Hoped for too much - Spike's pov; S/X; G; 300 words; May 06, 2004
100 Things I Love About You - conversation; S/X; NC-17; 700 words; July 18, 2004
One Of Us - Xander's pov; S/X; PG-13; 1.245 words July 19, 2004
Nothing Ever Changes - S/X; R (dark); 800 words; August 20, 2004
3DD Ficlet - Angel's pov; R; 1.135 words; September 15, 2004
Promise - S/Lin; R; 1.450 words; September 19, 2004
2005 drabble - Xander's pov; G; 100 words; December 31st, 2004
Spike's Point of View
„Hey Spike! Good work! Thanks for the help. I had never had all the furniture inside without you. You are strong, man!”
“No problem, whelp. What are friends for? Tell me if you need help again, don’t have to do anything anyway.”
“Yeah, will do! Have to shower now, man, I reek! See you later. Thanks again. Bye!”
Walking away with a silly grin on my face. Needed. I was needed. He was happy to have me around. Found a place, even when only for a few hours, but maybe it grows and some day he’ll ask me over for just a beer, for just hanging out. Soon, I hope.
Damn, forgot my cigs.
The backdoor is open and I walk in, whelp will be in the shower. I will just grab my…
“Yeah, party tonight… yeah, in my new apartment… I had some help with the big pieces… yeah, everything ready. So you come around? About eight? … Yeah, bring Dawn. … Sure, Giles, the whole gang, yeah … Bye! See you later!”
“Oh Spike, hey. You forgot your cigs. They are on the counter. Thanks again, never managed to do it this fast without you! See you on patrol. Not tonight but... I really have to shower now! Later!”
Clank. Door closed. On the outside. Again.
Have I really hoped for more than just giving what I can for him, for them? Have I really hoped to get something in return. Shaking my head. I am too damn old to fall in this illusion of friendship. I am through too damn much…
Back to my crypt, alone and dark. Pretending, I never helped the whelp. Pretending nothing changed, always alone. It’s easier to bear if you never experienced the delights of hope but…
It hurts too much sometimes.
~ end ~
conversation between Spike and Xander
"Pet… what are you doing?"
"I… erm…"
"Pet?" *sighs* "You look like your thinking about something."
"So? Can't I think about something?"
"I am sure you can think about something, just… you are leaking unhappiness all over the place."
"Well, I can't find 100 things I love about you!"
"Oh."
"Argh. Don't give me that look!"
"But you said that…"
"I said I can't find 100 things I love about you."
"And that's bad."
"Yes."
"So I am not … loveable enough?"
"Don't be silly. That's not the point."
"That's not the point? You think I am not loveable enough and that's not the point?"
"God, Spike. No…"
"You don't need to say more. It's alright. Knew this would come sooner or later that I am not … enough."
"Will you stop the pouting for god's sake!"
"But…"
"It's like this: I found a magazine of Anya's, said 100 reasons why you love him. It was kinda a test."
"You did a test in one of these girly magazines?"
"Erm…"
"Oh aren't you cute when you blush? All this blood coming to the surface and heating up your skin… "
"Mmmhm… Damn, no! Stop licking my cheek!"
"*chuckle*"
"And stop sucking my earlobe as if it was mommy's breast – I can't think when you do that!"
"Did you say nipple?"
"No. I said… guh… fuck, leave my nipple… mmmhhmm."
"What did you say?"
"Huh? … Anyway! 100 things I…"
"Wouldn't you love me to give 100 licks to both your nipples?"
"Oh yes… argh… are we talking 50 to each or 100 to each cos that would be 200 together and it says 100 things I love so…. mmmmhmm…"
"Three… Four… Five… Si…"
"Why did you stop?"
"Are you trying to tell me I have only 100 licks?"
"Erm… the test says… "
"100 licks! I can work with 100 licks. I think. Is kissing licking too? When I do it like this."
"Mmmmmhhh… god… yes, when you lick my lips then… mmhhmm… yes licking my tongue like that should… mmmhmm…count…. mmhurghlt. Why did you stop now?"
"Have to spend my licks carefully then!"
"What?"
"Well, I already used 23, leaves me with 67. Hm…"
"Spike?"
"Yes pet?"
"Kiss me again?"
"No."
"But…"
"Haven't enough licks."
"But…"
"No. You started this."
"But…"
"Pet, see it's like this… if I kiss you again right now, I'll give away at least 14 licks and those would be 14 of the 27 licks I need to clean you after I rimmed you with 40 licks til you screa… hm… What?"
"You are counting licks?"
"I am counting licks?"
"Spike!"
"What?"
"Have you been counting licks before this test even?"
"No?"
"SPIKE!"
"'S my name."
"'k, let's try again… Why have you been counting before?"
"-orriyoutborithe-"
"HUH?!"
"I am worried you get bored with me."
"And you are counting licks why?"
"*sighs* See pet, the more licks I need, the more used to it you are, the more you are bored."
"*sighs*"
"What?"
"*wriggles*"
"Oh fuck."
"Erm no. Lick."
"Ordering me around are you, pet." *licks lips*
"Stop licking your lips!"
"But you look so tasty like this… all open and waiting for me… " *bites lower lip*
"But you are wasting licks! *wriggles*"
"Not anymore pet, not anymore."
"Oh … god… Spike, fuck god… yes."
--- 48 licks plus 17 clean up licks later ---
"See, pet… you get bored with me… needed 48 licks today."
"Spike, baby, it's not me getting bored or even near to me being used to it!"
"'S not?"
"No… "
"Then what? You're giving me a tongue workout?"
"*giggles*"
"Oh please, pet. Tell me it's not that."
"*giggles*"
"PET? The demon strength thing is an all-body-gig. My tongue won't tire any more than the rest of my body and you know how insistent I can be…" *smirk*
"Well, yeah… and I swear, one day I'm gonna be strong enough to withstand the pleasure of 100 licks before coming."
"Is that so… Wait! You are counting too, you cheeky bastard! *very nasty smirk* Say… you're up to counting thrusts now, Xanny?"
*kissing*
"*breathless* Yours or mine?"
"Doesn't matter, pet, as long as we get over 100."
~ end ~
Xander's point of view
A low groan wakes me. My eyes fly open and I’m upright in my bed. Living on the hellmouth does that to you. You never know what tries to eat you in your sleep. I panic for a second when I can’t see anything.
Eventually I reach over and turn the lamp on the bedside table on. I have to blink a few times before the image gets clear.
Spike is frozen in mid motion near the door, staring at me fearfully? Huh? He is slightly bent forward, clutching his left side with one hand. His face is a mix of pain, shame and concentration.
“Spike?” I ask dumbly and wait for the snarky reply.
“Yeah, it’s me.” He just says and his voice is hoarse and without snarkyness. Creepy. I look him over from head to toe. The usual duster seems too big for him, his jeans have some slashes. He looks pale, like he’ll pass out anytime soon. I’m out of the bed and in front of him before I can think about the why of my actions.
“You okay?” I ask and want to kick myself. Obviously he is not okay. His snort, followed by another low groan of pain, confirms it.
“Just a scratch. Some blood and…” A sharp intake of breath when he limps a step forward. “… And a shower and ‘m alright.” I watch his slow movements to the bathroom, not sure what to do now. Buffy came by just after sunset and threatened Spike into patrolling with her. He went without further complaint, almost looking pleased.
Now he is back. And he is hurt. More hurt than I have ever seen him before. All the little breaths and gasps make him look human. He helped Buffy and he is hurt. He helped the Scoobies and he is hurt. When a Scooby gets hurt, the others take care of him or her. However, Spike isn’t a Scooby. He helped the Scoobies and got hurt.
After another minute of mind-babbling I go after him, stop in front of the half-closed bathroom door, turn around, go to the fridge and take some blood out, heat it up.
When I enter the bathroom I find Spike sitting on the rim of the bathtub, tired, blue eyes staring at me.
“I brought you some blood… thought you could use it…” I trail off, discouraged by the flat look in Spike’s eyes. Then he blinks, and blinks again. I nearly shove the mug in his face and he takes it – eventually.
With the empty mug in my hand again I stand in the door jamb, not knowing if I should go or stay. Spike tries to peel his duster off, winces when he has to stretch his back.
I’m behind him in a heartbeat, gently helping him with the heavy leather. When the fabric comes off, I am terrified by the amount of blood that’s staining the back of his shirt. I consider pulling it over his head; but remembering how much pain it caused him to just shed his duster.
“Wait. I’ll get scissors.” I mumble and do just that.
Spike is bent over the sink, white knuckled hands gripping the nearly as white porcelain when I come back in the room.
I cut through the black cotton as fast as the scissors let me. Spike grunts when I pull the sticky material away from the wound.
I have to swallow back bile and fight nausea. The gash in Spike’s pale back is *huge*. It looks like someone stabbed a sword into him and dragged it down. I can see the gleaming white bones of his rib cage, through the jagged wounds.
“It’ll heal.” Spike whispers, as if he is afraid to break our truce.
“Yeah.” I reply shakily. The water is turned on, after a minute or so Spike holds out a wet washcloth. I take it but hesitate before doing anything.
“Clean it up, would ya? It’ll heal faster and it’s less itchy.” He says in a gentle tone, sensing my helplessness. I nod, more to myself since he can’t see me. Slowly, and as carefully as I can, I start washing the crusted blood away, biting my bottom lip in concentration.
His muscles coil up when I have to apply more pressure to get the remains of the fight off his skin. Several times, I hand the washcloth back to him, he rinses it thoroughly but the once white cloth stays pink.
I always hated pink.
“All clean now.” I tell him and wait for further instructions.
“Gauze and tape over there.” He says through gritted teeth. I realise that he shivers. I always thought vampires couldn’t get cold with the non-existent body temperature and all.
Seems Spike can.
I take the items from the toilet lid and make a nice thick bandage. I wonder how he could have done the bandaging by himself. He would never have reached the wound. I run my hand over the tape to make sure it will stay in place. My fingers encounter his skin. It feels as cold as an ice cube, freshly out of the freezer. Spike shivers again.
“Okay.” He pulls himself upright and winces again.
It’s my turn to shiver.
“Did you kill it?” I ask to distract myself.
“Yeah.”
“Buffy brought you here?”
“No – got some demon slime on her jacket…” I hear the slight disgust in his voice and find myself agreeing. She shouldn’t have left him to go on his own - hurt so badly. He would never have made it if he had been attacked on the way. And why do I care? He helped the Scoobies.
Spike follows me into the main room of the basement. I see the longing look he throws in the direction of the fridge and the bed.
“Come on.” I say and push him to the bed. I don’t meet his gaze. I can feel the surprise my offer arouses in him. Carefully he lowers himself to a sitting position on the bed.
I go to my dresser and pull out an old very big flannel shirt. He doesn’t complain when I help him put it on. It’s one of the rare decent coloured one – dark green and brown. I heat up another mug of pig’s blood. He is barely holding himself upright when I give it to him. He drains it quickly, hands it back and lies down. I rinse out the mug and go over to the cupboard to get the spare set of sheets I have stored there.
Spike is lying on his side in my bed, eyes closed, looking as dead as he is. I realise that my gaze is fixed on the curve of his waist. He hasn’t covered himself with the blanket. I think he was too exhausted to even realise it. I tuck him in softly.
“Ta mate.” He mumbles sleepily and gives me a tiny smile.
“It’s alright, Spike. Sleep now.” I hear myself say reassuringly. I catch my hand just in time to avoid petting his hair.
Once situated in the old barcalounger, I can’t fall asleep easily, partly because the thing is really uncomfortable and partly because my mind tries to get a clue of the change in my behaviour towards Spike. He helped the Scoobies, I decide eventually, that makes him one of us, makes him someone to take care of when hurt.
~ end ~
The knife against his skin whispers of oblivion. Peace. Calm.
Soothing and mocking him with the cold sharpness that does not bite - yet.
"Xander?"
His voice is like the knife, cold and sharp and always just a tad amused.
He longs for both, yearns for the casual pain each offers. So different and not the same but still equal. Not enough is what he hears from both.
It's like birthday and Christmas at once - if those were good things to him - now he gets both of them at the same time.
He presses the razorlike edge against his skin, just enjoying the increasing pressure, waiting for the moment when skin will gave way and part, welcoming and embracing the metal and the pain it brings. The peace, the calm, the oblivion.
Eyes dilate and slide half close in anticipation of the nothingness.
"Stop. It. Right. Now. WHELP."
Low angry growl under the cold voice, demanding – no: commanding but for him it's a husky whisper. "Yes whelp, right now, right there."
He moans and presses harder - deeper. Eventually he feels the warm liquid running down his collarbone, pooling in the dent under his adam's apple and then slickly leaking down along his breastbone until it soaks in the white wifebeater's collar.
"Bloody Hell!"
And then there is movement, slowly but determined. Boots, Knees and finally black clad erection fill his vision because he doesn't look up when the other kneels in front of him.
"No, boy, you'll not end like this. Come on, lemme take care 'f you."
The voice is smooth now, like dark red velvet, but even the softest fabric hurts when you rub it into open wounds.
There is a hand now around both of his and the knife. Cool, strong fingers are guiding his own down in his lap like fragile Chinese porcelain.
He feels the wound pulsing now the knife and the pressure is gone, retching out new blood with every heartbeat, increasing the emptiness inside himself as expected.
"Fuck, whelp!"
There is pressure again at his neck, cool, silk sheeted bones gliding through precious liquid.
"This is not working. You stupid boy, you…"
Lightheaded and dizzy, the world spirals out of his grasp and words blur to a low humming. Oblivion is nearing.
"Just trust me on this, whelp, k?"
Nothing makes sense anymore and that feels good. No responsibility. Not even for his own mind or body anymore. Free and light. And coolness is embracing him now, holding him and consuming him through the wound in his neck.
Something changes and the blood inside his veins stops the race to discover the outside world, stops to leave him as everybody left him before and he just can't understand it.
Nothing left to stay but not allowed to go and where and what.
Feeling returns and dizzy is a state he is used to know and can still think.
The mouth on his neck isn't sucking, isn't taking what he offers and he sobs because of this final rejection. Not enough. Not good enough.
Not good enough for nothing.
This is like the knife is rammed inside his heart and it's twisting around wildly, shredding his last hopes and takes his courage away.
Tears are flowing freely now and he whimpers and whines and tries to get away from the other that took his last decision out of his hand, robbed him the last freedom and dignity a human possesses, the decision to go on or not to.
"You're okay now, whelp. The gash has closed. Vampire salvia and all. You're okay now. You're safe. You hear me?"
If he didn't know for sure before this, he is sure now. This world is the real hell. The cruelty is that nobody knows, but everybody suspects it.
Life doesn't need monsters, doesn't need pain and suffering. He is laid on the bed.
The other's words - okay, safe - a mockery in the face of true enlightening when the darkness comes crawling closer with every pounding heartbeat and takes away his breath until it's black around him and a perverse fake oblivion claims him into a darkness that will not last forever and isn't waking up scarier than ever before?
"That was close, whelp. God, nearly lost you. …
Sleep now. Tomorrow will better, you'll see."
Better? How can this ever get better? He turns away from the other, the other that is one of those monsters that aren't monsters but angels or saviours now as the world turned to hell and death to salvation. No, not this one, this one isn't an angel, it kept him here instead of helping him out of this hell.
This monster should be an angel but is a monster and nothing ever changes.
Nothing ever changes.
~ end ~
Angel's POV
"Someday I will find
A love that flows through me like this
And this will fall away"
~ * ~
"Deadboy."
"Xander?"
"You've gotta come. Spike is.. in trouble."
"I'm on my way."
Figuring that *Xander* wouldn't call me for nothing and that it must be bad if he actually calls me, I don't discuss it.
"I'm going out." I say to Cordy, on my way out of the hotel. The air is cool and I leave the top down, enjoying the sharp wind against my hand which lays on the open window sill, making my fingers even more icy than usual. It's not like we feel that kind of cold.
Xander Harris calls me. Wow. The world's gonna end. Literally. Since when does he care for Spike. I step on the pedal a bit harder and my baby jumps a little before pushing forward harder. I love this car.
Just over an hour later and I am in Sunnydale in front of the Magic Shop. It doesn't look like the big panic before the unexpected apocalypse. Hm.
Just before I can grab the handle of the door, Xander is there, right in front of me, staring at me with his dark brown eyes.
"Follow me in your car." He says without further preamble and I nod.
Ten minutes later, we're in front of the shiny new high school, right over the hellmouth. And who had the idea to build that up again?
"Spike's down in the basement." Xander says and pulls out a ring of keys. He guides me through the dark corridors; fast and sure. He must have been here often to gain such a sense for the surroundings with hardly any light at all. Impressive. For a human.
I hear, smell, sense him before we round the corner. It reeks of guilt and tears. A scent I am just a tad too familiar with. I see Xander tense up the nearer we get to him and I wonder what's going on. I sniff the air, trying to figure out if these two are connected in a physical way but their scents aren't mingled. Hm.
I am not even surprised; Spike has a soul. He was with Buffy and the rest too long. Willow, such a powerful witch, couldn't withstand the temptation to ensoul him, to create what she sees as good. Was just a matter of time. And Xander is the one cleaning up behind them again.
I hear him sobbing and it makes my heart ache and my stomach twist. I hate to see him down, hate to see him up too, but wouldn't wish this soul gig on my greatest enemy. Well, maybe. Great torture it is.
I look over at Xander. He has hunched up his shoulders so much, they nearly cover his ears and I can smell the desperation in him. I just can't figure out what he is so desperate for.
"I..I found him here, two.." "Ssh." I press two fingers against his lips, a hand against his chest over his heart, and push him back against the wall deeply in the shadows. He hits the wall a bit harder than I intended but he doesn't seem to mind – if the flutter of his eyelids is any indication.
The tingle at the end of my spine warns me of the nearing slayer even before her perfume and the click-clack of her high heels reach me. What is this?
I look at the boy, he has no clue as to why we are hiding in the shadows but nevertheless he keeps still, no protest of his mouth or his body, just a slight increase in his heartbeat. I breathe in deeply. I can't remember a time when the boy wasn't oozing pheromones. When he was aware of my presence, that is.
I hear Spike moan in pain, see Buffy kicking him in the side. He is already on the ground, can't she see it. I must have growled, Xander's hand is there a moment later, lightly shaking, but firm against my forehead. I lean into the warmth for a second, calm myself down with the feel of Xander's heartbeat under my palm, then I step out of the shadows and grab Buffy, just above the collar of her jacket.
"Enough." I say, when she tries to twist out of my grip for the third time. She’d have to break her own neck to get out of that grip. I love vampiric strength. She looks at me with those big eyes which mirror the shock over the new revelation.
I was never your lapdog, Buffy. You have no idea what a master vampire can do if he wants too. Pity is, we like to play and don't know when to stop most of the time.
"Angel what are you doing here.. what are.. who told.. " she says, and I frown a bit more than before.
"You knew he was here?" I ask her and nod to Spike who has curled up on the floor, silently sobbing, purring to himself. Out of the corner of my eye I see Xander coming out of the shadows. Buffy gasps and I want to laugh out loud.
The boy doesn't look at either of us, just kneels down and pulls Spike into his arms. What the hell happened to Xander?
"Xander?" Buffy squeaks and I let go of her, go over to the boy.
Xander stands up, holding Spike in his arms as if he weighs nothing. A closer look at his pale face, his sunken features and I am sure it's not even far from the truth. My childe, such a delicate creature. Against mine or Xander's broad chest he looks - no matter whether strong and confident or broken like this - fragile.
I am frozen for a second, seeing these two together like this does that to you, Xander being the strong one and all, then I reach out and follow a tear trace over too sharp cheek bones with my thumb.
I gently take my childe from Xander's arms which fall now empty, without something to hold, limply to his sides. I search for his gaze and he meets it finally, steady if watery, beautiful as always. "I tried." He mouths at me more than actually saying it, words dying away in mid sentence.
Through all the years I've known him, it is in this moment that Xander gets the first real smile from me.
He deserves it, he looked after my childe, kept him safe and called for me when he couldn't help Spike by himself.
I turn around, the - to me - most precious creature in this world in my arms, and make my way to the door.
"You coming?" I ask when I cross the threshold.
Click-clack-click---
"Not you." I smile, and in my mind nod over to Angelus. "Xander?" We do have taste.
~ * ~
"Someday I will find
a love that flows through me like this
And this will fall away"
3 Doors Down – Loser (acoustic)
I wrote this ficlet for the lovely Crimsonsenya. Go visit her lj-community and her Spike/Connor YahooGroup!
From the original script of AtS, ep. Not Fad Away:
LORNE: It's not about what I think. This was Angel's plan.
LINDSEY: Come on. (smiles) I could sing for you.
LORNE: I've heard you sing.
(he takes out a gun with a silencer and shoots Lindsey twice in the chest)
LINDSEY: Why-why did you...
LORNE: One last job. You're not part of the solution, Lindsey. You never will be.
LINDSEY: You kill me? A flunky?! I'm not just... Angel...kills me. You don't... Angel...
(his rapid breathing comes to an end as his body goes limp)
LORNE: Good night, folks.
(drops gun on floor as he walks out)
***
Moments later Lindsey's body arches in pain and he sucks in a loud, shuddering breath.
"That hurt." He coughs out between painful chuckles.
He needs a long time but finally he is on his feet again. The bullet wounds feel like much bigger holes throughout his body. He congratulates himself on the successful plan, he'd never thought it would work.
He tries to get over the sharp pain deep inside. Angel had rejected him in the last possible moment, even went so far as to order someone to kill him, probably losing his chance of redemption in doing so - no matter whether Lindsey was/is/will be evil in the eyes of Angel or the powers or Wolfram & Hart; in his own heart, Lindsey is the corrupted innocent, the one who'd taken advantage of those who took advantage of him. Swimming with sharks or something like that. Eat or be eaten. Kill or be killed.
He staggers out of the building onto the streets. In the darkness, the battle noise seems to come from all around him, demons and people fighting and screaming.
It's worrying him. It should be over by now and Lindsey frowns. This is not good, not good at all.
He takes a step forward with trembling legs and is promptly run over.
A slender body with red streaked hair and shredded clothes lands on top of him. Lindsey groans in pain and tries to find words around it until he is face to face with feral anger and well known cheekbones.
"You!" Spike spits out through gritted teeth. The vampire sniffs and one of his hands wanders over Lindsey's chest, poking and prodding until the former lawyer loses his control and cries out in pain, tears building in the corner of his eyes.
"What the hell happened to you?" Spike asks and brings the hand that's now coated with Lindsey's blood to his mouth, licking it slowly, tasting the pain and fear in it. "You're not dead, but you should be. You taste dead."
"Really sorry not to meet your eating preferences." Lindsey glares.
"Oh no, mate. Didn't say a dead man wouldn't fulfil my desires, did I?" Spike smirks and jumps to his feet easily, looking down at the person who gave him hope to have worth in the world and to belong somewhere after he got the soul and then.. then Angel took it away again, calling it fake and wrong and generally not a destiny Spike could possible have.
"Who was with you?" Spike asks, curious whether the loss would hit him as deeply as Fred's departure.
"Lorne." Spike shakes his head. Demon, green, annoying and too damn curious with all the singing stuff. No, no mourning for that one then, he turns to go. "But.."
"But what?" Spike sneers, searching for the pack of cigarettes he knows he already threw away empty. This sucks, he doesn't want to do this, is sick of apocalypse and death and the nagging doubt of doing things right or right right or wrong or acceptable wrong and what are causalities even?
"He did this."
"Bloody hell." Spike laughs. "Bad joke, Doyle. You're getting pathetic in your last moments?" Spike shrugs. "Don't you know - in the end it doesn't matter, dying is a solo gig."
"Angel's plan. I am not part of the solution, I never was." Lindsey rasps out in desperation, hoping that the slip in the name is indication of Spike's opinion of him now. If he is still Doyle, he falls into the almost-friendly-banter-drinking-buddy-category and not the leave-lying-bastard-to-die-category.
Spike freezes. Sounds like Angel. This can't be right. If you decide to be on Angel's side, he protects you. Nobody is expendable, not enough fighters for the good, never enough.
"No.. not very convincing. I'm off." Spike makes to turn away but is caught in Lindsey's gaze. Troubled dark blue with the tint of death. Still or almost? Who can tell?
"Where are you off to?" Lindsey asks, voice hoarse.
"Have to find the brat, Angel wants me to get him out of L.A., out of the reach of terror." Spike laughs. "Said it was my last job."
When Lindsey hears those words, he chokes up and continues staring at Spike, willing him to see the truth, the destiny of those who are expendable.
"No, mate. You're wrong." Spike takes two steps back, shakes his head, feeling cold inside suddenly.
Sire - Teacher - Lover - Abuser - Enemy - tentative Friend at times but..
"Expendable?" He muses out loud and Lindsey laughs, strangled and groaning in pain but laughs nonetheless.
"Ever heard of two Supermen, two Spidermen, two fucking Batmen?" Lindsey frowns.. "You know what I mean."
Indeed, Spike knows what Lindsey means. Thinks about it a lot, thinks about that and not a lot of different things but that. In comics the two superheroes always end up being greatest enemies after one of them went barmy.
"So.." Lindsey coughs. "you've got to find his son and bring him out of harm's way?" The ex-lawyer slowly gets to all fours, pushing himself up on his knees, gathering up strength to make it to his feet.
"Find his son, get him out of the city." Spike answers without thinking, staring dumbly at his feet and wishing he didn't know about this, could go back to feel honoured, to be trusted with Angel's son.
"He didn't ask for you to come back, did he?" Lindsey whispers, talking as if Spike was a scared kid and pushes himself up to his feet.
His legs give out immediately but Spike is there, one arm around his waist, one hand holding Lindsey's arm tight over his slender shoulders.
Spike feels Lindsey's breath on his cheek and realizes too late that Lindsey is a lot broader than him, that pressed to the warm body, Spike is the one feeling embraced and welcome.
Spike fights his demon's need to growl and fight the submission and keeps staring straight ahead.
"D'you know where to find the brat?" Spike starts walking, dragging Lindsey with him.
"Computer access and I can find out." Lindsey whispers and keeps watching Spike's profile. Maybe he had concentrated on the wrong vampire too long.
"You gonna tell me why you're not dead?"
"Was dead."
"That I figured. Some mixy-voodoo-mushy-magic again?"
"A binding spell, kinda." Lindsey wonders why he tells Spike, he shouldn't, really shouldn't.
"So I have to kill Angel to off you too?" Spike shoves Lindsey up against a wall, holds him upright with his body while he looks around the corner.
"Both of us, same minute. Otherwise we just wake up and the fight goes on."
"Neat." Spike answers distractedly. "Over the street is an internet café but there is a group of demons lurking in front of the sex club beside it. I'll take care of that, then come and get you."
Spike pulls away but Lindsey holds on to the duster and their gazes meet.
"Promise?" Lindsey whispers brokenly. He has reached his limits. He is wounded and tired and just emotionally drained.
Spike studies the ex-lawyer for a long while, then tangles his hand in the long light brown hair and pulls hard, making Lindsey's head bang against the wall and tears flow from his eyes.
"If you ever lie to me, I'm gonna kill you in the most painful ways over and over again." Spike growls right into Lindsey's face.
Hope flares up in the man's eyes. "Not gonna lie to you." He reassures the vampire quickly, his dark blue eyes holding the golden gaze without flinching.
"Good." Spike says eventually and when he pulls back this time, Lindsey lets him go.
Before he rounds the corner Spike turns around, a truly diabolical smirk on his face.
"Oh and Linds.. I'm gonna kill you every night from now on. Gonna bite you, drain you, kill you, maybe fuck you even. You'll love it. I promise."
Lindsey passes out.
~ end ~
Xander, leaned against the trunk of Spike's tree in front of the Summers' house, watched the girls idly handling fireworks, getting them started, giggling and awwww-ing over them.
He didn't participate; he found it quite useless to practically blast money in the sky for a few seconds of glistening lights and sparkling colour. He toed the dirt, noticing the amount of cigarette butts on the ground.
Even when Spike wasn't around in person, there were hundreds of things that popped up and reminded everybody of his existence. Like the cigarette butts in the dirt. Or the scars on Xander's neck.