Spike
Monday late afternoon, August 28, 2000
Spike pulled the motorcycle to a stop at the edge of deserted lot. The rain
had stopped roughly half-an-hour before, and despite how much he hadn't wanted
to he'd gotten on the Hawk and returned to where he'd left Xander.
The blond turned off the motor, hit the kick-stand and climbed off the bike.
He glanced warily up at the cloud-filled sky as he headed across the hard-packed
lot. It looked like the sky would clear as rapidly as it had clouded up.
Spike dropped his gaze to the human lying on the ground a short distance
away. As he got closer to the brunette, the scent of wet, burnt flesh graced his
senses, and he wrinkled his nose in disgust. No matter how many times he'd done
this, he'd had yet to get used to the smell.
Spike crouched down beside Xander's prone body. He checked the younger man's
pulse and growled unhappily when it beat slowly and steadily under his
fingertips. Why didn't Xander die like normal human's did when struck repeatedly
by lightning?, Spike thought with a pout. He knew for a fact that Xander had
been struck at least fifty times -- and that was just today.
The vampire opened the saddle bag that was strapped cross-wise over his chest
and took out a tangle of black straps with thick plastic hooks. As he untangled
the dual jumper's harness, he absently noted that Xander's thundercloud tattoo
was darker than it had been that morning. The blond vampire hooked Xander into
the harness, then picked him up and carried him to the bike.
Spike deposited Xander on the seat so the boy was straddling the bike
properly. With practiced expertise, Spike climbed onto the bike in front of
Xander, slid the second harness over his shoulders and hooked it. He secured
Xander's legs, then started up the Hawk, all without letting the unconscious
human fall.
It'd be so much nicer if I could just kill Xander and be done with him, Spike
thought, as he headed for where he'd set up camp. But, of course, Spike had no
real desire to actually do the deed. Xander had scrambled his brain quite
effectively.
Spike could remember the smug smirk on the boy's face when he'd told Spike
he'd rewired the vampire's brain. Xander had said he'd cut the electrical
impulses to the portion of Spike's mind that controlled his urge to kill. Xander
had also "snipped" the impulses that controlled Spike's hunger and bloodlust --
all without laying a finger on the blond.
Spike had disbelieved Xander at first. It wasn't until the brunette had left
Spike alone, locked in a secure room for a three weeks, that he'd learned Xander
hadn't been lying.
Despite there being a fully stocked cooler of blood bags, Spike had totally
forgotten to eat -- for the entire three weeks. He'd been angry with himself and
with the human for managed to lock him up, and after he'd cooled off he hadn't
thought about eating because he hadn't felt hungry. By the time Xander had
returned, Spike's body had started to deteriorate from not feeding, and Spike
hadn't even realized it had been happening.
Then, when he should have attacked and killed Xander the second he'd unlocked
the door, the desire to do so had been missing. Spike'd thought about it, in an
"aren't I supposed to kill you?" kind of way, but he had felt like it would have
been too much effort to go through with it. He'd later learned that he could
still act in self-defense, but it took an extreme amount of will-power to go on
the offensive and most of the time it simply wasn't worth it.
Spike wheeled the Hawk off the street and into Estel Woods. He'd set up camp
near a natural stream that ran through the forest preserve. Xander had indicated
he wanted to stay in Sunnydale for a longer-than-usual layover, which meant
camping out. Spike hated camping out. He always got bugs in his bedroll.
The vampire parked the bike and maneuvered Xander to the dark lean-to tent,
where their gear was stashed. Spike unhooked the brunette from the harness, set
it aside, then retrieved some water. He grumbled as he worked, wishing he could
tell Xander to fuck off and leave the boy.
But, they had a deal. If Spike acted like a manservant to Xander, Xander
would make sure Spike regularly fed and would pay for the blood. Plus, Xander
bestowed upon him a few extra physical bonuses, which he would have liked much
more if he still had the craving to hunt and kill. If that were the case, he'd
be a vampire god.
In all, it was a pretty shitty deal, in Spike's opinion, but he didn't really
have any other choice. There was no way in hell that he'd reveal to another
vampire that he didn't have a desire to kill anything, or that he had to be
reminded to eat. He'd been an invalid before and he'd yet to get over that
little adventure.
Although, for choices of companions, Xander wasn't that bad. It could have
been worse; it could have been Xander's chum, the Slayer, or Spike's
soul-plagued sire. At least Xander had a dark sense of humor he could
appreciate. And the younger man didn't force him to be goody-goody and help
little old ladies cross the street, or rubbish like that. The only actual
"requirement" Xander had was that Spike was to take care of him in the period
surrounding a storm. The rest of the time was the vampire's own.
Spike returned to the lean-to, put the plastic cup of water on the ground
beside Xander, and dug out a washrag from one of their packs. He dipped the rag
in the cold water and gently began to wash off Xander's chest. Flecks of
charred, dead skin came off the brunette's body with each swipe of the rag.
"Mmmph," Xander moaned as he returned to consciousness. "Unnngh."
Spike let the washrag lay on the younger man's chest and pulled the
wraparound sunglasses from his inner pocket. He unfolded them and slid them onto
Xander's nose. Then, he returned to wiping the remaining traces of the recent
storm away.
"I hate this," Xander sighed in a rough voice. He opened his eyes and looked
through his sunglasses at the bright, solid bluish-white form of the vampire
kneeling at his side. "How long was the storm?"
"Two hours, forty-three minutes," Spike answered. "Will there be another one
soon?"
Xander pushed himself into a sitting position and looked out of the dark
lean-to. The sun was pushing through the clouds, and the trees cast long shadows
on the ground in the late afternoon brightness. The electricity in the air was
back to normal levels. "No," he told Spike. "Not today."
Spike nodded, picked up the plastic cup, and with the dirty rag in his hand
he left the lean-to. He looked up at the sunny sky, squinted, pulled his
sunglasses out of his pocket and slipped them on his nose. Then, he continued on
to the stream.
End
