and beat his head against the floor. Then he shrugged, stood, and went to hold the door for the little brown woman.
Xander sat quietly, holding Liv's head up. It was heavy but he didn't mind. He used a corner of his shirt to wipe a dark drop from her cheek. He had a sense of being useful, even necessary.
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