Discovery
by AngieJean
Part One
Part Two
Part One
Xander awoke the next morning with the peculiar sensation that his head was
floating about three feet above his body.
{God. Those must have been some killer pain pills he gave me.}
The somewhat goofy smile that had been on his face at the thought of the
drugs faded quickly.
Spike.
Xander's face heated almost painfully, and as he blushed hard, he felt an
unexpected swell of shame rise in him. He pushed it away forcibly and turned
his head experimentally, wanting to see just *how* sore he was this morning.
OW! Pretty goddamned sore.
His back shrieked at him and he lay still for a moment, staring at the weak
sunlight streaming in the small window. Involuntarily, his eyes darted to
the motionless form in the bed with him, making sure none of the pesky stray
sunbeams were preparing to fry his bedmate.
His eyes softened again as the embarrassment crept back in. Spike had been
*kind* to him the previous night. While it was true that the two of them had
seemed to declare a cease-fire in the war of words, the truce was tentative
at best.
Xander was off-balance and confused this morning. He had been sure that he
was finally starting to understand the dynamic between the two of them, but
last night had turned all his certainties to dust.
The sexual tension between them had always been palpable, but Xander had
opted to pretend ignorance in order to avoid the whole "sleeping with the
undead" question. As attractive as Spike was, Xander wasn't at all sure that
he was ready to have sex with a corpse.
Sexual tension and truces aside, a small voice inside Xander was actually a
little worried that the vampire would wake up this evening mocking him for
the whole episode. Granted, it was only a *very* small voice, but it was
still there, nagging at him.
{For God's sake! Why would he have been so nice last night, only to rip you
to shreds tonight?}
Hell, why did Spike do anything? Befriending Spike felt something like
trying to tame a half-wild dog. You never knew if it was going to lick you
or tear your throat out. There was a decent-sized evil streak in Spike, of
which Xander had been on the receiving end more than once. He looked over at
the blond figure laying beside him. Even in sleep, there was something about
Spike. A subdued violence that was only hinted at in the set of his jaw. The
unconscious, fractional arch of an eyebrow, giving him a faintly sardonic
look, even when he was completely at rest.
Xander's hand acted of its own accord and reached out, smoothing back a
white-blond lock of hair. He was startled a bit at the softness of it, and
wondered if Spike had gotten up and taken a shower sometime the night
before. Thinking back, he pulled a blank. Once he had fallen asleep, he had
pretty well been dead to the world.
Well, so to speak.
His fingers combed through Spike's hair again, even as his mind yelled at
him, demanding to know what the hell he was doing. With a studied
casualness, he ignored the little voice in his brain and kept right on with
it, fascinated with the texture and play of it, until a low rumbling started
in the inert form under his hand.
Startled, Xander jerked his hand away and scooted backwards a bit, ignoring
the stinging pain in his back, and the throbbing twinges in his ribs. The
rumbling continued unabated, and slowly Xander crept forward again.
{Was he doing this last night?}
Once again his hand stretched forward, but this time he lay it on Spike's
chest. A small, delighted grin crossed Xander's face as he felt the
vibrations under his hand.
{He *was*! I remember this.} Listening to it now made him want nothing more
than curl back up, and go back to sleep.
His bladder, however, had differing plans. Moving slowly, he reached out and
grasped the semi-sturdy table by the bed, hauling himself upright.
"Okay... so far, so good," he whispered, moving on shaky legs toward the
bathroom.
Crossing the room by groping from one landmark to another really sucked,
even though it was something he had a great deal of practice at, but he
finally reached his destination. Xander stood motionless at the sink for a
moment, holding on tightly as he tried to get his breath back. Almost
reluctantly, he looked up into the mirror and then winced. God, he had to
stay inside as a public service, just so he wouldn't scare any little kids.
The thought provoked an unexpected smile to form on his bruised mouth. Spike
would enjoy that. Hell, he'd probably want to parade Xander around himself,
just to get the full reaction value.
{Now where did *that* thought come from? Why in the world would I *care*
what Spike wants to do with me?} Now didn't *that* just conjure up wonderful
images in Xander's all-too-vivid imagination?
Sighing, he got down to business and turned to the toilet. And waited. And
waited.
"Okay, a little cooperation would be good here."
{Pretty damned pathetic when you're talking to your dick *out loud* there,
Harris.}
{Shut up.}
Just as he was beginning to wonder if he was going to pass out before he got
to pee, a thin stream splashed into the bowl.
"Jesus H. Christ!!!" Xander's knees almost buckled at the wave of pain that
struck him, and he held his breath for a moment, to see if his yell would
wake Spike up. A few seconds produced no movement from the bedroom, and
Xander breathed a sigh of relief. He just didn't think he could deal with
needing Spike to come and hold him up while he peed. Looking down, he was
barely able to stifle another shout. His dad had kicked him in the kidneys
before, but somehow, the water had never looked quite *that* red the day
after. After what seemed like forever, he was finally finished. Xander
swallowed hard, praying no permanent damage had been done, and shook himself
off before straightening his boxers and turning to wash his hands.
"Christ," he said again, softly, leaning heavily on the sink. A wave of
sorrow and hatred washed over him. Part of him wanted to cry, and part of
him wanted to rip his father's balls off. He blamed his father, and he
blamed himself. He hated his father, and he loved him.
Xander looked up at his reflection in the mirror.
"You're so fucked up, it's pathetic." Turning, Xander started walking slowly
back to bed.
Spike had stopped purring by the time Xander got back, but he was tired
again, so he only frowned over it for a moment before closing his eyes, and
scooting closer to the cool body next to him. He was asleep in minutes.
***************
The next time he woke up, it was with the same hideous *creeping* feeling he
always used to get when his father would stand in his bedroom door and
stare. Shivering, Xander looked over and saw bright, cold blue eyes, instead
of muddy brown ones that were clouded with alcohol and rage. Xander blinked.
"Spike." It wasn't really a question...more of a verbal recognition and
acknowledgement of the vampire, in place of his father. An arched eyebrow
told Xander that Spike hadn't missed the nuances in his tone.
Not that Spike seemed to miss much at all, most of the time.
Spike was looking at him evenly and unwaveringly enough that Xander was
starting to feel uncomfortable. He had to resist the urge to fidget and drop
his eyes to his hands, one of the few instinctive mannerisms that he hadn't
ever quite been able to conquer. It was always better never to meet the
predator's eyes. Direct challenges made for worse beatings. Even though it
was almost impossible, Xander somehow managed to meet Spike's stare until
the vampire looked away first.
Xander wondered why it felt like a victory. Not over Spike, but over his
father.
"You need to eat something, and take some more antibiotics. I also need to
check your back. If you can stand to nap on your stomach, it'll do you some
good to leave the dressings off for a while and get some fresh air to the
cuts." Xander looked Spike over consideringly. The vampire's words were
downright solicitous, but his tone was as flat and bored, as if he had been
talking about the weather.
"Alright, Spike." Xander took a moment to wonder where that quiet, meek tone
he was using was coming from, and thought that, perhaps, he was still in a
bit of shock. Spike either didn't notice, or pretended not to, and instead
nodded decisively and was up and off the bed before Xander even had a chance
to ask what his meal was going to be. Xander blinked again. If he didn't
know better, he'd say that Spike was trying to coddle him, without being too
obvious about it.
Xander watched surreptitiously from the bed as Spike bustled (and *who* in
their right minds would have thought the vampire could *bustle*?) around in
his kitchen, making chicken noodle soup, of all things.
Granted, it was Campbell's, but still, Xander probably wouldn't have been
much more surprised if Spike had whipped some up from scratch. While the
soup was heating, Xander just sat and wallowed in the joy of watching Spike
move around in those tight black jeans and t-shirt.
Hey, just because he wasn't sure if he wanted to sleep with the Fangless
Wonder didn't mean he couldn't appreciate the scenery, especially when it
was paraded under his nose, so to speak.
Xander slowly realized that he felt a lot worse than when he had woken up
earlier that morning, and he admitted that, maybe, he shouldn't have made
that trip to the bathroom without a little assistance. He was fairly sure
that he had pulled some of his stitches, and to be honest, he felt a little
feverish, and weak as a kitten. Grunting a little, he slowly inched down and
twisted, so that he was propped up slightly on the pillow, and laying on his
slightly less sore, left side. Spike might be eye-candy, but the way
Xander's head was spinning, he wasn't really enjoying it as much as he
should have been, anyway.
In what seemed like no time, probably due to the fact that Xander was fading
in and out every few seconds, Spike was standing beside the bed, holding a
bowl in one hand and a coffee mug in the other. He set both down on the
bedside table, and Xander busied himself trying to figure out how to feed
himself from the one semi-comfortable position he had managed to achieve all
night. Xander was just in the process of attempting a roll-over of epic
proportions from his careful balance on his side, when a hand reached out
and grasped him softly.
"Don't." He looked up as Spike reached out and grabbed the chair he'd been
keeping watch from, pulling it over to the bed. When the vampire sat down
and hunched over with his elbows on his knees and the soup bowl in his
hands, he was roughly eye-level with Xander.
Spike took the spoon and dipped it in the soup, waiting patiently while
staring at Xander.
Spike was going to *feed* him? Xander looked at him mistrustfully, trying
very hard to get some sense of what the vampire was thinking, but all he got
was that same blank mask Spike had been wearing since Xander woke up.
Shivering a little, Xander scooted up a bit more on the pillow, and
obediently opened his mouth. Spike slipped the spoon past his lips, careful
not to tap it on his teeth for some reason, and Xander wondered vaguely if
vampire fangs were more sensitive than human teeth.
Xander swallowed, then decided he was either really, really hungry, or that
Spike had the ability to make Campbell's soup into something that tasted
like it came out of Grandma's kitchen.
He eagerly opened his mouth for the second spoonful, his discomfort with
Spike feeding him taking a backseat to his sudden hunger. Just the slight
hint of a smile played on Spike's mouth as he gave Xander another spoonful,
and another.
All too soon the soup was gone, and Spike was back with pain pills, water,
more bandages, bandage scissors, antibiotic ointments and assorted other
little treasures that Xander really didn't care about, as long as they made
him feel better.
Spike handed Xander his pain pills, and gave him a sip of water, his eyes
never leaving the boy as he downed almost half the glass before handing it
back.
"Flip over on your stomach." Spike's voice was still brisk and almost
impersonal. However, after Spike set his collection down, Xander felt gentle
hands helping him turn over and find the position that pulled on his ribs
the least.
"Thank you, Spike." Xander's words were whispered so quietly, he wouldn't
have been surprised if the vampire had missed them completely.
He didn't, though.
Xander felt Spike's hands hesitate a moment before they dropped to his back
again. One hand strayed down to stroke softly over an unbroken patch of skin
on his flank, and the other reached up to skim the line of his neck gently.
But Spike never answered him.
**************
Part Two
The blond head bent over Xander's back finally lifted for the first time in
over an hour. Spike had had to soak the bandages off in places, and he
meticulously cleaned every cut again, ruthlessly cutting off any reaction to
the sight of Xander's face becoming paler and paler as he worked. The relief
he had felt when Xander finally passed out brought on a wave of
self-disgust.
{What the hell happened to the sadistic vampire who got off on torturing his
victims?}
{Xander's not your victim.} The little voice in his head was back again, and
Spike gritted his teeth against the truth of its statement.
{If I'm not careful, the little bugger'll probably get an infection and die
on me.} Spike refused to admit how much that concept bothered him.
He was pretty much refusing to admit *anything* at that point. The flaming,
all-encompassing rage that had consumed him the night before was thoroughly
banked, and Spike refused to allow any feeling to cross his mind and heart,
lest it return.
For the first time in his existence, he was finding it necessary to plan.
Planning had never been his strong suit. That had been more along Angelus's
line. Spike was good with force. He saw the objective, and he went, and
achieved it. If he wanted something, he took it, and damn the consequences.
There *were no* consequences for him, because he did whatever he bloody well
pleased.
As soon as he heard The Bastard raping his son, Spike's instant and
wholehearted reaction was to want to tear his heart out and offer it to
Xander as a gift.
Spike's lips quirked, despite the flash of murderous rage in his blue eyes.
Somehow, he thought his pet might not like his gift so well. He frowned
again, and traced a finger gently over one of the worst cuts.
Then again, maybe he would love it. If Spike had his way, he was going to
find out first-hand. But that was for later. He was the hunter and The
Bastard was the hunted. It was of no matter how long the chase lasted. His
first and foremost priority had to be getting Xander out of this hellhole.
Regardless of what the boy said, Spike had no use for Xander's mother. The
woman had stood impassively by for the last nineteen years, and let her
husband beat and rape his son. She could have left him. She could have saved
Xander years and years ago, but she had been selectively blind, and mercy
was not one of Spike's strong points when it came to someone hurting what
was his. All he cared about was getting Xander out. The whelp needed more
money than his pathetic minimum wage job was making, not that he had a
pathetic minimum wage job anymore. Spike heard the message Xander's boss
had left on his machine, before he had turned the ringer off earlier, and he
moved the man up near the top on his "must kill" list, right after Dear Old
Dad, as soon as he got rid of the bloody chip.
An idea was niggling at the back of Spike's mind, but before it could fully
take shape, another awareness was niggling there as well. Spike cocked his
head a moment, before sliding softly off the bed and moving quickly up the
stairs and out the front door.
**********
"I'm sure he's fine. He probably just forgot about the meeting, that's all."
Buffy and Willow strolled toward the Harris household, Willow's steps just a
little more hurried than her friend's as they headed for the front door.
"Then why didn't he answer the phone?"
Buffy sighed, certain that Willow was making a mountain out of a molehill.
After all, it wasn't the first time that Xander had skipped a meeting. He
was a part of the group when he was there, but it didn't kill them if he
blew it off now and then.
"He probably wanted to crash early. Didn't you say he's been working a lot
lately?" Buffy pulled them to a stop before they reached the front steps.
"Let's go around to his window. If he's just sleeping, I don't want to wake
him up. We can talk in a few days."
"Yeah, ok," Willow mumbled as they altered course, and headed around to the
side of the house. "I just have a bad feeling. I wanted to check on him."
"Then we will," Buffy soothed. "If nothing else, if he's awake, we can visit
for awhile. It's been a couple of weeks since we've really gotten to sit and
talk with him." Willow nodded, but the uneasy feeling remained. Xander had
known about the meeting for the last week or so. Granted, it was more of a
group project to settle Giles into the magic shop than a meeting, but he had
still been enthusiastic about coming. She didn't think he would blow it off.
Xander had seemed so down lately, but Willow was at a loss on how to include
him. Things were so different since she and Buffy had started college and
Xander had opted to just try and find a decent job. They didn't run with the
same circle of friends anymore, and talking about anything other than demons
and vampires was becoming increasingly difficult.
Willow had the uncomfortable feeling that her best friend was growing away
from her. Or maybe she was growing away from him.
"Oh. My. GOD!!!" Willow was jerked out of her thoughts by the indignant
shout coming from the Slayer standing in front of her. She followed Buffy's
line of sight through the window and gasped, tears filling her eyes, as she
took in Xander's still form on the bed.
"Xand?" Willow whispered.
Buffy stared, transfixed at the sight of Xander's back, until a slight noise
in the bushes beside the window made her jerk her head around. Her eyes
widened, and sparked in anger.
"You!" Buffy hissed. Willow startled a bit as Buffy pulled a stake out of
her purse, and lunged just to the left of Willow.
Spike dodged her, but made no move to attack her himself.
"What the hell did you do, Spike? How could you do that to him?"
"Shut up!" Spike hissed at her. "I didn't do it, you stupid, bloody bint!
How the hell could I? I can't even hit *you* in self-defense, so how the
fuck could I slice all the skin off his back for fun?" Spike glanced around,
almost furtively. He couldn't kill The Bastard, but he sure as hell didn't
want the bloody slayer to have the honor, if the soddin' git should stagger
out the door! "Bleedin' hell! If you don't stop making all this bloody
racket, you're gonna wake the one that *did* do it!" Buffy stopped advancing
on him and stood, stake still poised aggressively.
"If you didn't do it, then who did?" Spike eyed her coolly, all trace of
emotion wiped
once more from his face, save for his eyes, which fired with insane anger as
he answered.
"His father."
*********
"What? You expect us to believe that Xander's father did that to him?" Spike
looked at her with unconcealed disgust.
"No. Not really. I don't expect you to believe anything other than what you
*want* to believe, just like you don't *see* anything but what you want to
see. His father's been doing this for God knows how many years, and you
haven't seen a damned thing." He turned to Willow, and looked her in the
eyes though his voice, strangely, lacked the accusing note it should have
carried.
"I thought you were supposed to be his best friend." Willow flinched, as
though slapped.
"I......I...I never thought- He never said-" She trailed off, her face pale.
"I would never hurt him. He's my best friend, and I love him."
Spike looked at her, unmoved, and said nothing in response.
"All right," Buffy said, calling their attention to her, and away from the
staring contest they had going. Her shaking voice betrayed her distress, but
it was in her nature to take charge and take action. It went against
everything she was to sit and do nothing while one of her friends was being
hurt. "None of that really matters at this point. All that matters is, we
have to get him out of there."
"He won't go," Spike said flatly.
Buffy stuttered to a stop, and just looked at Spike. "What? Why not?" Spike
shook his head.
"Worried about his bloody mother. Bitch stood by, and let his father hit him
all this time. I say he dump her and never look back. That, and the fact
that he doesn't have a job as of this afternoon...well...where's he supposed
to go?"
"B-But the police..."
"Will arrest his father. What good will that do? Will that get him a job? An
apartment? He's over eighteen. It's not like he'll have a foster home to go
to when he gets booted out of here." Buffy stood still, looking
thunderstruck. "But...but...there's got to be something..."
Spike looked at her dispassionately. "If you think of something I've missed
over the last day or so, let me know. Otherwise, get the hell out of here.
I've treated his wounds, given him his pain medicine and antibiotics, and
fed him. You're *not* going in and getting him hysterical until he's a *lot*
better than he is right now." Spike's voice never lost that flat, monotone
quality it had had through the entire conversation, and the hair on Buffy's
neck stood on end. She tried to figure out what it was that was disturbing
her on a primal level, but it continued to elude her.
"Why, Spike? Why are you doing all this for him? What do you get out of it?"
Spike's eyes flashed dangerously yellow at the question, the largest show of
emotion they had seen all night, and it startled them.
"I'm doing it because he's mine, and no one hurts what's mine!"
Turning on his heel, he stalked back into the house, leaving a confused and
miserable Buffy and Willow standing in the middle of the yard.
Buffy stood still for a moment, looking after the retreating figure. Spike's
shoulders were hunched forward, almost as if in pain. Why would Spike feel
pain over Xander, though? Her eyes hardened. Spike could be dealt with
later, whatever his motivations were. They had some planning to do, if they
were going to find a way to help Xander, so that he would actually accept
their assistance.
"Come on, Willow. We need to talk." Buffy put her arm around her friend, and
with one last look at the house, guided them both away from Xander's bedroom
window.
************
Back in the basement of the Harris's house, Spike sat motionless in the
chair next to the bed, his hands steepled in front of his face as he stared
with empty eyes at the still form in front of him.
*************
end
