White Marble

by
Josie_H

Part Five

The angel stretched his wings tentatively until they were full span in a magnificent show of white but the rest of him was still fixed in place so he dared not do any more and simply folded them again.

By morning the wings had returned to stone, but if it was a singular event then it was still an event to be remembered. It really had felt… wonderful, matching the kisses and hugs he had been given by Xander. He was suspicious that the powers were again going to twist the knife so did not get his hopes up, but simply accepted the gift of the single night.

Spike lost the feel of his old friend the following day. The feather had obviously been discarded, or at best put down somewhere safe but at least he knew now that he had been purchased but was not sure by whom and assumed it was the hotel. There could be worse spots… although longer term he did wish that poisoning pigeons and seagulls was a national sport! He felt the warm splats of their excreta as they perched on his wings, shoulders and head.

He rejoiced as Xander came through the ornate gate and wished he could melt into the arms as the man stroked him with rather fishy smelling hands and whispered, “Hi honey, I’m home.”

There was no kiss, but the naturalness of the gesture and familiar statement made the dear statue thankful of the hand open on his heart. The pain was most definitely coming from there.

It was around midday when Xander finally rang his boss in the USA. Not wanting to do the wrong thing he agreed to finish the project he was on – the time frame eight to twelve weeks. Neville was less than impressed that he would lose one of his best project managers but had also seen the obsessive way Xander had approached work, constantly putting in extended hours for no pay and apparently using work as some sort of salve. Nev’s wife was the one who found out about the Sunnydale tragedy and thereafter, the foreman had been far more understanding.

The Italian trip was the first holidays Xander had ever taken – apart from the compulsory ones, and there had been no significant other or family in his life so far as they could tell - so when the young man related his excitement at catching up with friends and working on a fishing boat and his intention to return, the older man was not surprised. He quipped, “Wouldn’t be the first to find the love of your life in Italy!” to which Xander stilled and was unable to properly reply so simply said, “Thanks Nev… see you in three days.”

That afternoon he wandered Gajeta rather aimlessly. He found Marcos having a beer and joined him, losing dreadfully at Backgammon, much to the amusement of Marcos friends, before promising to meet the fisherman around one – their starting time determined by tide not clock.
He now had enough Italian to know numbers so smiled, threw 10 Euro on the table and kept walking.

He found Davina in the local market and offered to help her home with the produce. Most would actually be delivered, but the eggs and meat she was more than happy to accept help with.

They walked for a while in silence. “I have to go home… to the US I mean… but… um… I’ve talked to Illias and his brother’s a builder and I… well anyway… If I can get a visa to work – and I’m pretty sure I can… I want to come back… to live… Do you think that’s crazy? I mean… um... Gahhh! Sorry.”

Davina’s eyes sparkled with delight. She knew the boy was smitten in the same way she and her husband had been with this seaside town – though their circumstances were vastly different (UK BMW executive taking redundancy package, needing investment opportunity and wife deciding on hotel… blahhh blahhh) She patted her ‘project’ on the arm.

“You go and do whatever it is you need to do, but you jolly well keep me in the loop. Now we have three days to look around for rentals (I guess that's what you want), and you’ll talk to Illias – the weather will be so much better for the catch just after summer, assuming that’s when you’ll be back… Oh and what about your dear statue…?”

“Oh um...Ms D I really can’t afford to freight it at the moment – not if I’m coming back. I’m so sorry to bother… but can he stay in your courtyard until… well until I’m back? I’m happy to pay…”

“Don’t you be bloody ridiculous! The angel is beyond what the courtyard deserves… No … you go do what you need to do… then come back. Hubby likes you, bloody hell, the whole village likes you!” Davina then dropped her tone and spelt care and concern with every word. “Just do what you need to do and come back OK?”

The second night he was presented with a dark blue mariner’s cap – a perfect fit and lined in black silk. Illias placed it on his head ceremoniously as they wound the last of the ropes ready for the following evening. The speech was short, “Good boy… Davina says you back with us… work hard… boat is here, we here.” He was then hit hard on the top of the hat before being pulled into a warm hug and kissed on the cheek by the man he saw very strongly as a father figure. It was repeated with punches to his arm and slaps on the back but always accompanied by heartfelt kisses of friendship to both cheeks.

He found himself wandering up the hill late in the morning, money in pocket and smelling of fish as usual. He had a large package containing market fresh large sardines in one hand and the cap firmly on his head. With his longer brunette hair he looked rather like an older ‘Artful Dodger’. He grinned a little as he spied himself in a passing shop window. The decision was firm. He would tie up his affairs in the USA as quickly as possible.

It was the first time since the Scoobies at high school that he really felt he had a place.

He kissed the statue and told it of his intentions… that Davina would look after it… and that he would be back…

Spike was kissed and hugged and his wings emerged again than night… but a day later Xander was gone.

The days came and went… and came and went… and it rained… and the sun shone… and the birds landed on his wings and pooped all down the exquisitely sculpted feathers… and it rained and washed off the excreta and the water drops joined his own tears. He was glad of his open hand, not just that the birds could not perch on it – but that he could feel the subtle pressure holding in his grief. He tried to be thankful for small mercies… the warmth of the morning sun, the pretty garden, Mistress Davina who washed off the bird droppings bi weekly…

And so he waited. But as the months dragged on… he also began to wonder if the man could come back despite all good intentions.

Xander finished out his contract, was given a decent bonus for his part of the project but had to spend an extra two weeks with his own accountant and government officials as he tried to finalize the Sunnydale compensation. In the end it was worth it… but it was now close to four months away from Gajeta.

He packed frugally, gave the rest to charity and departed the USA for ‘an extended working holiday’. He would work out the ongoing Visa situation in four years time.

Spike had all but given up hope of Xander’s reappearance and Davina was constantly surprised in the mornings when it appeared that rain must have fallen on the statue… as the face always seemed to have drips on its chin.

In Xander’s absence - yet within a week of his return and with his full approval – the intrepid B&B owner rented him a property – a tiny one bedroom, ancient cottage just on the edge of town. It had running water, a wood fire stove, and electricity plus an instant gas water heater.

She moved the statue with a little grumbling help from her husband and the stonemason from down the road, easing it into the almost bare house.

Davina then busied herself finding friends and neighbours who could spare cutlery, crockery and some linen and curtains. An old bed from the B&B would have to do him for now as would the rather outdated bean bags and tired lounge in the front room. A folding ‘card table’ and two camp chairs was all that could be found for the kitchen, but to Xander it was perfect

Xander hugged the woman warmly as she proudly handed him the key and welcomed him back. He didn’t fail to notice that his statue was in pride of place at the window overlooking the harbor.

As she went to leave he pressed a tiny blue Tiffany box into her hand. An exquisite diamond pendant on delicate white gold chain was inside. She gasped at the generosity then melted into a warm hug and kiss to the forehead as the young man simply said “Thank you.”

That night, after being thoroughly kissed and hugged by his wonderful friend, Spike’s wings emerged again and this time were flexed, the feathery marks on his strong back also taking their true form and for the first time, the hair on the nape of his neck becoming real.

Xander was in the room on the uncomfortable lounge, but had fallen into a travel exhausted slumber, so missed the delight of his charge as powerful wings swished curtains, deep swooshing sounds accompanying several practice passes of the wings and a near smile indicated the coming to life of the face of the magnificent angel.

Part Six

Xander woke late the next morning, his neck at an uncomfortable angle but facing the most wonderful day! He was in Italy, in his own place (at least for now) and his angel was there too… inside… facing him… his wings illuminated by the morning sun and the surrounding glow emphasizing the ethereal beauty of the piece.

He resolved to turn the angel so it might look out the window during the day but felt genuinely surprised as he touched the statue on the wings. It felt… tingly and for a moment he forgot what he was doing to the point where he (to his immense embarrassment) accidentally brushed against the angel’s nether regions.

Instantly the the tingle shot straight to his groin.

It wasn’t an issue regards an attraction to men, he knew that bit; nor was it even about Spike, he had worked through thoughts of that attraction in the year after the vampire’s death… but the fact that this was his dear statue, an inanimate object that had no choice in the matter that made him feel he had violated it somehow. It was insane, he knew that but dearly wished the angel were alive to complain.

He apologized profusely and unhanded the statue, before turning it with platonic care to face out to the port, before heading out to find Davina, or Marcos, or anyone… real!

From his window Spike watched the man retreat and wondered what he had done wrong… The warm hand on his manhood had been… Wonderful! Delightful! Extraordinary! Amazing… and yet…

As Xander raced down the road, upset by his own perversion, he sent a humble prayer of penance and plea for forgiveness on the grounds that he loved the friend lost dearly and wished for his return.

The wish was placed, Spike shivered again as the wings emerged in all their soft glory and felt his nether regions stiffen and respond as he would expect if he were human! He thanked the somewhat privacy of the darkened room as his arms were certainly incapable of covering his arousal, much less deal with it. His wings extended and fanned gently, and his down-turned face softened enough that he was able to blink his eyes closed in frustration and desire.

His arousal slowly subsided and as Xander reentered the house, Spike was again cold and inanimate.

Four weeks on, the pattern was the same.

Xander would turn the statue to face the harbor before heading out to work for Illias’ brother Julius most days – his skills as carpenter more than a little appreciated by the builder. The money in repairs and renovations was better than new housing these days and he found himself enjoying the company and learning at least a little of the language (if only tools and expletives!). Of an evening, three or four times a week, he headed out with Illias and crew, often arriving home early morning to shower and fall asleep exhausted on the couch by his angel only to get up at eleven and do it all again. But it was a good life.

Spike was turned to enjoy the view as Xander left, then rotated to face the room upon the return of his dear owner… He had accepted his ‘object’ status when the whole ‘I’m marble’ realization happened… but now it was becoming harder as Xander treated him as the inanimate companion… and even that seemed to be shifting as ever so occasionally he tingled and became able to move some part. He just knew the powers must be playing him again… false hope… false hope… so dripped tears in private.

Oblivious to his statue’s pain, Xander never failed to turn the angel to face the room as he returned home, then talk to him as though the statue was alive, and Xander really did think of the house as ‘their’ home.

He had started out calling the angel Spike… then changed the address to Will (less harsh and still appropriate), though more often these days seemed to refer to it by numerous other endearments without thinking. “Hi Honey, I’m home” was the regular cry and always accompanied by a kiss.

More often than not Spike (aka Will) found himself blessed by a long diatribe from his wonderful friend. “Hey sweetheart… look what I’ve got! Fresh roses for my beautiful boy… they’re from Marie… you remember her… she adored you when she saw you! You know they all think I have a lover somewhere… just because I thought Carlotta a little ‘forward’ at Marcos birthday… If only they knew… Illias picked it though. The ‘batting for the other team' as you the vampire… Spike… used to say…” After which his friend would go quiet… There would be more chit chat and sometime later the statue given a cursory hug and kiss before he was left in the dark as Xander found his bed.

Exquisite torture.

It was after midnight on a Saturday night after a very long but successful week both on land and sea, and Xander was at Illias sixtieth birthday (as was half the town judging by the noise).

The curtains were still open and Spike stood forlornly at the window looking out. He waited, as he always waited, and hoped his friend would be home soon.

Xander had a wonderful night… and his Italian seemed to improve in proportion with his inebriation – at least that was the impression he got…

The most wonderful part of Gajeta was its small size (well that and the lack of vampires!), a trait that Xander had come to appreciate as he once more, made it up the hill to his home with one too many Ouzos with beer chasers under his belt.

Despite his state of inebriation he didn’t forget the day. It was technically now Monday, so the anniversary of the destruction of the Sunnydale Hellmouth.

He sat heavily at the foot of the statue. It was his reason for purchasing the exquisite piece of art in the first place… a tribute to those lost…

In the quiet, after all the reverie and cheer of the evening with Illias family and his own new friends, he remembered his old friends, and his own compatriots in arms. Many lived on, he knew that Giles, Willow, Buffy, Dawn… even Andrew… But then he recalled Anya’s quirky ways… and his unhappy parents, and Jesse, and the potentials who had died that night, and Tara with the bullet, and Willow’s grief… but most of all… surprisingly, most of all he remembered Spike.

Brave, loyal and loving Spike.

“I never told him… never. He knew though… I’m sure he knew… bastard probably knew ‘fore I did… ‘Gay me up’ pppfffttt... Hated him… but God knows!! I loved him too… Bastard… Still do… I loved you!! Wish you could hear me… Loved you Bleach Boy!” He yelled into the emptiness of the tiny lounge, hugged the legs of his angel and shed more tears onto the marble feet. The sobs were that of a deeply hurt and lonely person, a white hat who had fought for the powers for years without ever being ‘tapped’ officially. One who had lost family, friends and eyes in the process.

“Oh Will… Spike! I wish you were real… Oh God or goddess or whatever… pffff ::sniff:: miss you … Wish you were real.”

Xander curled up around the marble figure’s feet and fell into a light sleep. And the angel’s form awoke.

For the first time Spike could truly move… he rolled his shoulders, stretched his arms and extended his wings before tensing every muscle and giving a shiver of relief that positively shook the room.

He stepped from his prison, his low platform/pedestal, for the first time since his carving and stroked the marble and the man still sleeping on it. Spike gently lifted the unconscious man onto the couch, before kissing him soundly. The effect was electric and Spike found himself lying full length against the warm human, and covering them both with his wings.

Xander stirred but didn't wake. Spike wished he would, but it was not his role to do that so he simply contented himself with a stolen chaste kiss or two, and lying with their nether regions neatly pressed together.

The angel lay contentedly, his ear to Xander’s chest, simply listening to the thud of the heart… until dawn began to peak over the horizon.

Spike waited until it was truly light before kissing his friend and returning to his spot on the pedestal. He had no idea if it would ever happen again… but as his skin prickled and he began to shift form, two more feathers came loose and fell to the ground.

Part Seven

It was Sunday – everyone’s day off in the Italian village… and for Xander usually cleaning day – meaning he spent the day hosing off his work clothes before hand washing both building clothes and fishing gear in an old bathtub out the back with hot water from the fire an a long stick. It wasn’t so bad, the water was hard so the bubbles few and he simply pulled the plug at the end and put the lot through an ancient ringer he’d found at one of the building sites before hanging it out to dry.

Today he couldn’t quite remember how he had ended up sleeping on the lounge but shrugged it off as too much ouzo and beer the night before.

The trouble was he was on a timeline and would have to forgo his leisurely wash day. It was confirmation day at the local catholic church today and he had been specifically invited by both Marcos and Illias’ wives since the third grandson was being confirmed.

Everyone in the village, pretty much regardless of faith, seemed to know a child involved and therefore was going. He thought about making excuses – the only time he’d attended a church was for his own abandoned wedding so felt… awkward. But in the end he agreed.

He knew it was customary to take a gift and spent some time pushing around in the cupboard in the lounge until he came up with the prize. A mint condition New York Giant’s hat. It really was better to give it away to Illias’ grandson than keep it in his cupboard.

As he sat on the floor, he spied the two feathers near the base of the statue and wondered for a second time, how they might have come inside. He picked them up and as he stroked the perfect forms, could have sworn he heard a sigh from the direction of the front window.

Xander the carpenter would have been home all day due to a delay with the building materials, but had promised Illias that he would learn how to repair nets. He wasn’t needed that night, but it still felt good to help.

Illias’ grandson had apparently been more than impressed by the cap and the grandfather keen to show the photos of the event (that all present had actually been to!!)

Net repairs took most of the day, but it was warm and dry and also involved a hot lunch of homemade pasta, local red wine and quartered home grown oranges courtesy of Illias’ wife, Helena. The short sixty something woman added to the feast by giving her husband’s newest employee a heartfelt hug of welcome, before he sat down for his meal and thanked him sincerely for the lovely present he had given her grandson.

Xander felt strangely teary. He had had strange dreams the night before, and to feel so loved by a mature woman that he had definite memories of being five again - the ample bosom and generously given kisses to both cheeks, and the unequivocal feel of being hugged… he had forgotten that sort of simple joy...

He stroked the two feathers in his pocket as he wandered up the steep street… He wished his own angel had such soft feathers… then wondered…

The fishing boat didn’t need him for the night so he arrived home around sunset, after chatting to Helena and promising an apple and raisin muffin recipe in exchange for something to do with lemoncello. It was ‘Helena’s specialty’ apparently but he really wasn’t sure about the rest of the conversation as his Italian was still not good enough to keep pace with the rapid fire of Helena’s side of the discussion.

As he wandered in the door of his tiny home, he habitually turned the angel, very careful not to touch anything he ‘shouldn’t’, whispered “Hi honey I’m home”, then kissed his darling on the lips. And the angel truly had become that… His darling.

He fondled the soft feathers in his pocket as he gave the kiss and this time he was kissed back. He was almost sure of it… or maybe he was going crazy… He pulled away abruptly… and sat on the old lounge staring confusedly at the statue.

The red of the sunset behind the statue served to emphasize its inanimate nature and the pretty wings, so Xander simply gave his own face a good dry scrub, then dismissed his wishful thinking and went to pull in his washing before the evening dew settled.

When he returned with an armload of clean, dry clothing (some still bearing a slight au d’ fish!), he failed to notice the single tear drop that had splashed onto the floor at the angel’s feet.

Xander did his version of ironing. He folded the T-shirts, balled up his underpants, and paired the socks – well the three that were pairs anyway. All the while he kept glancing over at his silent white companion, but somehow the domestic task was calming and by the time he’d put away the clothes, tidied the kitchen and done a ‘quick slick’ of the bathroom, he had dismissed the whole kissing weirdness as his own silly imagination.

He went back to his usual chit chat with his angel as he made a simple dinner of poached fish and fresh bread with fresh greens on the side. “Hey Buddy. Wish you were really here… You’d laugh at what I eat now! And you know what… this stuff (well apart from the bread) is all free… Guess that’s what tonight’s been about hasn’t it… me still wishing you were here… you know… alive… or undead…”

He turned on the tiny portable television, watched an hour or so of a dubbed rerun of “Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom" then bade the angel goodnight and left him in darkness to crawl into a cold bed.

Spike stepped from the pedestal again, this time simply joining his wonderful owner on his bed, shifting just close enough to feel the human's heat without actually touching. He lay on his stomach with one arm under his head and let his wings relax down to rest, covering both male forms.

He was content to simply watch his wonderful protector sleeping. It felt amazing to rest for a time, not that his marble form necessarily needed it, but his new ‘real’ body definitely enjoyed the feeling of the soft, well used mattress and the down pillow.

He eased an alabaster arm over the torso of his friend and simply… was…

For the first time in nearly three years of his statue existence he must have fallen asleep, waking in shock as Xander’s alarm spelt the beginning of a new day.

Xander felt what he later suspected was the movement of another body beside him, but only caught a glimpse of white departing the room as he woke, blinked and rolled toward the door with a groan. It was too early, he was too tired and there was a string of very strange erotic dreams that he needed to try to justify to himself before worrying about imagined images!

His morning erection was particularly angry and dealt with in the shower - strangely the evocative imagery was that of one pale male with wings (?!) and was accompanied by the words “Will… oh gahh… Spike” to signal his release.

He dressed quickly and headed out to the building site Julius and he were working on for a rather pretentious couple from Windsor in the UK.

It was a pattern that would endure for almost five weeks. Each night the angel would depart his place of imprisonment and visit his dear friend, who never failed to kiss the marble statue at either end of the day, or talk to him when the human was home.

It was comfortable and predictable and oddly… normal for both parties.

Nightly Xander increasingly had dreams of a beautiful pale male lover, or of an extraordinary angel, or Spike, or his own dear Will suddenly coming to life… but none of it mattered really.

He worked, he functioned, he obsessed and finally took to having a hand towel in bed with him simply to reduce the wash load as he found himself waking either spent or spending. The only odd thing was that upon waking, Xander was sometimes surprised to feel his neck a little wet or lips swollen as though having been kissed or laved. He said nothing to anyone however, feeling too embarrassed by the vivid dreams and physical reactions to say anything.

Davina was the first to notice the shift.

During the period of six weeks, the quiet American, who was always so polite and normally cheerful, seemed to have taken on an even more melancholy demeanor, and though still very sociable, chose to withdraw to his house rather than associate with his colleagues and the people he had come to know as friends. She worried. In all honesty she had planned to introduce him to a few prospective partners in the next month or so.

She knew his gender preference, but now suspected that his shift from the USA was more than the tragedy of years past. She decided it must have been a failed love affair, and his current behavior more a confidence issue related to a harsh breakup than anything else.

She spoke to the wives. Both Illias and Julius’ spouses could not say enough about the boy. He was the one with the thank you and the flowers, the one who was always willing to help, and was keen to fit in to the local community. The three women resolved to fix things when the time was right, but were also old enough and wise enough to know that some things needed to work their own way through.

Spike had no such agenda.

He visited his lover nightly, now knowing that as long as Xander was tired enough, he was able to bring the boy off by rubbing their nether regions together and laving his neck and licking his ear just so. But he was relegated to the realms of fantasy as the powers forced his return to his stone prison every time Xander’s conscious self stirred.

But oh the love and the warmth in those few stolen moments… the love and the warmth.

As Xander left for his construction job that morning, the angel watched the departing brunette and made a wish before shedding his daily tear and resigning himself to his inanimate status. His plea was simple, “If something happens… please let me go to him. Now or in fifty years… please! He wouldn’t leave me alone… and I cannot him.”

The Powers heard. It was probably just as well.

Part Eight

Xander had told Illias that he intended spending a few days in Rome meeting with friends, and promised Julius he would fix the plinth on the garage ready for the MDF board and the rendering on Monday before he left. What he didn’t expect as he worked solo, was the jolt of electricity as he touched the guttering, the ladder tilting, and the oblivion that followed.

Xander lay unconscious and bleeding as darkness fell. He was lucky to have been thrown free of the live wire but had still fallen some distance and landed on his back.

His right arm was shattered at the shoulder and three ribs were broken, having taken most of the impact. Even so, he had hit his head hard and his heart beat continued arhythically courtesy of the electrical jolt. The hand that had been touching the ‘live’ guttering bore the burns to testify the same.

Noone saw the fall, his friends did not expect him on the boat for at least two nights and the cool of the evening began to chill the unconscious form. A feather in his pocket by his heart called to its true owner as blood began to seep from cut head wound and soaked into the ground.

The agony of feeling his protector in trouble was nearly unbearable for the inanimate Spike.

He had known there was a problem as the sun set and there was no ‘Hi honey…’ or turning him to face the room. And even if forgotten, there was no habitual stoking of the wood fire, Sunday cleaning or answering the phone… and the feathers had been silent since midday but that simply meant he was busy… but now there was a definite signature of … pain.

As the night closed in the angel stepped from his place and bowed his head, this time in genuine supplication, begging the powers for the right to save his savior – and they acquiesced.

Feeling their agreement, he walked out to the rear of the house and for the first time, dared to use his wings for their actual purpose. Spike had not realized the capability of his new appendages until that moment, and rejoiced as instinct took over.

At full extension there was a twelve foot span of pure white, and the power of the muscles within was extraordinary. In fact he was a little too high after only the fourth beat and ceased the beat in preference to gliding over Gajeta and following the signature of his feather to his dear owner.

He thanked his residual vampire night vision as he spied the collapsed ladder and broken form below. Not even bothering to land properly, he scooped up the human and effortlessly carried him home.

His years as vampire had equipped him with enough knowledge of anatomy and injury to determine that the situation was not good.

Crystalline angel tears dripped into blood matted hair as the angel gently settled his unconscious friend onto Xander’s own double bed.

“Oh Xan… what have you done!”

The angel stood back for a moment before deciding the course of action now that his friend was at least home and in his care. The arm and shoulder needed setting – and possibly a plate or a pin given the severity of the break. The burns to the hand were almost healed as tears from the angel had touched the wound and apparently… it was enough. But it was the head wound that worried him.

He would tend his love in due course… but for now… he could hear the erratic heartbeat, but could only help temporarily as he called the local doctor. Spike’s wings were not detachable but apparently, under the right circumstances… they were… invisible! Spike could not bear the thought that Xander might be alone in hospital so tucked away his wings under one of Xander’s old coats, donned a pair of oversized sweat pants

The medico was young, was greeted by the distraught friend and genuine in his concern. The story was related and the injuries assessed.

Dr Christos congratulated the blonde friend of the well liked fisherman for his fast action.

However the head injury, strange heartbeat, and the badly broken arm left the locum doctor with little choice. He recommended an ambulance and immediate airlift to Roma Centrale Hospital. Spike was allowed to join his injured friend in back of the ambulance as the helicopter took his unconscious friend.

The young ambulance officer was surprised by the blonde’s command of Italian and chatted easily as they flew. Spike relaxed a little and felt the push of wings against his (fortunately too large) jacket, but stemmed their expansion just in time. A single feather sucked into the night as the chopper opened the side door in preparation for arrival.

MRI… CAT scan… X rays… surgery, catheters… intensive care monitors… and when all was quiet… and the appendages were strapped or cast or pinned… the angel rose.

The machine that went ‘ping’ was still attached and Spike, dressed in his ‘civvie’s’, sat with his dear friend waiting quietly for him to wake up.

The skull was cracked and there was swelling, but minimal internal bleeding in the brain. The pretty young nurse Liliana explained the situation to Spike. It could be days or minutes before Xander regained consciousness – but it was more likely days. When Spike looked up at her with ocean blue eyes full of concern she leaned forward and took his hand only to gasp a little and release it as a jolt of… something… flowed through her and she felt warm and loved from head to toe. She excused herself and immediately went to call her husband, suddenly compelled to tell him just how much she really did love him and apologize for some unwarranted harsh words earlier that day.

As soon as she departed, Spike pulled the curtains around Xander’s bed then shook off the jacket and stretched his cramped wings a little.

It was his turn to kiss an inert figure before he placed his hand ever so gently on the injured head. He closed his eyes and sent a silent prayer to whoever might be listening to an ex vampire now statue, that his friend would recover, and so missed seeing the warm light coming from his own hand that knitted the injured skull instantly and halted the bleeding.

He sat for a little longer stroking his dear one, but was distracted by anguished sobbing from the bed at the end of their ward. The curtains were also pulled and the plea was for Peter to wake.

Spike quietly entered the space and a tearful man raised his head from the bed, turning to face Spike with reddened eyes and a pained expression. Spike was then rather surprised when the man fell to his knees in wonder and began to recite “the Lord’s Prayer” followed by numerous “Hail Mary’s” in rapid Italian.

But the man was not his priority. Spike could see that the boy on the bed was in trouble. Still unconscious, face stitched, and nose smashed, his left leg was impossibly bruised and now missing a foot, courtesy of the motorbike adventure gone wrong.

Spike’s heart went out to the father as the man continued to pray but surprised even himself as he touched the father on the shoulder only to watch the man immediately still then curl up on the floor and sleep.

He was a little puzzled by the whole kneeling and so on, but then realized. In his concern Spike had forgotten his new form. He now stood bare-chested, perfectly sculpted pale muscles, chiseled features and matching white hair, an ethereal beauty rarely if ever seen on the earthly realm… But most stunning of all… his wings exposed in all their glory. Wings that were now so much a part of him that he had forgotten they were there in his concern for the distressed human.

The father slept (albeit not too comfortably on the floor), so Spike made his way to the boy, feeling somehow compelled to touch the lad on the chest and the side of his head, and ‘wish him well’. The warm glow under his hands conveyed the message and the boy’s eyes flickered a little.

Seconds later Spike heard a slight moan from Xander and returned instantly. He stroked a hand down the beloved face then tore his wrist open on a screw under the bed, an act that as vampire was utterly instinctive, but as no angel was no doubt due to residual memory. He fed his charge until the wound closed, then joined him on the bed. Spike covered them both with body length folded wings, while being careful not to disturb any of the medical items attached to his loved one. Even he noticed the wonderful warmth… feathers and warmth and Xander…

The patient stirred a little then relaxed as Spike fell into a light sleep, his arms around his friend.

Two hours later, the nurse on rounds found the pale man sitting in a chair asleep beside his friend’s bed, his wings invisible, once again tucked neatly under the large coat.

Two days later, Xander was awake, confused, but awake. Five days later, they were in a car on the way back to Gajeta. Six days later Davina was over and Spike was back on his pedestal, once again condemned to his stone existence… Yet he thanked the powers for allowing him to at least rescue his friend.

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