Reasons For Living

by
Narcolepticcat

11 (What's) Left of Me

"Uhm. So. Apocalypse. I miss the good old days when it had fuck-all to do with me." Xander pouted. Slumped down in his chair he stared at the ceiling of the shop.

Willow folded her arms and stared at Giles. Giles stared at Dawn. Dawn stared at Buffy. Buffy folded her arms and stared at the door.

"Where’d Spike go?" Buffy asked.

"Through the door?" Dawn said. "He went to sunburn, or probably sunburn. Did you see how pale he was?"

"He was a vampire for a hundred and, what, fifty? Years. Or something, it’s hard to tell with that one." Buffy said.

"Giles," Willow said, "What’s going on? I think we’re like, meeting three out of four portents and this point, I’m a bit curious about the whole, ‘high hopes,’ thing."

Giles shook his head and looked away from Dawn. He found Willow’s gaze, but couldn’t meet it, instead he reached for the phone. "I don’t know, Willow. I’m calling Anya."

"Why? She’s, just, so… mean. To Xander." Willow said.

"If anyone understand high hopes, it’s her." Buffy jumped in, went to the door, opened it and walked through. "For that matter, so do I."

Giles called after her, "Where are you going?"

On the other side of the door, Buffy pulled a cell phone from her back pocket and spoke into the mouthpiece, flat-toned and expressionless, "Angel Investigations."

"I’m not coming to Sunnydale Buffy."

"Angel, listen to me. I know you’re not." Buffy paced. Her heart pounded aerobically in her chest and all she could do was try to talk. "Just. Listen."

"…"

"Hello?" Buffy began to pull the phone from her ear.

"I’m listening, Buffy. Say what you have to say."

"Okay, Angel, it’s like this. You know, obviously have known, about Xander and Spike, without telling me, which is sort of past the point, but anyway. The apocalypse is coming."

"…"

"Hello?"

"I know. Cordelia had a vision, years ago actually, about this."

"What? And you didn’t think to call homebase?"

"You’re hardly what I’d call homebase anymore, Slayer." Buffy shivered at the word. Knew he meant it.

"Fine. What was her vision? When did she have it?"

"After you called, seven years ago asking around about Xander and Spike. She had the vision while I spoke to you. Her vision was… well, not pretty, and you know we’ve had our share of apocalypses…"

"Apocalypsi." Buffy said, indignant.

"Whatever, the world’s almost opened up and swallowed us all whole, more than you can imagine. The point is, when you called I didn’t know where the boys were, but then Cordy told me about the vision and it was… intense."

"So are you gonna tell me the vision or keep shelling out backstory? And Cordy? What’s that about?"

"She saw a little girl. She saw an earthquake. She saw biting. She saw Spike as William, walking around Sunnydale in daylight. She saw Xander at nineteen with memories of his life with Spike that don’t make sense to him. She saw what had to happen, and what could not happen. Buffy, Spike has to turn Xander, and soon. Or there is nothing… probably, that can be done."

"What’s the probably about? And Cordy? Since when is she Cordy to you?"

"Grow up, Slayer."

"Stop calling me that. What’s the probably?"

"The probably is… well, worse than turning Xander, that’s all."

"That’s all, you know what it is and you won’t tell me. You’re so, argh. Were you this cryptic when we were dating?"

"…" Buffy heard Angel chuckle though she could tell he held the phone away from his face.

"You’re a friggin’… poop-head."

"Oh my god, or, your god, or whoever. Just have Spike turn Xander and it’ll be all good."

"How? Spike’s not exactly a vamp, and if he gets vamped, won’t that be a whole other demon? Someone not necessarily Spike like?"

"The demon won’t be a problem… You probably don’t have to have Spike revamped. I’d do it myself, but… Well, the guilt," Angel laughed, "Isn’t actually so bad, but, one way or another the world keeps turning so. You’ll figure it all out. Willow’s a smart girl, even if you’re not."

"Asshole." Buffy hung up. Walked down the street, back. She peeled her eyes for Spike, and then found him, leaning against a lamppost, smoking, head turned to the sun.

"So. Did you want to turn Xander?" Spike’s head snapped to attention at her words and he glared at her, eyes hard and focused.

"Did he fucking tell you that? Well, your bloody donut-boy is safe as peaches… Oh, peaches sound good… Anyway, don’t matter what I want. Does it? Can’t do it now so."

"Spike… William…"

Spike stared at her. He felt more cold toward her as a human than he had as the living dead.

"Fuck you and your power and your mortality. You’re a snooty bitch who never knew her place, and when she came close to it, she said, ‘sod it all, I’m gonna go stand in someone else’s place’." Spike sighed. "I don’t need your pity, love. I never did."

Buffy crossed her arms, stared at Spike we’re all staring a bloody lot these days.

"Are you finished? I didn’t know this was the staging area for the pity parade. Staging area for the gay, ex-demon, ex-vampire, ex-bad Willow pride parade, maybe, but not this shit. I could be spending the end of days with my sister or Giles or anyone, but no. The apocalypse’s coming, and I can’t stop it even if I wanted to. Which I don’t. Want to. But you and Xander can stop it. Or what’s more, you can keep it from starting. You know, you think you came back here because of Xander’s promise, or you think that if you hadn’t come here that none of this would be happening. But you’re wrong. You came back here because you knew it would come to this. Knew it had to between you and him, if it wasn’t the end of the world – if everything wasn’t the end of the world – would you even bother? Spike, this is the shit you live for… and look at you now. Alive. You’re living for this. And it’s going to kill you, and you love that. Don’t be stupid now. You could have been in Tuscany again, or Prague, or Ontario, or anywhere when this shit went down. It’s easier because it’s here. And harder because it’s here…"

Buffy sat down on the curb. Spike’s jaw hung slack and the cigarette finished its burn unsmoked, finally reaching the filter and Spike’s knuckle. He threw it to the pavement and ground it underheel. "Spike, I don’t know what to say. Angel said…"

"You called Dad for me? That’s so sweet."

"Shut the fuck up and listen to me."

"…"

"Angel said… When you disappeared, I called him. And he said that when I called him, seven years ago, Cordelia had a vision of all of this happening. It has to happen. It had to be, for you and Xander, here. So it is, so deal with it. Jesus, I need a new purse. Go to the shop, I’ll be there in a few." Buffy laughed. "If the apocalypse comes… beep me." And she walked toward a boutique down the block, trailed by her own nervous laughter and the downward gaze of the man who would be a vampire.

Spike looked up and knew, no matter what, after this day, he would never see the sun again. Except on television.

Interlude: In My Arms

Author’s Note: In the time immediately before the boys returned to Sunnydale, they were in Japan. Hanging out, doing the dirty, and (probably) generally wreaking havok (not that I'd want to speculate). At any rate, Xander decided it was time to go home (after seven years being away); and this letter is how he told Spike-san that they were returning to the Hellmouth.

Konnichiwa Mr. Spike W.T. Bloody, Esq.,

Re: You wanted me to tell you, so I’m telling you. But I can’t say it out loud, so I’m writing it down.

I’ve seen everything. Everything I ever wanted to see. Some things I didn’t think I wanted to see. I’ve seen it all. And you were here with me. There with me. Everywhere, seeing everything with me and where does that all go?

The great wall was half the monument you are. The Louvre smelled old and bad and you smelled good standing beside me. The coliseum was a crater to a fallen empire, but we still stood in its shadow. All of America and it’s states that are more like countries, different and similar and barely speaking the same language, but with fast food on every corner.

I’ve been held by you in private. I’ve been held by you in public. I’ve been pushed to the edge of what I understand to be sanity by you and your teasing eyes. I’ve been fondled, groped, kissed, fucked and worshipped by you.

I’ve found you when we were separated and brought you back from insanity. I’ve raised your arms over your head, pulled your shirt off of you and your jeans down. I’ve run my fingers over every remote continent of your body. The hill country of your back. The great rolling plains of your front. The rainforest down low. The desert of your mouth. I’ve roamed over you in search of some oasis, some relief from this need for you, but all I ever find are mirages. I cannot live in a mirage; I cannot live without you.

Trees. Tall, tall trees...

Uhm… Is this too sappy yet? I can stop and be goofy if you want me to be, but I figure this is at least in the family of serious, if not exactly related to broodiness.

You are tall trees in my eyes. Across a room I watch you. I think I always did. You’re no warmer than the air around you, but you burn hotter inside than anything I’ve ever seen. You are a forest fire. A forest of hot, tall trees that burn, plunge, smolder.

I’ve seen forests on fire. The western states are nothing if not a forest fire. We rolled through them, red always on the horizon, on many nights and I wondered where we were going. I never wondered that we were going there together. It never mattered to me. I wondered if you’d ever wander away, but when you would, I always found you. Always red, hot, yellow on the horizon that burned and called out to me.

You wanted to know what I thought. What I think. This is it. This is for you. I can’t believe I’ve said what I’ve said, but I know you know I mean it. I know you know it’s true. I won’t say that thing that you don’t want me to say. You don’t want me to say that. And I don’t want to make you… hurt. I never want to hurt you.

Sappiness aside, I think we need to find a laundromat and, well, I purchased us a cabin on a freighter back to the states. We’re going back to Sunnydale, Spike, I just thought you should know.

Sayonara,

Xander.

12 By Your Side

Boats on the open sea. That’s what this is all about. Tankers. Cruisers. Luxury liners. Tugboats. Ferrys, Junks, Clipperships. All of the above. There are boats on the sea.

What does this have to do with boats on the sea? Well, love, I’ll tell you. We travel on the sea. I can stay below deck and you make nice with the crew. It’s why we love it. I don’t know why this is about boats on the open sea, but I know that it is. Well, for starters it’s not really about boats on the open sea. I know I said it was, and I wasn’t exactly lying, but there’s, gotta be more to it, doesn’t there?

Look at it like this. If it weren’t for boats on the sea, where would we have gone. How long were we on the bloody boat from Japan? Three weeks? Three months? I don’t know. So much time in seven years on bloody boats. We speak the language. Fore. Aft. Port. Starboard. Bulkhead. Deck. Galley. It’s all bloody boats anymore, isn’t it? But we’re not on a boat now. A sinking ship, yeah, maybe, but not a boat. Why are we on a sinking ship love? Where are we and what does it all mean?

It’s pretty obvious isn’t it. The apocalypse. We’ve heard that one before. Don’t play it again Sam, find a new bleeding tune. I don’t know how much more of this one I can take. I don’t know if I can avoid your love much longer. And we belong to each other don’t we now? I guess we always did. Boats in water. The ocean and beaches. But who’s the boat, pet?

Love, who’s the ocean?

 

"You can’t bite me…"

Spike blinked away tears, looked around and found Xander somewhere below the sun.

"…but you want to, don’t’cha, pal?" Xander taunted.

"Not at the moment, no, love. Not particularly." Spike rolled his eyes and took two shuffled, slow steps away.

"Love? What’s that about?"

Spike took another step away and turned back. Xander stood ten yards away from him, just in the shadows of the buildings that lined mainstreet. Spike in the light and Xander in the dark.

"You don’t remember love? You don’t remember my love?" Spike sighed. Cigarettes.

"I remember you. Wanting to bite me."

"Well, why don’t you try remembering that you bite, not bit, not want to, but that you do, in fact, bite me. When you remember that, we’ll talk. What the fuck is wrong with you?"

Spike turned away again, desperate for a shadow to sulk into, a sewer to run through, screaming. Big footfalls filled with tiny intentions trailed behind him and he stopped again, resisted the urge to turn.

"What?" Spike ground out.

Xander said, "I remember biting you." His voice rang small, a high pitched bell alone in the cacophony of daylight. People passed by the two men, yelling and whispering to each other from ten paces in the middle of the street.

Spike hung his head down. "Bloody right you remember biting me. My blood is in you, love. What does that mean to you?"

"That I’ve been on some tripped out bender for seven years?" Xander said. His voice was toneless, he said the words, but meant nothing more than what he said. "Have I been on a bender for seven years? I know I should know this. I can see seven years of baggage…"

"Baggage, Xan?"

"Whatever, seven years, Spike. Years."

"Well, you remember the speech, anyway," Spike said, his voice hummed in this throat, quiet.

"I’m asking, Spike. I’m not attacking you."

Spike turned around slow, gave in to the urge and smiled at the man, could read the boy in his face.

"I know you’re not, Xan. To the point, to your question, yeah? No. You’ve not been on a bender, you’ve not even been on a bit of a kick. This is your life. Has been. That so hard to believe?"

The boy Xander used to be cringed inside because No, it’s not so hard to believe.

"Is it? You can say, y’know. One way or the other," Spike said. "Make some kind of declaration… Or not. Fine, ‘love,’ don’t say. But you know, and I know, whether you feel 19 or 29, that it’s not hard for you to believe. You’ve been with me more than seven bloody years, at least in spirit, if not in body, and I’m not gonna throw you away so easy."

A crowd had gathered on the curbs lining the street and focused on the palpable emotion between the two men, both now in the sun. They stood, closer than before, but still miles apart.

"We’re boats on water, Xander. What does that mean to you?" Spike took a step closer Further away, flicked his cigarette to the asphalt, ground it under toe.

"Sounds like something you’d say. Like bollocks."

"Yeah, like bollocks. I like bollocks. I like your bollocks, particularly. I want them forever and ever and ever. What’s so wrong about that?"

"I don’t… I don’t know," Xander said. "Spike, I don’t understand what’s happening."

"Do you understand the apocalypse?"

"Uhm. Fire, brimstone, damnation. Yeah, got the memo."

"Good. Do you understand that only we can stop it?"

"Yeah."

"Do you understand that it’s our love that can stop this thing, whatever it is, from coming, or happening, or just, bloody, you know. Apocalypsing?"

"Yeah, I understand that, but I don’t understand our love," Xander said.

"Don’t twitch when you say ‘our love,’ Xan."

"Sorry."

"I’m in the sun, you understand what that means,
right?"

Xander rolled his eyes.

"Good, at least you’ve still got a grasp of the basics… God, I wanna bite you now. Dig my teeth into your neck in front of all of these," Spike turned out, waved at the mass of rubberneckers, "people. I wanna make you and me good and holy. So holy we make eyes water and babies walk. Understand?"

Xander shook his head, said, "No," and laughed. "I love you then, don’t I?"

"Bloody right you do."

"But I don’t have a daughter, do I?"

"No, you don’t. And this whole ‘human’ thing I’m going through, is a phase." Spike winked.

Xander laughed again. Laughed. Xander coughed. Laughed some more. Coughed. Xander coughed. Xander choked. Choked out words.

"Don’t." Cough.

"Wait." Choke, laugh.

"Bite me." Laugh, cough.

Xander choked, "Now."

Spike’s human legs carried him forward as fast as they could. Xander lurched toward the crowd and the onlookers all gasped as human knees fell beside the curled up man, and blunt human teeth sank into the fallen, curled-up man’s neck.

13 How to Disappear Completely

It spread through him like a fever. Every touch burned Xander. Burned the Xander spread out long and hard beneath Spike. Burned the Xander who was nineteen years old trapped in a body with scars he never had before; with ten years of memories that smell and look like strength he never knew he had.

The fever arched out from his stomach where Spike’s stomach met his. Xander reached up to touch scar that stood out from the pink of Spike’s face. Stood out from Spike’s living face. Spike pushed the hand back over Xander’s head and ran his hand along Xander’s neck, over the large bandage that covered the throbbing bite he’d placed there. Spike’s stomach was full of blood. Spike’s human stomach.

The fever danced over Xander’s chest, lifted, heaved and breathed in tune with his. Every touch. Burned. Xander moaned as synapse after synapse fired, blared, roared every memory. Memory after memory coasted behind Xander’s eyes. Sights and sounds of thousands of places, of thousands of days, but more nights, spent under the chest that touched and danced and burned over his own. The hand on the bed beneath them that propped Spike up; the arm connected to the hand that grazed along Xander’s ribs, that Xander gripped with his arm, held onto like support. The other hand, the thumb he could feel but the tips of fingers played over a bandage there.

Spike pulled the bandage off. Looked at the raw and bruised, torn, but not pierced skin where the bandage used to be. Spike looked at the flesh and in his periphery, Xander moaned; memory of trees, tall, tall trees and laying at their roots beneath this chest that burned his skin. Spike took in the wound on Xander, the wound he owned and leaned down, slow, deliberate to fix his lips, his mouth around it. The mouth became the fever. Xander moaned. New memory burned into his mind, new memory that fit better than the rest of the day.

Spike broke the wound open, found his way in and the fever spread. Fingers found Xander’s ribs moved down slow enough to count, but too hurried to calculate. Found Xander’s side and almost tickled but pinched, prodded. Fingers found denim moved along the seam to a button and a zipper. Xander moaned. Spike’s fingers popped open Xander’s jeans, and then his own and then the fingers roamed higher to find the other side. Spike leaned on the wandering arm, and lifted the support arm. Xander gripped the new solid, arm. Spike lifted his head from Xander’s neck. Held his head away and licked his lip. Xander reached to turn the head back. Spike pushed the hand away and looked into Xander through his eyes.

Spike leaned down. Held his lips from Xander’s by only inches. Xander moaned; memory of I can feel the Hellmouth from here. Spike’s breath, hot, moved through his lips onto Xander’s, down Xander’s jaw to the pillow below his head. Xander stretched. Teased his lips with Spike’s. So close it was touching, but without contact. Spike moaned. Melted his lips onto Xander’s.  

And the fever burned hotter. Spike reached between them, slid his own pants down. Slid down Xander’s body and pulled those pants off as he went. Rubbed his hands over Xander’s naked thighs. Breathed heavy onto Xander. Onto the hardest and warmest part of Xander. Xander moaned; memory of women and Spike; memory of remembering. Synapses fired. His cock twitched. Twitched and brushed Spike’s chin and mouth closed over the head and hands rubbed thighs. And the weight was heavy, but weighed absolutely nothing and Xander felt the change.

Spike felt the change. The change happened and the fever spread deeper and further, reached out from Xander’s body and began to burn Spike’s.

Sweat coated Xander. Covered him in a thin film of saline and melted the fever at the surface but could not abate the one inside. Sweat covered Spike, but as Xander’s hands reached down into Spike’s hair and Spike buried Xander in his throat and couldn’t care about passivity or arms over heads, Spike’s sweat evaporated. He was aware that his pulse quickened once and then began to fade backward into memory for the second time in his existence. Xander became aware of the cooling hotness as it worked his dick over and over, suckled and nipped at and swallowed. The cooling hotness and when the face that was so hot, but cooling, looked up at Xander, there was yellow in the eyes.  

Xander moaned; memory of You wanted to turn me and Fuck you and memory began to fade forward into the present, into the now. Xander pulled hard on Spike’s head and his cock slapped down to his stomach as Spike began to growl and Xander pulled Spike up, by his hair, to the would on his neck, the slow healing, still red, bruised series of teeth marks on his neck.  Xander pulled Spike’s lips to his own and lifted his hips up into Spike’s who pushed down. Xander pulled Spike’s head up again. Spike growled.

"You wanted to turn me." Xander said. A moan and a pant and five little words that were…

"Fuck you." Spike said. A growl and a plea and two little words that were…

"Yes, please." Xander said. Two little words, giggles and needs and truth that were permission.

Xander spread his legs open, wide as he could, and Spike’s hardest part hung down into the crease, rubbed there, and the yellow of his eyes was all Xander could see. Spike reached down. Touched Xander on the tightest and most erotic part of him. Just touched two fingers on the opening. And Xander moaned, opened and Spike spread him with more than fingers, spread him with his hardest part and Xander screamed once. Only. And Spike ground in, not slid, and Xander bit his lip and drew blood and Spike leaned down, touched his tongue to the blood, licked it off. Spike licked the blood off Xander’s lip and he felt his eyebrows change and he felt his teeth drop. Xander moaned; memory of bollocks, finally...

Spike pierced into his own rough teeth marks on Xander’s neck and the world. Swirled. Or shook. And Spike drank. Not the drink of a human desperate to remember being a vampire, but the drink of a vampire desperate to save the world.

Spike felt Xander’s pulse quicken, only once, and then begin to fade backward into memory. Spike dug himself deeper in Xander and then the pulses, slow and labored, began to falter. Spike lifted his head away from Xander’s neck. He scraped his own nails across his neck until he was digging out a channel and when he felt the blood run, actually flow from his neck, he leaned down, and held Xander’s lips until he felt the pull more than the flow and strong arms reached behind his back and crushed him further into the body beneath him as its pulse changed from fading to faded to gone.

"Cordy’s had another vision."

Buffy rolled her eyes so loud Angel smirked on the other end of the line.

"What is it this time, Angel?"

"Well, it’s not an apocalypsy vision, if that’s what you’re asking."

"Well, that’s what I’m asking. So what is it? Why call now? Why not wait seven years? For that matter why not just let the world get sucked into hell. As I recall you kinda like it when that happens."

Angel smirked again. "It just so happens that Angelus; that’s like, An-hairgel- us, for the record; is the world eatin’ demon raiser, not I. I, who am but merely Angel, save the world, and do not attempt to destroy it."

"What’s with you and the making of distinction? I thought a big bad was a big bad."

"You’re getting cleverer in your old age."

"Enough exposition, what’s the plot? The climax? Come on."

"You said climax."

Buffy’s eyes weren’t rolling anymore and Angel knew it and decided to move on.

"The end of the world is gonna not happen." Angel said.

"So what was with all the portents of doom, buck-o? I’m still dealing with barely post-pubescent Xander and human, tanny Spike; if that’s not the end of the world, I don’t know what is."

"The portents of doom were, you know, portents. They led down one path, but something’s happened to, I guess you could say, turn the sign that pointed to that path, down another one."

"What?" Buffy said.

"Anyway, you’ll find out, pretty quick. Gotta go. There’s an infestation of Ubathean spider-slugs in the Valley, it’s outta the way, but it’s a nice paycheck. Later."

Buffy stared into the phone that beeped into the dead air around her.

"Useless capitalist vampire. Did Buffy just say that? Wow. Smart Buffy. I really just referred to myself in the third person. Why couldn’t it be the royal ‘we’? Dammit."

Buffy flipped her cell-phone shut and headed to the door, picked up her coat, headed through, locked it behind her.

"Maybe if Buffy patrols she’ll stop referring to herself in the third person."

He looked down at the body.

Spike stood naked at the foot of the bed.

What have I done? What the fuck has happened to me? I must have lost my bloody mind.

He dressed himself, closed the curtains over the windows, scribbled a note for the bedside table, and disappeared from the apartment. It’ll be at least a few hours before it… the body… Xander?… Starts to move again.

Spike found the night outside and struggled to lose himself in it. For the first time in years he felt unchained and alone, able to roam at his will, but with a guilt and curiosity he had never known before. His feet followed one after the other until he found himself seated on the gravestone where his what was she exactly? Daughter? had found him.

He heard the first rustles of grass and leaves from yards away, but knew the smell, the sheer feel, of what approached him, too well to worry.  

"Spike."

"Yeah, pet, you found me."

"What are you doing in the cemetery?"

"Well, I am dead. I’m not sure, and it could just be a vicious rumor, but I hear we dead folks like to congregate in these kinds of places. At least that’s what I was bloody told."

"Well, you’re in a better mood." Buffy said.

"I got laid, yeah."

"Wait, you got laid? By Xander?"

"I didn’t fuck you, did I?"

"Hey, don’t be mean to Buffy. Dammit."

"What?"

"Third-person. It’s kind of a whole. You know."

"Oh, you forgot how to use the personal pronoun ‘I’?"

"Just a little bit."

"Sorry, didn’t mean to be mean to you. Exactly. But yeah, I did in point of fact get laid by Xander."

"So, now you’re in a better mood? No mean to Buffyness?"

"Nope, promise I’ll be nice as kittens… I mean… un-gambly-uncute, but harmless things of some kind, but not kittens."

Buffy giggled. "You really did get laid by Xander. You’ll be one of us before you know it. All babbles and giggles and un-gambly-uncute but harmless, whatever that means."

Buffy sat down beside Spike.

"Buffy did miss you, you know."

Spike clenched his jaw and reached into his coat pocket for the ever- present cigarettes.

"I know you did, pet."

Spike lifted the filter of the cigarette to his lips and turned the wheel and struck the flint on his lighter. Inhaled, unnecessary obviously air. Buffy, watched, and then looked away, waved a puft of smoke from in front of her face.

"Wait… Spike?" Buffy said.

"Yeah, pet?"

"Did you say you were dead?"

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