Reasons For Living

by
Narcolepticcat

Part Eight

"Where’d she go?"

Spike and Giles entered the house. Xander stumbled in behind them, coughed, and looked at the confused faces that met them.

"She just…"

Xander’s face flushed with sudden anger, "Where is my daughter?"

Willow looked at him, felt the same pang of guilt and confusion that marred his features. "Xander, she just disappeared."

"Like vengeance demon transportation poof-be-gone disappeared? Or evil hex destroyed made as if never existed ever disappeared?"

"Neither. Look, she was here, then she wasn’t. That’s all that happened. All the pages she drew turned to white too, like no one had touched them." Buffy said, held the blank sheets up as if to atone, to prove something.

Spike and Xander groped towards each other then held each other still in the middle of the room that as wrong as it had been before was then a hundred times more wrong. Their arms wrapped around each other. Their faces each to the other’s neck.

So hungry.

So tired.

Eat.

Drink.

Spike’s fangs sank into the vein of Xander’s neck and Xander’s blunt teeth dove through his vampire’s skin.

For a moment the room whirled around them, then stilled, then a gasp and Willow’s hand flew to her mouth.

"Oh god."

Buffy felt it too.

And the earth shook under their feet.

Giles held onto the door frame and Dawn and Buffy and Willow became one being huddled on the sofa, and Spike and Xander, for the longest shortest moment ever, lived from each other and then were flung apart when the earth under their feet shook harder.

"Giles, hit the books. Willow, help him. I’m gonna patrol. Dawn, you’re with me. Boys, go, and do grieving boy things. We’ll call if we have to."

And with that Xander and Spike were out the door and in the middle of the street and across town, almost flying, but really just running without running. Up stairs, through the door, down the hall, to the bed. Lips pressed to lips. Ferocious, but not without thought.

"What’s happening Spike?"

"It’s your birthday."

"But is that all?"

"I don’t know, is that all?"

"I don’t know. I’m scared."

"Come on, the Banana Boat pulled out from port years ago, love, no need to be scared now."

"But I am scared. Now."

More lips pressed to lips. Hips ground together. Hardness to hardness.

"You tasted better than I thought, better than I dreamed of. Are you scared of that?"

"You tasted the same as I remember. But yeah, I am scared of that."

"I don’t have to turn you, I want to, I’ll always want to, I figure you’ve got another year before you’re too far gone."

"Too far gone? Too old you mean? Like, make no children into vampires? Make no old people?"

"Something like that."

"It’s cold, Spike."

"I know, here, we’ll hold each other until this train stops rolling."

"I don’t want the train to stop rolling."

"I know you don’t, love. I meant we’ll hold each other forever."

"Oh."

"I’m hard for you."

"For me? Really, Spike, you shouldn’t have."

"Look, he jokes, finally."

Hands to hardness, flies unzipped, unbuttoned, belt buckles unbuckled.

"You’re neck is healed."

"Yours isn’t."

Tongue to neck, lapped on the open bite. Hardness twitched against a cool hand. Intimate. Small. Big.

"This means a lot, doesn’t it?"

"What does?"

"The biting thing. Baby, I wanted you to bite for… ever."

"I know. I wanted to bite you forever, but it’s not time for… ever."

Hands on backs, kisses. Scratches, nips, shudders.

"What are we doing?"

"Making love, making sense, love."

"I don’t want to make sense. I just want to make love. I love you."

Stillness, cold, distance, fingers flailed into emptiness.

"I can’t have you saying that to me just now pet. Not just this minute. No."

"Fuck William, can’t someone love you?"

"Yeah, someone can’t love me. No one can love me or… should. No. Not you, love you too much to let you do that to me."

"Do what to you, Spike? Love you? How is that doing something to you? Why does it sound like I’m infecting you somehow?"

"Bloody…"

Softness hardened, found hardness, crossed the emptiness and filled it back up.

"I wonder where she came from? I wonder if she’ll be back, do you think? Willow seemed really upset, but I just wanted to bite your neck and then I did, what was that you think? Spike? Spike, what do you think?"

"Shut up and bugger me."

Part Nine

Spike woke to blood and thunder.

Spike woke, back to Xander, to blood lots on his pillow. Spike threw up again at the sight.

Spike woke, back to Xander, to blood on his pillow and thunder not right through the windows and it shook. Spike shuddered at the loud, cold cracking. Bone, cheeks. Slayer’s fists.

Spike woke. Fuck. Xander snored soft behind him, never stirred as Spike bounded from the bed so fast, grabbed the pillow ran to the toilet. Spike threw up again. Spike noticed the throb in his head and sunk down around the toilet. Lots.

Xander woke to nothing and blood.

Xander woke, front to emptiness, to blood blood where Spike’s head would have been. Xander grabbed his knife under the pillow at the sight.

Xander woke, front to emptiness, nothing asleep beside him, to blood where Spike’s head would have been and heard the sound of no sound but saw light in the hall. Hold the knife tighter.

Xander woke. Blood. Spike hid out of sight in the bathroom but never showed himself as Xander bounded from the bed but slow, stretched his shoulders. Kept the knife forward trusty sturdy as a ward against the blood where his lover’s head had been. Blood.

"Spike?"

Xander’s voice reverberated through the fake wood door like an announcer through a badly pitched p.a. system. Spike stirred from his perch at the bottom of the toilet.

"Don’t come in. Please."

"Spike? Is that you." Xander’s voice abandoned it’s body as it echoed around the bathroom, into the toilet where there was too much blood.

Thunder clapped, Xander’s heart heart jumped. Spike heard a distant rumble.

"Yeah, love. S’me. Stay out, I’m tellin’ you now."

Coughs came through the bathroom door, greeted Xander’s ear. Inside, more blood filled the toilet. Spike coughed hard, found his bearing. Looked toward the door and listened. Spike heard his mind as it ticked through I didn’t drink this soddin’ much of the stuff. I didn’t. I know I didn’t. Love’d be dead if I did. Know I didn’t. Know. I know. But he heard no other sounds. Then he heard ragged breathing. Then he shook, threw up more blood, closed his eyes. Found the cold tiles and lay his hot skin down on them.

"I’m alive."

Xander woke to a blond, puffy cheeked man with ruddy cheeks and a day’s growth of beard. He lied sideways in the hall, his nose at the border of the hall’s carpet and the tile of the bathroom, almost under the door. His back to everything else.

Xander woke to an open bathroom door and clean sparkliness.

"Huh?" Xander pushed himself up and the blond man shifted in his squat so that his eyes were level with and less than a foot from Xander’s eyes.

"Xan. Love. I’m alive."

Xander heard the words. Heard the words. Alive. I heard it. Coughed, held his breath. Spike thumped him in the chest and he inhaled sharp, cold air. Focused on the rain. The rain on the windows. Focused on daylight filtered through thick clouds, thicker curtains. Gray daylight.

"I’m alive. Are you deaf? I don’t like to repeat myself, god knows I do it all the bloody time, but I…" Spike stalled.

"Spike?"

"Yes, love?"

"Shut up."

"…"

The wrongness of this is unparalleled. Xander stared at the floor. "You’re alive?"

I don't know. I think so. I'm so scared. Human. Worse than a soddin' chip. Spike stared at Xander’s forehead. "Yeah."

I would gut myself if I thought it would. Nah, wouldn’t. Xander stared down. Harder. "Why?"

I don’t know. I shouldn’t be scared. He’s scared. Human. Weak. Spike stared at Xander’s forehead. Turned his head. Broke the glare. "Woke up and…"

Xander looked up. Years, Spike. Years. "We’ve done so…"

"Much." Spike looked down. Floor. Hungry.

"Does it come to this?" Xander stared at Spike’s forehead. Different.

Not scared. Bloody not scared. Bollocks. Spike looked up. Caught Xander’s gaze. A moment. "I don’t know."

Xander looked away. Living eyes. Living mind. Living heart. "We need help. I’m the one who gets into trouble. The girls get me out. I need help. I can’t do…"

Spike growled. That was a growl? Not scared. Not scared. Not scary. "Should I call or will you?"

Xander looked up. Held Spike’s eyes. We walk. "You wanted to turn me."

Spike stared into Xander. We walk. "Fuck you."

Spike and Xander stood; they moved as one body boiling to the door.
"I deserved that."

"Xander?"

"Yes?"

"Shut up."

Part Ten

"The Hellmouth will open."

Giles stood in the middle of the magic shop, book in hand, and chewed on the hook of his glasses. His sleeves pushed up his arms and his pants wrinkled, Giles had been at the research since the earthquake the night before.

Buffy and Willow looked up from their books.

"Giles? What?" Willow said. Buffy’s face lost its color.

"The Hellmouth. I believe that… little girl… was a portent of something to come."

"No. Not again. How many apocalypses am I supposed to stop? I’m almost thirty. I’ve been doing this half of my life, there’s no way. I’m gonna just step aside and let it open. Maybe when the Hellmouth opens Oompa Loompas will come out."

Giles stared at Buffy.

"Buffy…"

"Seriously, Giles, this town is on it’s fourth high school in eleven years. I don’t know why they keep building the damn thing there, but they do. And trying to save it this time would just be a huge fiasco. Total karmic charades. It’s all mime at this point. Seriously, where’s Marcel Marceau when you need him. He could probably stop the apocalypse, because I know I can’t."

"Are you finished?" Giles sighed. "I’m certainly as weary as you are. Dammit, Buffy, you don’t hold the monopoly on growing old. I wouldn’t even think you could look at me, I’m nearly sixty for god’s sake, and whine that way with a straight face. We do this. This is what we do. It’s all we’ve ever known, and we’re the only ones who can do it. We’ve heard the speech before."

"Will you both shut up?" Willow slapped the tabletop. "This is stupid you… you poopheads."

Buffy and Giles’ eyes grew and they turned to look at her.

"Why is the Hellmouth going to open again?"

Giles looked back at the book.

Willow sighed, "It’s a prophesy, right? What are the conditions, terms, portents? Where do we sign to approve delivery? Where do we sign to refuse if we want? Come on, answer-man, please."

"A vampire girl, an earthquake small, a human man, hopes so tall. The mouth of hell shall open, the greatest love shall fall."

Buffy laughed. "You’re kidding, right? ‘Cause Angel and I were like, so last decade."

Willow’s face shrunk. "It’s not Tara and I. And Giles’ great love…"

"Was a bit longer ago than Angel and Buffy, I believe."

The three stared, each into their own headspace. Buffy glared at the table as if it were her former lover; Willow stared through the wall, stared in the direction of the house that had hurt them all so much; and Giles stared at the prophesy in his hand, stared at great love that was over before it ever started.

Dawn bounced through the door, a gale of smiles and laughs. She flipped her hair as the door passed under the bell and, a she noticed the expressions in the room, her face dropped.

"Oh god. It’s the apocalypse, isn’t it? I knew I’d start seeing someone really good and the apocalypse would come… They don’t need the key do they? I’m screwed if they need the key."

Buffy perked up for a moment, "Your date was good? You didn’t have to slay anything to protect him did you? He wasn’t a brain sucking Calculus demon, was he?"

"Yeah it went great. I mean, just afternoon coffee, but still. Just a guy. A regular, not vampy, not demony, not military, not dead guy. There’s got to be something tragically wrong with him, there always is… So is it the apocalypse?"

Buffy looked down, but Willow spoke up. "Yeah, Dawny, it’s the apocalypse. Little Buffy Harris was, apparently, a portent, and so was the earthquake last night. Now we’re just looking for a human man and some hope so tall so the Hellmouth can open and the greatest love can fall. Uhm. Sorry about that rhyming. You know how it is with this Babylonian prophesies."

"Willow, how did you know it was Babylonian?" Giles said.

"Oh, I read that book in like, eleventh grade. I thought maybe it was about Buffy and Angel then… but whatever. It’s a pretty good one if you ignore the rhyming. Who knew that words in Babylonian would still rhyme three thousand years later in English? It’s all terribly…"

"I believe boring is the word you’re looking for, yeah?" Spike snarled as he prowled into the shop. Xander trailed in behind him, looking somewhat less confident.

"Spike. And daylight. And." Dawn stammered.

"Right you are, pet. Spike and daylight. We mix like water and water. Can someone tell me what the fuck is going on?"

Giles, Willow, Buffy stared at Spike. "Spike? You’re, with the daylight. It’s not that ring thing again, is it?" Buffy, habitually, searched the shelves near her for a convenient stake. She found none, and Spike laughed.

"Yeah, that’s right. Let me just wreak a little havok with all the bumpy forehead and sharp fangs that I do. Not. Have. Pardon me if I chain-smoke in doors this afternoon, the outside’s just a little scary." He dug into his coat pocket, pulled out his smokes and, well, smoked. "Light some trippy wiccan incense if you don’t like the smell."

Xander shuffled past Spike, hands in his pockets, shoulders scrunched up to his ears, eyes cast downward.

"Xander, what’s going on?"

"That storm last night, the earthquake, my daughter. I don’t know what’s going on, and now this." Xander gestured toward Spike.

"Bloody right ‘and now this.’ I wake up this morning, spewing blood up from my guts into the bed, and next thing I know, the sun doth not scorch me and the cross doth not hold me and bloody, I right missed garlic."

Giles sat his book down on the counter and leaned on it, away from the twenty-somethings congregated in the middle of the room.

"Xander," Giles said. He turned back into the room. "We need to know why you came back to Sunnydale. It’s clear that whatever is occurring here, which I believe is the coming of the apocalypse, revolves around you and Spike and no other. Why are you here?"

"Whew. That’s all? The apocalypse, we stopped one of those in…" Xander couldn’t look at Spike. "Where were we?"

"Tuscany."

"Right Tuscany, the portents there were an ant mound, two shells, and a man with three arms. What are the portents here? I guarantee if we figure that out we’ll be able to stop it, right Buffy?"

Buffy laughed. "Hell no. I’m out of the apocalypse stopping game, you missed that little debate. This is on you, you brought it."

"What do you mean I brought it? Why does this revolve around Spike and me and no other? Giles?"

"Xander, the portents are… The little girl, the earthquake, a human man, and high hopes. ‘The Mouth of Hell shall open; the greatest love shall fall’."

"Anyone got a bucket?" Xander said.

"Xan, do contain yourself." Spike said.

"No one asked you, bleachy," Xander shot a glance toward Spike. "Clearly this is all your fault."

"My bloody fault love? You’re the one… I said I’d never come here again… You brought us bloody back. Sod this. If the sun won’t torch me, maybe I can at least stare at it for too long, get some good bleedin’ retinal damage or maybe melanoma. Maybe skin cancer will increase my odds of bein’ bitten by some bleedin’ heart vampire with a conscience so I can..." Spike stalked out of the shop into the daylight waiting outside and his ramble followed behind.

"This is worse than the summer at nazi clown camp." Everyone stared. "Okay, so it was just clown camp, but I swear one of them had a little Uber-lord mustache just like..." Xander said. "Dammit. This sucks." He frowned and looked back at the gang who were all agape at the exchange they’d just witnessed.

"Xander, you sound like you." Willow said.

"I sound like? I sound like… excuse me what? What’re you talking about Will, I always sound like me."

"This is just too friggin’ weird," Dawn said, and slumped down in her chair.

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