prestory

Unacceptable Losses

by
Eliza Shaw

1
Assessing the Situation

Buffy bones.  Little bits of Buffy bones. 

Xander stared at the dust and specs of white as Giles tipped the urn carefully, spreading the ashes over the flowers that surrounded the newly completed Sunnydale memorial.  How ironic was it that the planners placed the memorial directly over the Hellmouth?  Of course, they probably thought they were simply putting it over the epicenter of the quake, bomb, undiscovered volcano or whatever theory was currently making the rounds.  The ashes and bits of bone slid over the petals and leaves to rest in the dirt below.  Xander concentrated on clamping down the anguish that surged with the bile in his throat, but he couldn’t avert his eyes from the tiny square of bone that rested on a red geranium petal. 

“Rest at last,” Giles spoke quietly as he placed the lid back on the emptied urn.

“Rest eternally,” Willow responded.  A gentle violet arc indicated the warding blessing over the memorial.

Xander closed his eye, still seeing the red and white image of bone on petal burned into his brain.  He swallowed past the lump in his throat.  Pain hadn’t lessened in the year since he watched the demon kill her.  This final burial, according to Buffy’s own wishes, had promised to bring closure to all of them, but for Xander, it deepened wounds that had never fully closed.

“Hey,” Willow touched his arm, “We’re heading back to the hotel now.  See you there?” 

Xander nodded without opening his eye.  He knew that as soon as he did the tears held inside would fall, and he couldn’t bear the hugs and comforting noises that would bring from his oldest friend.  He listened to the sounds of others moving off into the deepening dark, car doors opening and closing, quiet murmurs. 

From his place under the ornate lamp post, Spike watched the mourners split apart and climb into cars, sharing hugs and quiet words.  He shook his head slightly at Angel’s questioning frown.  Angel shot a glance at the lone man standing beside the memorial and then looked back at the blonde vampire resting lounged against a light post.  He returned the nod and joined the currently human appearing Illyria to return to the hotel with the rest.  Spike returned to watching the still figure.

Gradually silence took over, creeping around him, and Xander welcomed its empty embrace.  Unmoving, eye closed, he let the gradual chilling of the air prickle across his cheeks and fingers, whisping inside the light pea coat that hung unbuttoned in deference to the Southern California climate.  He focused on the chill and the rhythmic in and out of his breath, keeping his thoughts as still as his body.  Finally, he recognized that if he didn’t put in an appearance in the hotel soon, someone would be dispatched to find him.  The Hellmouth might be closed, but a decade of keeping tabs on one another would have concerned friends making sure he hadn’t been waylaid by some hungry beastie. 

Xander opened his eye and jumped back a foot.

“Sweet creeping tea biscuits Spike!  You ever think it might be a good idea not to sneak up on people on a Hellmouth?” He stalked away from the silent figure observing him across the flowered memorial.  Casting a dismissive glance at his car, he decided that walking offered the chance to excise the tension that suddenly returned full-force.  Sure it would make him even later getting to the hotel, but if he got lucky there would be at least a vamp or two to stake along the way.  He gripped the stake in his pocket and strode across the park, battling the increasingly familiar need to hit out at something.

Three blocks away, he finally turned back to acknowledge his vampire shadow.

“Whatever you have to say, say it and fuck off.”  He glared daggers.  Spike slid through the shadows and came to stand before the angry human.  He cocked his head and ran his eyes over the gaunt figure before casually stepping back and shaking a cigarette out of the pack he pulled from a duster pocket.

“Fine.  Nothing to say, then just fuck off already.”  He cursed the slight tremor that undercut the vicious comment, and he flicked his gaze to the surrounding night.

Without a word, Spike lit the cigarette and held out it out like a peace offering. 

“Don’t.” Xander still didn’t meet the vampire’s eyes.

The pale fingers didn’t retract the offering.  For a long moment they stood under the flickering streetlight, the glowing ember casting listless curls of smoke through the cool air.

Xander let out a disgusted sigh and released the death grip on his stake, jerking his hand out to take the cigarette.  He took a long angry draw, enjoying the thought of the cilia in his lungs shrinking back and wilting under the nicotine assault.  Focused on the blowing out the smoke in a slow, smooth stream, he dimly recognized the familiar movements of the vampire lighting his own cigarette.  Xander sat down heavily on the curb, resting his arms on his knees and hanging his head. 

“Would you at least say something?” Defeat colored his voice.

“’M not the one that needs to talk, I’m thinking.” Spike smoothly settled against the lamppost, elegantly drawing in and blowing out smoke.

“Nothing to say here either, buddy.  Buffy died.  We had brought her back to be buried on the Hellmouth on the one year anniversary just like she wanted.  Tonight, we’re all going back to the hotel to have a big group cry and laugh and do-you-remember-when fest.  What, were you not invited?”  The biting comment didn’t appear to faze the vampire at all.  He continued to watch Xander fidget on the curb.

“Could say they left me to make sure you didn’t get your scrawny arse eaten by some lingering nasty, but we both know that’d be a lie.”

Xander looked at him sharply before staring back down at the cigarette burning between his fingers.  He took another angry drag.  Of course, they didn’t leave Spike behind to watch him.  Like the vampire would take on that kind of duty anyway.  They hadn’t spoken since the fall of Sunnydale so many years before, and he had hardly been the vampire’s bestest bud then.  Besides, Willow would doubtless have checked in on him a couple of times with the locator spells that she seemed to find so effortless these days.  Any sign of danger and no doubt the small army of slayers that came with them from England would have been dispatched to his rescue.

“Then enlighten me, oh bleached one.  Why the fuck are you here?” This time exhaustion outweighed anger.  Xander didn’t have the energy to keep up the anger, and at the moment, he wanted nothing more than to be safely ensconced in his hotel room where a brand-spanking-new bottle of Johnnie Walker Black awaited him, all praise be to duty free shopping. 

“Why aren’t you walking away?” Spike gently tossed the question back. 

“Whatever this is, just don’t.”

“Said that before, mate.  What is it that you don’t want me doing?”

Xander stood and took a last drag on the cigarette before stomping out the butt in the street. 

“Anything.  I don’t need anything from you, Spike.  I don’t need anything from anyone.  We fight the baddies, sometimes we win, sometimes we don’t.  Life goes on.”  He shrugged the coat closer around himself, hands jammed in the pockets.  “Life always goes on.”  Without looking back, he strode off toward the hotel and the promise of drunken oblivion that was his reward for making this trip back to the mouth of Hell.

Spike nodded to himself.  He pulled out his cell phone and pressed 2 on the speed dial.  As the voice on the other end offered an anxious hello, he returned a single comment.

“Do it.”  He snapped the phone closed and melted into the shadows, making his own way back to the hotel.

2
Negotiating the Relocation

A third of the way through the bottle of Johnnie Walker, Xander idly mused whether he could get the name of a club from the concierge and slip out without word getting back to his companions.  He scratched at his groin and shifted in the bed as he stared at the clowns cavorting on the TV.  Not really his thing, but it was the best SCinemax had to offer tonight.  Soft-core documentaries on folks who liked to fuck in red noses and big shoes didn’t really do it for him, but ordering porn by pay-per-view would no doubt be frowned on by whoever was doing the Council’s accounting these days.  But fuck, he wanted to forget himself for a few hours.  Being at the memorial—he refused to call it a funeral a year after the fact—had been harder than he anticipated, and the bizarro conversation with Spike afterward hadn’t helped any.  Not like he didn’t expect the vampire to be there.  Hell, they’d held the whole thing at dusk just so the vampire mourners could be part of it.  But what the fuck was Spike doing following him around? 

He took a long angry gulp from the bottle.  Fucking offering him a cigarette and what?  Comfort?  Companionship?  Xander surged to his feet unsteadily.  Not thinking.  Tonight is about not thinking.  He paced, all pretense at watching gaily decorated dicks rubbing through curly red wigs abandoned.  Glancing at the closet that held his suitcase with leather clothes bunched in the bottom, he reconsidered the option of a quick word with the concierge. 

Tentative knocking on the door caught his attention.  He checked the clock.  Midnight.  Kinda late for visitors, but not that unusual.  The knocking grew bolder.  Xander considered not answering, but guilt prevented him from following through on that option.   He knew that his friends worried about him, and he didn’t want to risk more well-meaning concern by shutting them out altogether.  Snapping off the television and stashing the bottle under a pillow, he prepared himself to offer assurances that he was fine, that no he didn’t want to join everyone else at the bar, that he was tired from the trip and the memorial and just needed to sleep.  The words were on his lips as he opened the door to find Dawn fidgeting and glancing up and down the hallway.

“Hey, Dawnie,” he offered quietly, “what’s up?”

“Um, hi Xander, can I…I mean, I know I’m probably disturbing you and all, and look, you’re all ready for bed.” She gestured at the boxers and t-shirt.  “But it’s kinda important, and I need to talk to you tonight.”   Her voice grew more determined as she took in the shadowed eyes and smelled the whiskey that seemed to be a permanent Xander-scent these days.

Xander opened the door wider and gestured her into the room.  He closed and locked the door, turning to find her standing with her arms crossed with a set expression. 

“So, Dawnster, what can the Xan-man do for you?”  His turn to be nervous, and he clamped down on the fidgeting babble, settling down on the edge of the bed and forcibly keeping still and silent.

“Ok,” she took a deep breath and sat down next to him on the bed.  “I don’t know if you’ve heard yet, but Faith isn’t coming back with us like we planned.  She’s going to LA to work with Angel.” 

“Nope, hadn’t heard, but that’s a good thing, right?  Sounds like they could use the help there after, well, everything.”  He began to relax.  Not an intervention, not a lecture.  Despite their almost unconscious insistence to view Dawn as young and therefore naïve, Xander knew she often saw more than the others, certainly more than Giles or Willow had time to be looking for these days.  Paranoia, he told himself, thinking she was here about me.  He stomped on the small disappointment that her visit really didn’t seem to have anything to do with him.

“Right.  They do need the help, and I guess when Faith saw Angel, she pretty much told him flat-out that she was coming to LA.” They shared a grin at the thought of Angel being ordered around by the dark slayer. 

“Didn’t give Deadboy any room to argue, did she?”

“I think her words were something to the effect of ‘You need me.  I’m coming.  Deal with it or I’ll dust you myself.’  Apparently, he’s been driving Spike crazy with the broodier than usual guilt-trips.” 

“So let me guess? Spike called in the cavalry?”  Xander forced his tone to stay light.

“Nothing like a slayer to kick some vampire ass.”

“And Giles is cool with it?”

“Yep, he wished Angel good luck, and he was practically humming as he walked away.”

Xander shook his head.  The continual clashes between the senior slayer and watcher had increased dramatically with Buffy’s death, and some distance would undoubtedly be welcome to both.

“That’s not really what I needed to talk to you about, though.”  Dawn’s face took on a steely aspect as she looked at him.  “I’m going with her to LA.”

“Oh.”  The chasm opened up beneath his feet again as he felt his world shift. 

“Yeah.”

“Can I ask why?” He kept his voice level and wished he had gotten a bit further through the bottle of whiskey.  Maybe it would have allowed him to keep looking at her instead of staring at his hands restlessly picking at one another.

“I don’t want to go back to England.  Not right now.  Not with everything that happened.” Her voice cracked but didn’t break.  “Not without Buffy there.”

Not without Buffy there.  The words settled between them, and Xander concentrated on breathing.  Hold on, she’s told you, she just wants to hear you say it’s okay, then she’ll go.  Just hold on.

Dawn’s heart creaked for the man in front of her.  They hadn’t spoken about Buffy more than four or five times in the last year.  He would talk to her about anything and everything else, including a mortifying crush and closet kissing incident with a watcher in training, but he would shut down and suddenly need to be somewhere else when discussions of Buffy arose.

“Have you told Giles and Willow?”

“Not yet.” She focused on getting the next part right.  “This is where I need your help.”

“Dawnie”

“I know this is asking a lot, but they’ll never agree that it’s okay for me to go to LA, even with Faith there.  They still haven’t gotten over the whole evil law firm thing, especially since it ended in a near-apocalypse that took out a good portion of LA along with all but Spike and Angel really.”

“Dawn”

“But bad things are happening in the city, and the three of them can’t handle it on their own, and even with Faith helping, and even with whatever the heck that Illyria person is, they still could use someone who knows the research side, and I can do that.  I could...”

“Dawn!”  Xander stood up, pacing away from the bed, arms wrapped tight around himself.  Fuck, have to calm down.  I’m losing her, too.  He shut down that thought immediately, and closed his eyes before taking a deep breath and turning back to the young woman perched on the edge of the bed.

“You know Giles and Willow won’t be happy, but I get it.  You,” he swallowed, but couldn’t find a way out of making the offer, “you want me to talk to them for you?”

“I want you to come with me.”

Xander stared at her, unable to form thoughts, let alone words.  She stood and put her hand on his crossed arms, peering intently at him.

“Look, Xander.  I know you don’t want to go back to England either.  You’re not happy there.” She stifled a sigh as he closed his eye and turned aside, not outright pushing her away, but no longer connecting.  “Come to LA with us.”

“Things are complicated there enough, you said it yourself.  I don’t want to add to that.  They don’t need me there.”

“That’s not true, and you know it.”

Xander turned back to glare at her.  “I know Angel hates me.  I know Spike hates me.  Faith they’ll tolerate ‘cause she’s a slayer and can kick their asses.  You, they love.  But I’m the guy that got Buffy killed.  They do not want or need me.”  Pain filled the atmosphere as Xander struggled to control himself.

“Ok, maybe they don’t need you,” Dawn corrected, “but you need them.”  Seeing the vehement protest rising in his eyes, she hastened on, “And I need you there.  Giles won’t trust me alone with them and Faith, so I need you to come, too.”

“You’re over eighteen, Dawn.  Tell him to shove it up his Council ass.  You’re an adult.  Go where you want, you don’t need me.” He knew he was behaving monstrously, but he couldn’t think past all the pain the conversation stirred up, and he needed to have it end.  He shoved past her to stand by the window, staring at the night.

“Xander Harris, stop being a self-centered, self-pitying asshole for two minutes and listen to me.”  She stalked over and forced him to look at her.  “I asked nice.  I gave you reasons.  Now I’m telling you.  You’re coming to LA.  I need you there, and I don’t want you going back to England any more than you want to be there. I’ll square it with Giles and Willow tonight.  So fucking drink the rest of whatever bottle or bottles you have stashed in the room and make sure you’re packed to leave for LA at 10 AM.”

Shit, she really was scarier than Buffy had ever been.  Her look left no room for objections, and he didn’t have it in him to fight anymore.  In truth, he didn’t want to go back to England, but he hadn’t considered any other options.  Not that LA would have been on the top of the list.  Ok, so LA probably wouldn’t have made the list.  In fact, it probably would have been on a no-way-in-hell-am-I-going-there list. 

“Fine.” He clipped the word out.  “Wait, 10 AM?  As in daylight?”

“Sun-proof car windows for the vamp-mobile.  Don’t be late or I’ll send Spike to come get you.  You remember what he’s like in the morning.” She smiled sweetly and let herself out the door.

He stared at the closed door for a long moment.  His world shifted and settled.  LA.  Fuck.  He sat back on the bed and pulled out the bottle.   Well, he was following her orders about where to live, might as well go with her plan for his evening as well.  He took a long swallow and began the rest of the journey to the bottom of the bottle.

3
Wake Up Call

Pounding.  Too much pounding for the hangover headache that Xander had fully given himself over to when he slapped the alarm off at 9:15, and again at 9:24, and again at 9:33 before burying it under two pillows.  He groaned quietly—no point adding to the dull thud that throbbed from around his skull when the increasingly agitated pounding on the door.  He rolled slowly into a sitting position and placed his bare feet on the floor, scrunching his toes in the carpet. 

“Harris, get your lazy arse out here now!”

Xander cringed.  The vampire’s shout grated across frayed nerves, and Xander considered ignoring the menace at the door and making for the bathroom and a hot shower.  Maybe if he delayed long enough, impatient vamps would whisk Dawn away and leave him behind.  The thought appealed for approximately thirty seconds before the panic over losing Dawn and the inevitable regret over giving his friends more reason to worry took over.  He stood and shuffled over to the door, flicked the locks, and turned around to shuffle back towards the bathroom without waiting for Spike to barge across the threshold.

Spike fumed as he listened to the locks being turned.  When the door didn’t open, he reached for the knob and flung the door open.  As he opened his mouth to let loose another stream of invective, he took in the wretched state of the room and the man disappearing into the bathroom.  Two empty whiskey bottles along with several Hershey’s chocolate bar wrappers where strewn across the floor along with the now-crumpled suit that Xander had worn to Buffy’s memorial.  Blankets laid in a tangled mass on the bed, testament to a night of restless sleep, although Spike grimly noted that Xander probably passed out rather than fell asleep.  Anger, fear, despair all lingered in the air.  As he took in the state of the room, he listened to the sound of Xander’s morning ablutions. 

The vampire sighed and began to gather the man’s belongings, grateful that he had agreed to take on the task of rounding up the missing member of their new LA contingent rather than letting Dawn deal with Xander in his morning-after grunge.  A thought flashed and had him at the bathroom door, snarling. 

“You let her see you like this?” He ground out.

“Huh?” Xander raised bloodshot eyes, toothbrush hanging out of his mouth.

“Dawn.  She find you like this?  Stinking of booze and barely able to drag your sorry ass out of bed?”

Xander looked back down at the sink, spit out toothpaste, and ran water over the toothbrush to clean it.  Answer enough for Spike.

“This ends.” He spun Xander around and pressed him back against the marble countertop.  “You will not put her through that.”  He grasped Xander’s stubbled chin and forced him to meet angry blue eyes.  To his shock, the brown eye staring back at him gleamed with angry unshed tears.  He forced himself to push down sympathy for the hopelessness that rolled off the man.  “You don’t do this to her.  Gonna be a drunk like your da, you do it somewhere else.  Away from her.”

Xander closed his eye and a tear fell.  He jerked away from the cool hands on his arms and angrily dashed the tear away.  God, all he wanted was to get out of this room without any further conversation.  Having Spike’s preternaturally strong hands on him, threatening him with the pain that he craved had almost undone him.  The urge to spill out his failings, to beg for the punishment that might make him feel redeemed for even a few moments, warred with the certainty that Spike must be as disgusted with him as he was with himself. 

Spike watched him stalk across the room and rip the dingy t-shirt off and yank on jeans and a clean tee with shaking hands. 

“She never found me like this.  I never let anyone find me like this. Until today.”  Shoving the remaining clothes into his duffle, he kicked the bottles out of his way and headed for the door.  Before he could open it, Xander found himself faced once again with that cold blue stare.  He met the look with resignation, clearly accepting that only Dawn mattered.

The depth of brokenness and loss in the deep brown eye stung the vampire’s unbeating heart.  He decided Angel’s timetable could take another few minutes of disruption, and he took the bag from Xander and guided him back to sit on the bed. 

Spike ran a hand through his hair, trying to figure out what he needed to say.

“Sorry about that,” Spike jerked his thumb toward the bathroom.  “Hit a sore spot.  Promised the Slayer to take care of the Bit.  I was just looking out for her.”

Xander looked away and nodded before muttering, “I wouldn’t hurt Dawn.”

Spike sat down on the bed.  “Need something for that headache?”

He shrugged.  “Doesn’t matter.  It’ll go away.”

“And you deserve it?”

“Fuck off.”

“Gonna have to do better than that.”

“Leave it alone, Spike.  I fucked up, and now we’re late.  Can we just go?” Xander stood and picked up the bag again.  He so did not want to be having any kind of conversation about the state of his life right now.  Without looking back, he walked out the door.  Spike frowned and followed.  He had agreed to Dawn’s plan, but now he wondered what exactly he had gotten himself into.  If he hadn’t been at such a loss as to what to do with his brooding Sire, he never would have agreed to this whole arrangement.  As he trailed Xander down the hall and out to the parking lot, he smirked as another thought occurred.  In this particular deal, Dawn and Faith got a broody immortal known for his temper and guilt-complexes that were ingrained centuries deep.  Suddenly a young human bent on destroying himself seemed like the better part of the bargain.

4
Seeking Pain

Xander watched the blur of motion on the practice mats as Spike sparred with Faith.  He stretched stiffening muscles, enjoying the pain from bruises just forming under sweat-slick skin.  It had been Dawn’s idea to have the two humans pick up some training so they could, if not keep up, at least not be so easily picked off when they went out on cases with the vamps, slayer, and whatever the heck Illyria was.  Xander still wasn’t too clear on that exactly, and he noticed that Dawn tended to steer clear of the blue figure.  But after her experience with Glory, he could hardly blame her for being a bit shy of another hell goddess. 

“Hey!” Xander yelped as a finger poked at the bruise forming on his hip from a blow that Spike had gotten past his own quarterstaff. 

“Is this what you want?” Enormous blue eyes stared at him.

“What do you mean?” He muttered as he carefully slid away on the bench.  Dawn had the right idea.  This chick was seriously weird.

“The pain,” she tilted her head.  “You seek after it.  You bury your need for it in that vile drink.  Are all human men thus?”

“Thus?  Thus what?  And huh?”

“My Wesley.  The pain burned in him for Winifred Burkle.  He soaked himself in drink, and he sought after the pain that my presence gave him.  You mourn as he did.”  A sadness crept into her voice.

Xander focused on the punches and kicks being exchanged, weapons foregone in favor of fists.  “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”  He shifted uncomfortably under the unblinking gaze that he felt on his scalp. 

“Think they’re gonna really hurt each other in a minute.”

“They do not have the will to truly damage one another.” Illyria spoke dismissively.

Okay, so trying to refocus her attention didn’t work.  Maybe if he ignored her, she would get bored and wander off.  Before he could test that theory, however, Dawn came bounding into the basement practice room.

“Vamps,” she gasped out.  “A whole nest of ‘em.  One of Gunn’s old crew came by and said there’s too many of them.  They need help.”

Faith and Spike dropped their fighting stance as soon as Dawn spoke the first word.  Spike tossed Faith a towel, and they each wiped off sweaty faces as they headed for the stairs, Illyria trailing behind them.  Xander sat for a long minute before trudging up the stairs to find everyone gearing up in the hotel lobby. 

“Spike, Faith, take the bike.  Follow LaShaun here.  Dawn, Illyria, you’re with me.  Stakes, swords, axes are in the trunk.”  Angel barked orders, ignoring the uneasy looks that passed between the others.  The older vampire hardly spoke except to give orders anymore.  Killing seemed to be the only way to bring him out of the constant brood that holed him up in his room.

“Not on, boss.  Blue, you’re with Blondie here.  Dawn, let’s go.” Faith countermanded the orders with a look that dared Angel to argue.  Not that he could be stopped.

“Not on?  What’s wrong Faith?  Afraid Spike will take advantage? Or maybe the other way around?”

Xander noted the flinch in the slayer’s stance, but her eyes took on a dark determination, and he knew that Angel would more than meet his match in the obnoxious comments department.  He settled on the couch, torn between resenting the accepted fact that Dawn would be included while he stayed home to mind the store and enjoying the unexpected escape from the constant presence of others. 

“You forget she happens to be under the protection of the not-so-wicked witch of the West?  Anything happens to her, and there’s no place you can hide that Willow won’t turn your undead ass into dust.  Just looking out for you big guy.”  She herded Dawn out the door toward Angel’s convertible.

Spike smirked and enjoyed the glower on Angel’s face as he stalked after them.  When he agreed to help out Dawn and Faith with their plots to pull his Sire out of his post-almost-Apocalypse funk, he hadn’t known how much fun it would be pushing the old man’s buttons.  He counted it a bonus, then frowned as he took in the hunched figure on the couch.  After the first couple days, Xander had quit griping about being left behind.  However, they hadn’t left him completely on his own in the week since returning from Sunnydale.  Whatever was going on had to be bad if Dawn agreed that even she couldn’t afford to stay behind this time.  The vampire nodded Illyria toward the door.

“Be there in a mo’.” Alone in the hotel lobby, he strode over to stand before Xander.

“Yes, I’m fine.  Go.  Kill.  Have fun.” Xander spoke without meeting Spike’s gaze.

“You stay here.”

“I don’t need a fucking babysitter, Spike.”

“Stay.  Here.”

“Fuck.  Off.” Xander raised an angry eye to meet Spike’s unflinching gaze.  Spike reached down and hauled the man to his feet.  His gaze softened as he ran his eyes over the bruised man.

“Shouldn’t have hit you so hard.”

“I’m fine,” Xander spat out.  “Nothing a hot shower and another night stuck inside won’t cure.”  He struggled to free himself from the vampire’s grip.  The last thing he needed right now was concern for his well-being. 

“Harris, you’re so far from fine, you’re not even in the same time zone.” Spike dropped his hand and stepped back.  “Question is what to do about it.”

“Vampires, Spike.  Go.  Kill, maim, dust, have a blast.  Just leave me the fuck alone.”  Xander stalked up the stairs, without looking back.  His skin crawled from being watched all the time, being surrounded by people.  In London, he had his own apartment and no one kept an eye on his comings and goings, a fact he desperately missed.  God, he needed to get out.  What to do about it?  He knew what he wanted, what he needed, but he sure as hell wasn’t going to get it stuck here in the Hyperion under Dawn’s distant but watchful eye or Spike’s unceasing presence. 

Spike watched the human disappear from view before he shook his head and focused on the task at hand.  Fucking do-gooding was getting in the way of, well, doing good.  He still had no idea what Dawn expected him to do to bring back the Xander of old, and he could feel the anger and pain only pulling the man further away from them.

5
Finding Punishment

Ten minutes after the door closed behind the reformed AI team, a showered Xander made his way back to the lobby.   Under the pelting heat of the water, he made a decision.  Who knew when he would have another chance to get out of the hotel unescorted, and the need burned through him.  Training with Spike and Faith had helped mitigate it some, forcing him to focus purely on the physical moment, exhausting him beyond the capacity to think or feel.  Working out took him out of himself nearly as effectively as making his way to the bottom of a bottle.  He still hadn’t decided which method had the more difficult side-effect, the pain of hangovers or the pain of being in the company of people who knew Buffy and even worse, who cared about him.

Xander focused on his goal, determined to be well gone before the others got back.  He strode around the lobby counter and settled in front of the computer.  Hitting a key, he let out a deep breath.  Jackpot.  The computer was turned on and didn’t require a password.  During his quick shower, he had considered calling his club back in London and asking for a recommendation of a place here in LA, but he determined that a long-distance call left the kind of trail that the internet wouldn’t.  A simple clearing of the browser’s cache and history of pages visited would remove all evidence.  He sent a small word of thanks to Willow for the computer basics she had insisted that everyone learn. 

Quickly, he typed “Los Angeles Dungeons” and scrolled through the list.  Figuring speed took precedence over in-depth research, he ignored the nagging voice of Mistress Eleana, who pounded it into him that play should be safe above all.  And read that for a literal pounding, he chuckled to himself.  If she saw him now, she’d have him stretched out against the wall in manacles with his skin burning from the strap.  His skin twitched at the thought, and his fingers fumbled over the keyboard.  There.  Chambre de Sade.  That would do.  He scribbled down the address and quickly cleared all evidence of the search away.  Dialing information, he got the number of a cab company, and within moments, he climbed into the waiting taxi clutching his duffel bag with club clothes safely stuffed inside.

******************

The interior of Chambre de Sade belied the bland stucco exterior.  Clearly the place had been converted from an older complex done in the Spanish style.  The exterior appeared non-descript and unassuming, but as soon as he walked into the reception lounge, Xander recognized the trappings of a professional dungeon.  The receptionist managed a goth/business attire that he never imagined would be possible, but here in the public area of the dungeon, she seemed to promise the reality of the darkness behind the closed doors while maintaining an unthreatening professionalism.

“Welcome, can I help you, sir?”

“Yes.” Xander set down his duffel and ran his eyes over the brochures in their clear acrylic holders on the reception desk.  She followed his gaze and pulled out one of the brochures to open it for his perusal.

“What type of services are you looking for this evening, sir?” Her eyes ran him over, searching for the first dom/sub clue.

Xander scanned the glossy text with discrete photos.  Punishment.  The word flashed out of the page at him, and he pointed with a finger that he willed not to shake.  Hell, he was an adult and it wasn’t like he had never done this kind of thing before.

“Very good.  Fill out the basic consent and services requested form and then we can begin.”  Xander noticed that she dropped the ‘Sir’ appellation, and he realized that she must have recognized him as a punishee rather than a punisher. 

Xander nodded and accepted the clipboard and form that she held out.

“Please sit at the table over there.  Return the form to me when you have filled out all the required information.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he stifled the shudder of anticipation that ran through him.

Settling himself at the table, he ran his fingers through his hair as he contemplated the form.  The instructions were minimal, with only the commands to fill out the form accurately, completely, and honestly and to return it to the receptionist with a valid form of photo ID.

Xander worked quickly, continually aware of the alarm his absence from the Hyperion would cause.  Suddenly he wished he had at least left a note of some kind, but it was too late for that now, so he shoved the thought away and focused on filling out the form. 

Next of Kin or Other Contact Information.  He stifled a groan.  Who the fuck could he put down as a contact?  Using any of the folks in London would be less than ideal given the distance, and using his parents, well, that wasn’t really possible since he couldn’t be sure that he had access to any of their current contact information with him.  Although imagining the look on his father’s face in the rare event that something did happen, it was almost worth considering putting the old bastard’s name down.  He sighed, and scratched his nose as he thought through the only people he knew in LA.   Faith might actually get off on the place, so she was a possibility.  Definitely not Dawn, god, even the thought of her knowing that he came here made his blood run cold.  Angel? He’d be no stranger to this kind of place, but Xander dreaded drawing any of the brooding vampire’s attention these days.  Illyria had the potential to be hilarious—at least for the first few minutes—but then who knew if she even took phone calls, besides, the last thing he wanted was another bizarre conversation like the one earlier in the afternoon.  That left Spike.  Somehow that seemed fitting.  Dawn may have been the one to corner him into agreeing to come to LA, but Spike seemed to be the acting Xander-keeper these days.  Xander smirked.  Wanna keep an eye on me, bleach boy?  Well, here’s your chance to be official about it. 

Xander carefully wrote in “William T. Bloody”.  He looked at the name.  It looked stupid, and it looked fake, especially considering the circumstances.  Fuck it.  Time’s a wastin’.  He quickly filled in the Hyperion’s phone number, which Angel had grilled the newcomers on until they each proved that they had memorized it ‘just in case.’ 

After signing the consent for services pages, he circled medium spanking, flogging, and whipping along with being blindfolded and restrained and selected a male Dom.  With only a half-hour, he needed the time to be focused and intense, which meant no branching out this time. Further, he didn’t need any of the psychological punishments, since he provided those a’plenty for himself, and somehow he never really got the appeal the humiliation involved in hardsports or watersports.

With a hurried flourish, he signed his name and returned to the reception desk, shaking off the discomfort at this clinical aspect of getting into the club.  She inspected his form, made sure he had signed that he understood and would abide by all rules, and then in return for his entrance fee, she gave him a key to the locker room and directions to the area where he would meet his Master for the evening.

Finally, the heavy wooden doors opened, and Xander made his way into the club, the barriers holding back his grief and loneliness buckling under the need to translate that pain from the emotional to the physical at the hands of someone able to make the pain blossom into release, if not redemption.

6
Harsh Truths

Xander fumbled with the shower nozzle as he adjusted the temperature, warm but not too hot against his tender back.  He shoved his face under the spray and let the emotions stirred by the session come flooding to the surface.  Shaking, he flicked the clasp on the stainless steel cock ring that had kept him from cumming under the lash.  Grief, pain, guilt, arousal, all roared through him as he yanked at his rigid cock, pulling himself to an immediate orgasm that broke the remaining barriers holding back the feelings.  He slid to the cool tile floor of the shower and let the water beat way his cum and tears. 

After several minutes, he gathered himself and stood shakily.  He felt wrung out, relieved of some of the tension that seemed a constant these days.  Grabbing the hotel-sized bar of soap provided by the club, he scrubbed himself clean.  Flashes from the session skittered through his mind, and he began to gather them together to lock them carefully away in the box marked ‘must repress’. 

The lash snapping down on his back as he saw Buffy’s neck snap to the side.  The paddle smacking his buttocks as he heard his own burbling growl around fangs slipping into her dead flesh.  He allowed himself to remember these images only as the implements of punishment struck his skin.  The blows never reached the core of his betrayal, but he kept returning for the pain that allowed him to face the grief, always seeking the possibility of a forgiveness that eluded him.

As he finished showering and dried off, he considered stopping at the bar for a drink before heading back to the Hyperion.  He held out little hope for returning ahead of the vamp slaying set, but he recognized that the longer he was gone, the worse the lectures he would have to face.  Sighing, he grabbed his duffel and went back to the reception desk to request a cab.  No longer driven by the desperate need to get out, he confronted the reality that Spike would have his balls for disobeying, and he began to formulate a plausible excuse for his whereabouts while he waited for the taxi that would deliver him to the vampire.

******************

At the Hyperion, Dawn and Faith gave Spike a wide berth as he paced the lobby alternately growling and smoking.  Vamp dust still clung to his boots and duster, and his shirt sported spatters of blood from the battle.  Everyone else had dispersed for showers as soon as they got back.  Despite their insistence that Xander wouldn’t have run, that he must have just taken advantage of the evening out, Spike couldn’t relax.  Harris was his responsibility, like it or not, and he had instructed the man to stay put.

Bloody Hell.  No wonder Dawn needed help.  If a Master Vampire couldn’t compel the git to obey and take care of himself, then what must she have dealt with over the last year?  Spike’s calls with her during that time had been filled with attempts to comfort and bolster one another up as he tried to keep Angel from giving up champion status altogether and going back to feeding on rats and she tried to fill the void left by Buffy’s death while at the same time keeping Xander from managing to off himself in skirmishes with the demon of the week.  Apparently his sense of self-preservation, always coming in second to his loyalty and concern for friends, had taken a further tumble down his list of priorities, and Xander came close to getting killed so often that Giles and Willow refused to let him patrol at all in the last few months.  Dawn feared that he wanted to be killed ever since Buffy died. 

Spike shook his head.  Daft bugger.  Yeah, he’s to blame, but at the same time, from what Dawn said, he was under that Rayne bloke’s spell.  Spike couldn’t help but sympathize as he recalled his own manipulation at the hands of the First.  Willow found out about the spell on Xander, but not in time to prevent the tragedy.  Spike had only sketchy details about what had happened, but apparently Xander killed Buffy when Rayne had turned him temporarily into a vampire.  No one else had been present when it happened.  Dawn and Giles found him huddled in a corner of a training room with her body lying broken and bloodied on the floor.  All he would say was “I killed her.”   Even without the details, Spike could imagine the battle: Xander in full vamp form and Buffy holding back, trying not to hurt a friend whom she knew wasn’t really undead.  But that shouldn’t have been enough for Xander to beat her.  Buffy fought against the best of his kind and walked away.  Something else had to be at work, and Spike knew he needed to find out what if he was to be the help that Dawn needed him to be.

The scrape of the front doors opening snapped Spike from his contemplation.  In a blur of motion, Spike had Xander backed up against the doors.  Game-face to the fore, Spike catalogued the man, taking in the squeaky-cleanness and fear-tripping heart beat.

“Where the fuck have you been?”

“Out.” The slight shake in his voice undercut Xander’s defiant gaze.  The tremor in his voice disgusted him.  Hell, he was a grown man, not some teenager who got caught sneaking in late.

Spike glared back.  He growled as he shifted his hold on the larger man and without ceremony flung him over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry, ignoring the gasp from Dawn and the snicker that could only be Faith. They had accepted that this was no longer their battle, besides the nest of vamps seemed like a cake-walk when compared to the conflict going on between Xander and Spike at the moment.

“What the fuck?” Xander scrambled to hold onto his bag as the world tilted upside down.  “Put me down you bleached menace!”

Taking the stairs two at a time, Spike stalked down the hall to Xander’s room and kicked the door open.

“Hey!”

Grimly silent, he deposited the squirming human gracelessly on the bed and slammed the door closed.  Xander winced as he righted himself, but at the look on Spike’s face, he figured that standing back up was not the most prudent approach.  He watched warily as the vampire stalked closer.

“If I have to lock you in this room, I will.  If I have to tie you to a chair, I will.  If I have to break both of your bloody legs, I will.”

Xander swallowed heavily.  Lectures bypassed, straight on to threats.  He had forgotten how terrifying the vampire could be.  Fear warred with anger, however, and Xander recognized that he hadn’t had the time that he needed to finish pulling himself back together following the session at Chambre de Sade.  As a rule, he took several hours alone after a session to sort himself out.  Time constraints had prevented that tonight, and he clenched his fists, willing himself to be silent and controlled despite the rage and pain rolling through him.

Spike imagined he could see Xander shaking on the waves of emotion that crashed off him.  Despite his silence and rigid stillness, fear, anger, and pain, pain, pain seemed to flood from the man.  The demon in Spike wanted to revel in that emotion, push it over the edge into violence, but he allowed the soul to reign in that impulse.  He settled his features back into his human guise as he considered his next move.

“Why does it matter to you where I go?” Xander spoke low, his face averted.

“Matters to me ‘cause it matters to the ‘Bit.”

“It shouldn’t.”

“Wanna clear that up for me, pet?”

“Shit, Spike, I’m five years older than she is, responsible adult here.” Xander struggled to keep from standing and pacing.  “Why the fuck does it matter if I go out by myself?  I’m legal for everything except running for government office, and you can believe me when I promise that I’m not looking to do that, promises of easy interns bearing cigars aside.  Why can’t they just leave me the fuck alone?”  He snapped his mouth shut, willing himself to calm down.

Spike grabbed Xander’s shoulders and brought his face close.

“If you’re not half as stupid as I’ve always taken you for, you know the answer to that question.”  The vampire let go and stood back a pace. “Question I want answered is why you put them in this place where they can’t leave you alone.”

“Right.  Great.  It’s my fault they’ve got you breathing down my neck twenty-four seven.” He finally stood, shoving the vampire back.  “I didn’t ask for this.  I’m doing what she told me.  I’m in fucking LA, living with vampires who hate me, being a constant reminder to Buffy’s sister, ex-lovers, and whatever the hell Faith is, that Buffy is dead.  She’s dead, and I killed her.  I can’t fix that, Spike.”  He turned from raging and towering over the vampire to wrap his arms tight around himself as though to keep from flying apart utterly. 

“Tell me how to fix it.  I’m trying, but I don’t know what to do.” His voice broke in misery this time.  “I don’t know what to do, and they won’t let me leave.”

Spike stuck his hands in his duster pockets and regarded the shivering figure.  “They love you.” He registered the shudder that ran through Xander at that declaration, as though his whole body protested.  “And they wanna help you.  If you let ‘em.”

The vampire circled around until he stood before Xander, taking in the abject misery on his face, eye clenched shut and a single tear tracing a path down the tanned cheek.  His fingers itched to reach out and touch the man, but he resisted, not wanting to chance shattering him.

“Xander.  Xander, look at me.” The brown eye swam with tears.  “They don’t know how to help you.  You don’t seem to know how to either, so I’m gonna ask you to let me try.”  He gazed steadily into that pain-soaked face and willed Xander to agree.

Xander searched Spike’s eyes for a sign of mockery.  Even the unbridled anger that had surfaced when he first returned to the hotel appeared to have faded.  He found only a calm acceptance in the steady blue gaze.  But he couldn’t bring himself to speak.

“You killed a slayer, Xan.” Spike pressed, not enjoying the man’s flinch, but recognizing that the source of the struggle lay with Buffy.  “Been there, done that, bought the soddin’ t-shirt.”

“I’m not like you.” Xander spat out.  “Not evil.”

“You killed a Slayer.” Spike shrugged calmly.  “Can’t say that goes over well on the white-hat resume.”

“Get out.” His breathing turned harsh as Spike chipped away at that repression box he struggled so hard to keep closed in the back of his mind.

Spike nodded with a forced amicability, recognizing that his comments cut deep into the wound.  However, gone untreated, the wound had become septic, and it would take a great deal of cutting to root out the infection if they hoped to save the man. 

The compassion in Spike’s gaze, the lack of condemnation, tipped Xander from defense to offense, and he stalked past the vampire to yank open the door to the room. 

“Get the fuck out of my room, and stay the fuck out of my life.” Tremors wracked his voice as he fought with himself, drawn by the promise that Spike understood the pain and could help.  Images of white bones on red petals flashed across his mind, and he clamped down hard on the hope that had barely begun to blossom.  He didn’t deserve help, and he was certain that Spike knew that as well, despite his offer.

“Get out, or I’ll add dusting a champion to my resume as well.”

Spike strode insolently to the door.  He stood in the doorway and looked back, “None of us deserve forgiveness, pet.  That’s why it’s a gift.”  He continued to stand in the hall after Xander slammed the door.  From inside the room, muffled sobs worked their way to the vampire’s ears.  He forced himself to listen, and in the ragged sounds recognized a depth of guilt and despair the like of which had led him to regain his soul and then to want to burn it back out.   Touching his fingers to the door, he renewed his promise to Dawn to take care of Xander, to keep him from destroying himself as well as Buffy.

“He’s getting worse,” Dawn offered quietly, her troubled gaze focused on the mug in her hand.

Spike sighed.  “Gonna get even worse before it gets better, Bit.”

“I was really hoping you weren’t going to say that.”

“Not just us he’s running from,” Spike stood and set his mug on the desk.  “And there’s a reason he’s running.”

Dawn looked at him quizzically.

“Damned if I know what it is, pet.  But seems like it’s big and ugly, and it’s getting closer every bloody day.”

“What are you gonna do?”

“Try to be there when it catches up with him.” He nodded toward the closed door of Angel’s office.  “You alright on brood-watch?”

“Sure,” Dawn tossed her hair.  “I’m thinking maybe what Angel needs is a little field trip.  He doesn’t have any texts that cross-reference rituals with moon phases or star alignments, and I got to thinking that maybe we’ve been going about this all wrong, you know, looking up the demon itself instead of trying to identify the ritual from another angle.”

Spike grinned as enthusiasm for the research sparkled in her eyes.

“Good thought, luv.  And the added bonus of forcing Angel to cough up some cash.  I approve.”

She rolled her eyes at him, but didn’t stifle the giggle. 

As the vampire turned his eyes to the stairs once more, her amusement faded, and she reached out to squeeze his hand.  A quick squeeze in return, and Spike headed up the stairs after the retreated human.

11
Further Complications

Replacing the cap on the healing salve, Spike took satisfaction in the relaxed posture of the man before him.  Sometime after the tears ended, Xander had succumbed to sleep.  Sighing, he pulled a blanket over the prone figure.  Looks like further conversation was out for the evening.  Perhaps that was for the best, Spike acknowledged to himself, boy hadn’t slept well his entire tenure in Los Angeles and probably not before that either.  He ran a gentle hand over dark, unruly curls before levering himself off the bed and leaving the room, shutting the door quietly behind him.

********************

Banging on the door to his room pulled Xander from the first sound sleep he had had in nearly a year.  Without waiting for an invitation, Angel slammed the door open.

“Check out time.  Get your bags and get out.”  Clearly the night spent bludgeoning the demon population of LA hadn’t dampened the vampire’s determination to be rid of one Xander Harris.

Bitter anger had Xander sitting up and glaring daggers at the hulking figure. 

“Safe to say you don’t get a four-star rating from Zagat’s,” he snarked.

“You.  Out.  Now.” 

“Have the concierge call me a cab,” Xander sneered as he shoved back the covers and stalked over to the closet, yanking clothes from the rack and shoving them into his bag. 

Angel stood in the doorway, watching and ignoring the twinges of guilt that pricked at him.  This was his hotel, his home, dammit, and he had every right to determine who stayed and who left.  Only that wasn’t exactly true, was it?  Faith and Dawn had bullied their way in, dragging Harris along with them.  While he couldn’t evict the two women, he thought he had a chance with Harris.  Besides, the move might have the added benefit of pissing off everyone else who seemed so determined to take care of the broken man.  Pissing them off enough to leave him alone.  And that was all he really wanted—didn’t seem like too much to ask for after averting yet another apocalypse.  Unwittingly, he growled.

“Fuck off, Deadboy.  Packing as fast as humanly possible.  Not like I don’t relish the chance to get away from this place.”

Angel took in the shaking fingers and jerky movements.  He scented the air and registered the shame, misery, and defeat that radiated more strongly than the anger that colored Xander’s words.  Before he could say anything, Xander shoved the last shirt into the bag and pulled the zipper closed.  He stood and pushed past the vampire, dropping the bag at Angel’s feet.

“Take the bags to the car, bellhop,” Xander continued walking down the hall to the staircase, leaving the growling vampire behind him.  He struggled to keep himself from reacting to the eviction.  He wanted this, he reminded himself.  He would be free of all the concern and coddling of his well-meaning friends.  And they would be free of him.  No more causing them pain.  He focused on not stumbling down the stairs because wouldn’t that be just too embarrassing to have his last moments in the Hyperion consist of falling on his face while brood-boy stood over him, laughing at his idiocy.

Just as he congratulated himself on his dignified exit, Xander nearly tripped backwards as he confronted the green-skinned demon in a purple suit striding into the lobby. 

“You hoo!  Paying customer looking for a champion!”

“Gah!”

Lorne looked at the teetering man and reached out a hand to steady him.  Having the demon reach out for him startled Xander into another step backwards.  He banged his heel on the bottom step and went down hard on his ass.

“Sorry, sweetcheeks.” Lorne immediately apologized.  He stretched out a hand to help Xander up, but before either man could react, Angel’s voice cut through the lobby.

“Lorne.”

“Angel.”

Xander struggled to his feet and quickly removed himself from between the two demons.  Wow, and he thought the air had already reached the saturation point for tension.  But the appearance of this guy ratcheted it up to thunderstorm level. 

Angel stomped down the stairs, and dammit, Xander thought, didn’t that man ever just walk anywhere?  He reached the bottom and tossed Xander’s bag to the floor, next to the lobby door.  Looks like whatever the interruption that going on, it wasn’t going to stop him from tossing his least favorite human out on the street.

“Lorne!  Hey there big green!” Faith came out from around the desk to greet the demon.  “How’s it hanging?”

Lorne turned away from Angel’s intense stare to face the slayer.  “Faith!  I didn’t expect to find you in our lovely city again anytime soon after the last time.”  He shot a glare Angel’s direction.

“Bygones and all that,” she shrugged.  “We heard AI hit a bit of trouble with the Wolfram and Hart folks again to the tune of a minor apocalypse.  So a couple of us broke ranks to join with the underdog.  You know me, always up for a good fight.”

“Yeah, you always were one for the extreme measures,” he grinned.  “It’s good to see you.  Is the big lug giving you a hard time?”

“Hey.  Standing right here.” Angel grumbled.

“So what brings you back here?”  Faith hopped up on the counter, watching Lorne with an expectant gleam in her eye.  Better and better.  They had been trying to get Angel in contact with Lorne over this whole prophecy thing, and it looked like the powers were still on their side.

Lorne glanced at Angel guiltily, “I’d rather only go through this once, so maybe we should gather the team first?”

“Guess that’s my cue to take off,” Xander walked to the door and hefted his bag.

“And where do you think you’re going?” Faith swung her penetrating gaze to take in the defiant figure.

“He’s leaving.” Angel’s tone brooked no argument.

“Your idea?” Faith asked evenly.  At Angel’s nod, she cocked her head as if considering her options.

“Dawn!  Spike!”  Faith’s bellow rang through the lobby, causing the other three to cringe.

“What crawled up yer arse, slayer?”  Spike snarled as he appeared on the balcony overlooking the lobby.  Snarling turned to a grin as he saw Lorne standing in the doorway.  “’Bout time you showed up, green man.”

“Spike.  Xander’s leaving.”  Faith broke through the greetings.

Xander rolled his eyes and fidgeted with his bag.  He wondered if there had been a moment when he could have just slipped out.  Angel wanted him gone.  He wanted away from the smothering care of one peroxide vamp.  Seemed like a win-win. 

Eschewing the stairs, Spike leapt over the railing and landed gracefully on the lobby floor.  He sauntered over to join Faith at the desk.

“Oh, he is, is he?”  The sharp gaze settled on Xander, taking in the defensive posture.  “This your idea, pet?”

“He goes.” Angel stated.

Spike flicked a glare at his Sire.

“This is my house, Spike.  And I want him gone.”

Dawn came in from the kitchen in time to hear the last comment.  She paused as she took in the tableau: Faith and Spike against the counter standing off against Angel, who stood at the bottom of the staircase with arms crossed and brow lowered while Xander seemed to shrink against the lobby doors.  Finally her gaze came to rest on the newest arrival.  Making up her mind, she crossed the room and held out her hand. 

“I’m Dawn.  Welcome to Angel Investigations.  What can we do for you?”

Lorne graciously bent to kiss the back of her hand, ignoring the knowing snort from Spike and gaping from Xander and Angel.  Clearly it took more than a grumpy Champion to cow this one.

“Actually,” Lorne stated, glancing around the room, “It’s beginning to sound like we might be able to help one another.”  He caught Faith’s eye, “This the whole team?”

She nodded, “If we need her blueness, we’ll fill her in the next time she lowers herself to mingle with the common folk.”

“Well, kiddies, settle in and let Uncle Lorne tell you a story.”

“Hold up a minute.  What’s this about Xander leaving?” Spike demanded. 

“Later, blondie.  Looks like we’ve got a case.  The PTB’s take precedence over family squabbles.”  Faith settled herself back on the counter to listen. 

Spike took the opportunity to cross the lobby and grab Xander by the arm, dragging him to the couch.  He growled low at Angel as he walked past him.

“Sit.”  Spike shoved Xander down and settled on the couch next to him, earning him a angry glare.

Outnumbered in his own hotel, Angel chose to express his displeasure by standing apart from the others, leaning against one of the columns at the base of the stairs.

“Right, then.” Lorne shifted awkwardly.  “How do you feel about ghost stories?”

12
Taking the Case

Silence reigned in the lobby after Lorne outlined the problem: The LA Valley Rental Agency had an apartment that couldn’t be rented due to a violent ghost inhabiting it, and an agent privately contacted him to assess and, if possible, eliminate the problem.  However, the core of the problem lay not with the existence of the ghost, but rather its identity.

“So can’t we just exorcise his phantom ass?” Faith asked.  “Won’t that send him on to his eternal whatnot?”

Lorne glanced at Angel, not wanting to become the target of the frustrated rage that he felt building in the vampire, but before he could speak, Xander interjected.

“It doesn’t work that way, does it,” he spoke quietly.  “Ghosts hang around because of unresolved issues, so we need to find a way to help him get…” he gestured vaguely, “resolved.”  He had been paying vague attention to the story, not volunteering, but reminders of the Sadie Hawkins dance prompted him to join the discussion.  Somehow these days, he had more appreciation of the pain that the ghost-boy felt over murdering his lover.

“So, what’s his issue?” Dawn latched onto the most relevant concern.

“We already took care of his issue,” Angel ground out.  “He should have moved on then.”

“Apparently your help didn’t take,” Spike snarked.

“Wait, you know this Dennis guy?” Dawn swiveled to face Angel squarely.

“His mother buried him buried in the wall of her apartment for dating the wrong girl.  We exorcised the mother, and Dennis popped out of the wall.”  He spoke baldly.  “He hung around.”

“Why am I feeling like there’s more to that story?”

Lorne answered Dawn when it became clear that Angel had no more to say on the subject.  “The last person who lived in that apartment for any length of time was Cordelia.”

“Oh,” Dawn turned back around and focused her gaze on the floor.  Mentioning Cordy’s name around the Hyperion had been known to lead to repressed anger and marathon brooding sessions from their volatile leader.

Xander took a deep breath, “So we help him, right?  It’s what Cordy would want.”

“Cordelia’s dead,” Angel grated.  “Whatever his issue is now, we can’t help.  Exorcise him.  Put him out of his misery.”  With that judgment, the vampire stormed through the basement doors on his way to the sewers.

In the silence following his exit, Illyria strode in to the lobby from the basement.  “The half-breed mourns in the subterranean halls.” 

Faith exchanged a look with Dawn.  “Right.  I’m on vamp duty.  You guys work with Lorne on the ghost problem.”  She grabbed an axe from the weapons cabinet and disappeared after Angel.

“Have you returned to take your place at your leader’s side?”  Illyria crossed the room to stand before Lorne.

“Er, good to see you, too.”  Lorne shifted uncomfortably.

“You deserted your comrades in the aftermath of the battle.”

“Lay off, Blue.”

Xander could feel Spike tense next to him as his eyes flashed amber.

“Lorne settled that with Angel before the first shot was fired.”  Spike managed to convey threat while speaking softly.

Illyria gave him a cool appraisal.  “Your army does not fear its leader.  Such disrespect would not have gone unpunished in my time.”

“Not your time, anymore, is it?  ‘Sides, it’s not like the Great Pouf is one to inspire much respect these days.”  Spike snorted.

“No,” she agreed. “He does not rule his people any longer.”  She walked to the desk and began to sort through books that lay open from their search for the Riveda ritual.

Lorne exhaled as Illyria’s attention wandered elsewhere.  He looked at Spike.  “Has he been wound that tight since…”

Spike nodded wearily, “Not getting any better, mate.  Brought the ‘Bit and Slayer in to help him out.”

“Yeah, and it’s working so well.  They’ll have him hosting Tupperware parties and running for LA Man of the Year in no time.”

“You.  Shut it.” Spike pointed at Xander and snarled.  “We still have to have a conversation about those bags and just where the bloody hell you thought you were going.”

Xander stood and towered in front of the irate vampire.  “Angel said pack.  I packed.  Angel said go.  I’m going.  Really, Spike, it’s a story that a 3 year old could follow.  Not that it’s any of your fucking business.”  He shoved aside the pangs of conscience that poked at him for being such an ass after the kindness Spike had shown before, and he ruthlessly repressed the thought that it was that very kindness that he was lashing out at.

Spike growled, but before he could utter whatever threat percolated, Dawn stamped her thick-soled boot on the floor, demanding their attention.

“Hey!  Has everybody forgotten that we’re actually still trying to run an investigation agency here?  And that we have a paying customer?”  She glared at Spike and Xander before glancing at Lorne, “You are paying, right?”

Lorne grinned and pulled a roll of cash from his pocket.  “My fee becomes yours if you’ll take this one off my hands, sugar pie.”  His expression turned serious, “But not if the solution includes exorcism.  Then my business goes to any elsewhere I can find.”

“Ok, we’re agreed that we’re not gonna exorcise Dennis.”

********************

Faith dropped gracefully down into the sewers beneath the Hyperion.  She stood still, reaching out with slayer senses.  Some distance away, she heard the faint sounds of muffled blows and curses.  With a quick glance back at the sewer entrance, she tightened her grip on the sword she carried and loped off in the direction of the fighting. 

As she drew closer, the words grunted out between blows became clearer.

“Get.  Out. Of. My. City.  Why won’t you.  Just leave.  Me.  Alone!”  The soft explosion of dust marked the sound of a vampire meeting its end, and Faith put on a final burst of speed as silence echoed eerily.  Her heart clenched at the cessation of Angel’s words, fearing to find nothing more than a pile of ash.

The pain holding her heart in its grip didn’t lessen any as she reached the junction where a drawn out battle had clearly taken place.  Angel knelt alone, surrounded by the remains of what had probably at one time been an entire nest of vampires.  Even in their shared tramp through Angelus’s memories where Angel dug through garbage to feed on rats, she had never seen the champion so defeated. 

She moved cautiously, lowering the sword.

“Go away.” The defeated, hopeless words dropped into the silence.

“Can’t do that, big guy.”

Angel turned his face to her then, and she nearly rocked backward in the face of his despair.  Anger quickly took its place, however, and the vampire levered himself to his feet with an easy grace.

“You can leave.  You won’t.”

“Gonna try to throw my ass out the way you did Harris?”  She cocked her head and offered him a look of challenge.

Almost before she could register the movement, Angel pinned her against the cement wall of the sewer.

“We’ve done this dance before?  Remember, Angelus?  Kicked your ass that time, too.”  She shoved back and at the same time brought a knee up toward Angel’s groin.  He avoided the knee, but in shifting out of the way, he lost his grip on Faith’s sword hand.  She surprised him.  Instead of swinging the sword at him, she slammed the pommel into his face.  He reeled from the force of the blow, looking up, startled when she didn’t press the advantage.

She stared down at him.  “Or maybe this isn’t that dance, is it?  Huh.  Should be raining, shouldn’t it?  For the symmetry or somethin’?”  She glanced upward as if puzzled.

Recognition flickered in his eyes at her reference, and he turned his gaze onto the ash-coated sewer floor.

“You don’t understand anything.”

Faith leaned back against the sewer wall and crossed her arms, tapping the sword casually against her jeans.

“You know, I’ve never been one for the inspirational speeches.  But then, we always had people like Buffy and Wes around for those, didn’t we.”  She watched the pain crease across Angel’s brow.

“Not that they really started out being any good at them.  God, I remember when I first met Wes.  What a complete loser.  Fucking poker up his English ass.  So ready to believe in the council, always spouting off about duty and sacrifice like he knew something about it.”

“Shut up.”  Angel growled, eyes flashing amber.

“But, damn man.  Last time I saw him, he had that whole sexy danger guy thing going for him.  Hell, he took on Angelus with nothing more than a shotgun and a drugged up slayer.”

“What’s your point, Faith?” 

“What d’ya suppose happened to him between the time he was council head boy and taking on a 300 year old vampire pretty much barehanded?”  She affected a look of confused concentration.

“He would have been better off staying with the Council.”

“And how exactly to you figure that one?”

“He wouldn’t be dead.”  Angel closed his eyes, as if to remove himself from the conversation he so clearly did not want to have.

“Ok, point taken.” She nodded amicably.  “Except that he kinda would be – The First pretty much blew up the Council last year.  Killed ‘em all.”

Angel refused to respond, but the tension in the atmosphere thickened.

“But maybe what you’re stuck on is that he wouldn’t have been killed on your watch.”  Angel flinched.  “Well, suck it up.”  She threw him a disgusted look.  “Yeah, he died.  Fighting evil.  Same as Cordelia.  Same as Fred.  Same as every other person that you’re carrying around in that fucking dead heart of yours.”  This time, she was prepared as Angel lashed out and she responded with a powerful punch of her own.   For a time, blows and grunts of exertion became the only conversation.  With a particularly vicious punch, Angel knocked Faith to the ground.  He stood over her, drawing in unnecessary breaths, eyes bright with tears he couldn’t afford to release.

“I refused to kill you once before.  I still won’t.  But I’m not going to get anyone else killed fighting my mission.”

Faith spat out blood and gave a harsh laugh.  “Man, I never realized what a colossal ego you had.  Since when is fighting against evil your exclusive mission.”  She kicked out and tumbled Angel to the ground.  “They chose this life.  Probably more in spite of you than because of you, I’m guessing.”  She pressed the back of her hand to the cut on her lip as she struggled to her feet.  “Get over yourself.  Or you really will get someone killed.”  She limped back toward the hotel without looking back because if she did, she knew she would only be tempted to hold the wounded vampire in a desperate attempt to take away the pain they all saw him drowning in, and hugging?  Just not something that they did.