He stood on the cusp of it all—his heart doing battle with his head. He was surrounded by his friends, by women newly brought to their potential by the guided hand of the Slayer. Surrounded by all but the actual two he had believed would be there. And now weren’t. And yet his home was sunk to the depths of hell, taking with it the ‘Welcome’ to Sunnydale’ sign, just to emphasise that fact. Taking with it the woman he loved and the vampire he loathed.
Even at this defining second he lied to himself. With tears prickling at his one good eye, he couldn’t admit that everything had changed while he spun in a circle, clinging to his territory like a dog pissing on a tree.
Of course Anya was the first thing he asked about; the answer of her bravery bringing nothing but a saddened smile to his lips. Yeah, typical Ahn to go and do the stupid thing. But he’d made his peace. They’d rocked together the night before this, the night they knew it was urgent to be honest. Of all he thought would perish, Anya never crossed his mind. And yet he didn’t grieve for her yet, waiting for when he was alone with a drink and could remember all the fun times, the naughty times, the educational times, the insane times, and all the times he’d mucked it all up. He’d made his peace and for now that was comfort enough.
It was Buffy that caught his attention. He’d noticed when she hadn’t been on the bus as it tore away from another destroyed school. Had noticed the strong morning sunlight that bore down on them and had spared a panicked thought for how they would get Spike out. Get the flammable one safe and unflamed to the bus and the safety of travel.
When they’d heard the thump on the roof of the bus, Xander couldn’t hold back a grin. There they were. The dynamic super-blonde duo together again, lying on the rooftop on their bellies so not to be swept away by the wind. Robyn was driving pretty fast. Very stupidly he had fallen from one moment to the next without his brain making the connection from his concern about Spike and sunlight to the part where he believed the big lug was baking on the bus top. Buffy all roasty with the dustiness that was the former Big Bad.
Even when he almost fell exhausted down the steps of the bus, he thought of Anya second. He could see the pensive face of Buffy and could tell that something was bad. She covered, but he could see the pain she shoved back while she looked at the accomplishment. The moment hadn’t surpassed that of the battle.
So yeah, he’d asked about Anya, smiled at her unexpected heroics. But all the while he was coming to grips with the loss of Spike. Only not so much with the coming to grips. More like grinning like a fool because he couldn’t process the idea. Was all full of that nervous kind of smile like when something catastrophic happens and you have an inappropriate response.
But for then, the moment was all about acknowledgement. Spike. He’d done it; saved all their worthless lives while surrendering up immortality. He and Buffy were the best at making a mockery of the term. Immortal. And yet they both died so often.
Here they stood, though. Too close to the ledge that would have them falling into the remains of Sunnydale; not close enough to the ashes of their favourite undead.
And that was when Xander felt a little piece of his heart break.
~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~
He’d taken to wandering; attempting to finish that trip he started when Buffy and Willow were preparing for college but which he had failed miserably at. He’d never been too good on his own, which looking back explained a lot of why he hung around Sunnydale; could never let go of his friends.
Losing Anya and Spike but winning the battle—kinda told him it was time to work things out in his head. Stop bumming around with his brain full of misconceptions and prejudices and find out who he really was. What kind of man he had been. Whether it was the same man who was driven like a bat out of hell from a collapsing town in a canary yellow school bus.
He’d suspected that the journey might be painful. He hadn’t been prepared, though, for the nights of anguished crying over a being that had caused him nothing but anger, fury, loathing.
Jealousy. What the vamp had had was everything Xander hadn’t. Even that made him giggle, knowing that he’d spent years hating simply out of jealousy. He’d entered into a paranormal pissing contest he hadn’t had a hope of winning. Now that Spike was gone, he was sorta glad he’d lost. Didn’t seem right somehow that the bleached one could have lost to someone like Xander then go and save the world.
So his travels had brought him back to her. His grief for something he didn’t understand but accepted with a begrudging humour had brought him to her doorstep. Or Giles’s doorstep at least. And as irony would have it, she answered the door, ushering him in so they could face the things they’d spent their lives running away from.
“Did we ever really tell you about when we caught Spike trying to dust himself?” Xander began as he sipped the glass of scotch Buffy served him as a tongue loosener. He could sense her need to talk but could almost see the lock that kept her tongue silent.
She shook her head, mischief dancing at the corner of her mouth even as memory threatened to cripple her eyesight. When he looked at her hard, he found her blurred and couldn’t help but know that he was of the fuzzy image to her too. It made it easier somehow, shut off more than a stark light that might have wanted them to remain mute.
“It was really funny. He was standing on a chair, this stake sort of pointed up so he could jump down on it.” The image even then seized his sense of fun and he relished the memory of his tease, of his callous treatment of a formerly evil fiend who wanted to dust because he could no longer hunt his walking and talking cuisine. Buffy giggled into her refilled glass beside him, leaning comfortably against his arm as they reminisced about one who had made such an impact. It was too hard. “Poor Wills was really worried ‘bout him.” And just like that, the tone of it all changed, and what purpose he had brought himself in front of Buffy had commenced.
“I’m really sorry about how I treated him when you came back.”
She looked at him sharply; he could feel it right down to his soul.
“What do you mean?” She was defensive, curling away from him while she waited for another attack on her heart.
“When we found you back at your house, and he left…well, I found him outside crying.”
Xander felt her cry of anguish all the way down to his toes. It was almost crippling and he felt his throat seize. Was frightened of how she would take the rest.
“He was so glad to see me,” she whispered, her voice seeming like it was too hard to squeeze from her throat. “He talked…and held my hands. It felt so good that he touched me and then you were all there, and he was gone.”
Xander swallowed his guilt hard.
“He didn’t go far,” he attempted to joke, seeing with his inner eye a Spike crying—tears dampening his face in a way none of them had ever seen. It had made him feel uncomfortable and so it slammed up against his bias. Xander couldn’t ever believe that an evil, soulless bloodsucker could be different, could change, could cry over the return from death of his Slayer. The Slayer he had professed to love in spite of all their nasty denials.
She was watching him, her eyes imploring him to share a Spike she had missed out on. A moment of Spike from the night of her return that they had caused her to lose.
“He was at that tree.” He didn’t need to elaborate; he knew she knew exactly which tree Spike would be standing at. “I went for him. Told him he’d better not get any ideas about following you around now that you were back.” It hurt so bad to say this now, see it all from such a ridiculously different angle and find himself so bitter, young and immature.
“Oh.”
She sounded emotionless, tired and numb. And nothing he could say would make it any different.
“Yeah. He told us that Willow kept him out of the loop for a reason. Kept saying that magic had consequences—and hey, don’t we know that song off by heart by now.” His attempt at levity fell monumentally flat; she didn’t reward him with even so much as a flickering smile. “Okay, he said that Willow knew…that maybe you’d come back and not quite be Buffy. That you might have been…anyway, he said she didn’t tell him because she knew that he wouldn’t be able to get rid of…he would have cared for you then, no matter what you…” He decided to shut up, cancel the fumbling that his tongue was excelling at before he dug another grave as big as Sunnydale.
“Yeah,” she confirmed, her voice small and aching with regret. “He would have cared for me if I’d come back as a fruit fly.”
They shared a brief smile at that, knowing that whatever it was that was inside Spike—pre-soul and yet evil—it was loyal and loving and so emotionally beautiful. And they’d all squandered their contact with it, not believing that a vampire over a century old in evil would have a thing to teach them.
“He was crying, though.” And Xander hung his head in shame, knowing now what kind of man could ignore another man’s tears. Not a very good one. A hard and selfish one. Spike had been right. He’d been so right. He’d fought, saved them all more than once with his muscle, and even his displaced affection. He’d treated them like his family and still they cast him out, disregarded him at every step. Those tears should have been acknowledged; should have affected Xander’s own compassionate heart. It was a pity he hadn’t known how to be that kind of man then. Only the type that selfishly welcomed his friend while simultaneously kicking down the creature who had hurt as much—if not more—than all of them.
He felt broken by her tears, knowing that she had been struggling for weeks to keep them in, keep them hidden from everyone that didn’t care. He turned up on her doorstep and started the flow, broke open the wall with his memories and left her reeling with a pain she’d wanted to bury. Knowing Buffy, probably forever.
And then it was the last one, the memory that always killed off any burgeoning like he felt for the bloodsucker. The one that was taboo and never brought up. The one Buffy ignored like a dancing white elephant in her bedroom.
“He didn’t rape you, did he?” His tone was of resignation, knowing now that he’d jumped into a situation with a judgement he had no right to wade anywhere near.
It was a relief when Buffy cried, buried her face in her hands and sobbed. Rocked her body back and forth and howled. Xander put a hesitant arm around her, wondering if she would refuse his offer of comfort and sighing when she collapsed against his chest.
“Oh Xander. Why did I wait so long? Why didn’t I give him crumbs but tell Angel maybe one day I’ll be cookies?”
Despite the confusion that that bizarre statement brought, Xander smiled with a tear or two in his eye.
“Immortal.”
She stopped, straining to hear as he remained silent in the moment.
She sniffled as she pulled away, her questioning gaze making him happy about the word for the first time since he’d missed Spike on the fateful bus.
“He was immortal. I guess we thought we had forever.”
She beamed through a watery visage, her bottom lip wobbly and unstable as she finally grabbed hold of his presence. Started putting together the points about the conversation until she found his regrets and passed over them. Used her eyes to thank him for them.
“Yeah. I guess we did.”
“We should do something, though. Find someway to show him honour…you know, give him a place to rest.”
His words unknowingly sparked a memory and Buffy was nodding though she had given in again to her sorrow.
‘Can we rest now, Buffy? Can we rest?’
“We can go to LA. Maybe Angel might have something…kept something from when he was Spike’s family. Do you think Angel might have something?”
Buffy thought back to his apartment, the mansion that had held secret treasures of his history. Photos, books. It was possible and she felt her heart swell with the hope of holding something that might have been Spike’s. That he might have held and cared about.
She joined hands with Xander and they made silent plans, silent promises to a man, a vampire that had left them a world in which to grieve and repent.
~ * ~ * ~ * ~
It felt good to ignore Giles. To finally stand on his own two feet and know that his decision was superior.
Buffy and Xander snuggled together on the plane, flying through night like it was their right to do. Neither slept, just rested against each other and reclaimed the friendship that hadn’t been this special since before the severity of blame with Angelus. Replaying Giles’s arguments was futile. The older man hadn’t changed, had continued his grudge—now even more powerful—against a vampire he had told himself strictly not to trust. It was an attitude that had alienated Buffy all those weeks ago when she was poised on the edge of the fiercest battle of their lives, relying on no one really, save for the souled vampire who had proved over and beyond that he had her back.
The Scoobies, in their infinite wisdom, made sure he had no other part of her. She fought, risked her life, saved theirs on too many occasions and yet they deprived her of the love she needed to survive. To be happy. And now the attitude taught Xander that he could change, that he wasn’t so old or bitter that he couldn’t see the truth, even if it took years to reveal the hindsight.
When they touched down, they held hands. Two emotionally vulnerable people just intent on escaping the maddening and frenzied crowds of a busy airport. Daylight had appeared once they made it outside and both sighed in relief at knowing that Angel must be still up. It was both early and late enough to ensure his presence in his office, and they rushed through taxied traffic to achieve their goal.
Reaching the office block was easy. Accessing the inside was a little more difficult, but Buffy proved why she was the Slayer as she let loose a set of lungs that brought security running to deposit her straight to Mr. Angel’s door. He blinked in surprise when he saw them, shuffled and stuttered a bit nervously before settling them into a chair and asked them what he could do.
Buffy seemed mute; seemed like the effort to travel through air across water and scream her way inside the building was just too much. Her lungs gave out and Xander was left to explain and request until he was hoarse. Once he had he wished he could just belt the personal item out of the idiot as he sat there blinking unintelligibly.
“Let me get this straight. You came here for something that I might have that belonged to Spike? What on earth would make you think I would carry for over a century possessions belonging to that bonehead?”
Buffy pierced him with a single glance. “Because you always leave but you can’t let go.”
And the brooding one bowed his head and…brooded.
“You need to forget about him, Buffy. I can’t believe you’re encouraging this Harris.”
Xander couldn’t believe how he felt with the irritation rising hungrily in his system. It called for blood, for broken bones and to make certain miserable pricks pay. Only Spike had the right to call him ‘Harris’—as long as he continued to use that slightly derisive tone of voice—and that Angel would dare forced something ugly to his consciousness.
“I suggested it, Fangface. How about you get up out of your big evil but satisfyingly comfy chair, and get us what we came for.”
The shock in the vamp’s eyes strengthened his resolve. Even souled the guy was a loser.
“And be quick about it, ‘wanker’.” A quick look to Buffy and Xander was relieved that the Spikeism brought her joy rather than pain.
Angel appeared to have a renewed sense of purpose as he almost ran for the inner elevator, disappearing for ten minutes before returning with a small rectangular card in his hand. He studied it carefully before turning it over to them, hesitantly holding it out with a shaking hand for Buffy to claim.
He gave no explanation as he stepped back, stepped right up against the glass that allowed him to live in the light.
Buffy furnished him with a ‘thank you’ and they turned to go. The door snicked closed behind them.
Once outside they sought somewhere quiet. Somewhere dark or shaded where they could remember and investigate the priceless treasure Buffy held in her hand. He knew this quest was for Buffy, but it felt more than right for him too, and he was just as eager to see the little piece of history that had once belonged to Spike.
It was a postcard, immortalised by the ever-memorable Eiffel Tower.
“Darla’s a raving bitch as you bloody well know. So what if you’ve got a soul. Get your bleeding arse back to Me and Dru and we’ll take care of you. We’re family and family sticks together.
Spike.”
It made Buffy laugh before she collapsed in tears, heartbreaking sobs as another layer of the one she loved came to light, uncovered by the finally decent Angel in the eyes of his love’s grief. It showed her and Xander how very wrong they had always been about this anomaly to the species.
They seemed to wander the whole day, finally coming to the gates of an older cemetery the likes of which seemed grander and more imposing than all of Sunnydale had to offer. They walked toward a tree, both gravitating to the spot in silent memory and ode to another soldier who had been laid to rest—not sleep eternal—under a shady tree. Buffy could only shiver as she imagined her own headstone in the dark, moon shining down with false protection on all that was finished.
That same moon now smiled upon them, inspiring ethereal shadows that slipped and skipped around them. They could have hid anything—these two veterans well aware of exactly the things that dwelt in darkened shadows and preyed on those weak moments of unaware. Buffy did the Slayer thing and scanned, listened to that tingle that told her a vamp was close by. Stretching out her senses she found one, but it seemed so far away as to not constitute a danger to them and their purpose.
Letting go of the possibility of attack, Buffy sank to her knees. Exhaustion of heart and body made her falter and she just wanted this chance. Xander could see the heavy lines that grief was leaving behind in its cruel wake. It hurt to see it happen, but having been through his own wearing of truth for Anya, he didn’t see the point in refusing or attempting to alter its efforts.
They both knelt facing the tree, tears already making tracks over familiar cheeks as sorrow took a grip on the night. Xander reached out a hand for the postcard, unable to stop himself from admiring the history of something over a hundred years old and the sentiment behind the thing. Buffy seemed very reluctant to let it go, probably feeling like it was her last link to a past it hurt too much to allow passage. But eventually her rigid fingers released it and he felt the thin cardboard thing float into his hands.
Using a flat rock he found close by, Xander dug the postcard a shallow grave, thinking all the while the thing he most wanted to say in farewell to a figure that had been so influential in his life but whom in return had no clue.
“Spike…buddy. I don’t really know what to say. I know I have a lot of explaining to do, only I doubt you’d care one way or the other.”
Buffy snorted softly beside him, its true purpose muffled slightly by the huge well of emotion he could see her swallowing against in her throat. He shoved her gently in the ribs, hissing, “You’ll get your turn. Now hush,” and took comfort in her tiny hint of a giggle.
“Okay, no point wasting time with explanations. But I will say, you deserved better from me. Better from when you came back and mussed up my closet, and better even before that. Before you got your soul—we knew you loved Buffy. I’m sorry we trashed you so much and made you out to be a thousand times worse than you were. Maybe if we…me…I had let you in, that year might have been a lot nicer all around. The Buffster here could have admitted she loved you even then…”
He was stonewalled by Buffy’s unbelieving gaze, shimmering green making his heart clench and know the truth of what he suspected.
Unwittingly he echoed Tara’s wise and accepting words, an arm around Buffy’s shoulders as her body began to shake uncontrollably with the effort of holding herself in.
“I can say it now, Buff. It’s okay to love him. It was okay to love him.” It broke down that wall once again and he could feel her resentment at him for dragging it down and leaving the big piles of rocks around her.
“Oh God, Xan. I can’t let him go,” Buffy wailed, her face a crumpled mess of meltdown, and unwilling to go through the adlib memorial they had planned in minutes. “I miss him so much. I love him so much,” she revealed, her senses subconsciously blocking the signature of the one that watched closer than he should, closer even than he should dare. He shared the tears, shocked by the words that gave new meaning to his self-inflicted pain and misery. Made him question again his determined belief she would be happy without him and stayed hidden in the poof’s evil tent.
Without knowing how or why, Xander could feel the change in the night; could feel the repercussions of what they were doing in something big, something he hoped they were ready to face.
He felt the gifted warmth of a heart unloaded, though. Felt his own heaviness lightening as he let go of his own grief for Spike’s death. He could see how it had truly been—a vampire that had shown time and again his journey toward change and light, only they had all been too blind to care or help. Most important of all—now he could let her be with him. Could say to himself it was okay for his friend to love a vampire. And despite what everyone probably would think, it wasn’t because the peroxide pest was gone. No, Xander believed he’d be back. He’d annoyed them too much, had fought too hard to win Buffy’s love, and now he had it, even Xander wanted it for him.
“He’ll come back, Buffy.”
She watched him, hurt making every muscle taut as she shirked away from him. “How could you say something so cruel?”
He felt downright rotten, oblivious to the shaking observer so close that sucked up every discarded word.
“Not being cruel. I’m being honest. He has you to come home to, Buffy. He loved you so much, so deeply. More than us, I think, as he never deserted you when you really needed him. How could a brave guy like him turn to dust and not be brought back?” The scent of his tears were not new to the scene, but they strengthened and it bucked up a dumbfounded head and Xander was watched intently.
“The Powers of whatever brought Angel back—and he was so good why? Spike helped us stop so many ‘end of the worlds’—he has to be special to them. They have to know how much the annoying bleached idiot is in our hearts and bring him back.” His control started to disintegrate with the knowledge that the vampire was really gone, might possibly never be back to play pool, to pinch his money, call him ‘whelp’ and tease him to the limits of civility.
“If I could make a wish, I’d wish him back for you. I hate to see you hurt like this. He was a good man, Buffy. Every bit worthy of you. It was us that wasn’t worthy of him.”
And they were lost in the pain, watching as little sprinkles of dirt met the surface of the postcard. Only once it was covered and rested for half an hour could they make it back to their feet, completely unfit for meeting up with evil.
It only took two steps before something stepped out of the shadows and confounded their reddened eyes.
Silver light bounced off the most outrageous hair, and it took Xander at least three minutes before his brain connected all the relevant dots. And then he ‘whooped’ for joy, releasing that ball of grief he’d been carrying around since the moment he knew Spike was gone. The moment he’d said thank you for making peace with Anya but hating his cowardice for never approaching it with Spike.
Chance was such a beautiful thing, and as he stepped forward and took to pumping Spike’s fist with an enthusiastic handshake, he felt every assumption lighten and drift totally away. The Xander, the man he’d wanted to become had taken that first step, and now—like a gentleman his mother had never brought him up to be—he took those necessary steps back and let Buffy in. Let Buffy fall into the circle of Spike’s arms and moan out her misery. Cry out her anguish and express her love finally under no duress. Let her accept love and happiness in the arms of a vampire who deserved it.
Xander could see the happiness, could feel it in his soul and fancied that he could even feel Anya shake her head approvingly at his actions. As he watched the reunion with still wet eyes, he knew that not being special was ‘bollocks’ as Spike would have said. He had courage, and he’d finally admitted he was wrong.
Yeah, without knowing how or why, he’d become some sort of man.
And he was the happiest he had ever been.
Author's Chapter Notes:
I'm actually wondering if a chunk of my fic got wiped as I noticed everything in 'N' isn't here...ie, Nanny Spike. That's a long one so if you haven't read it and think I should bother reposting it, let me know. Anyway, I'm rather fond of this fic. I hope you enjoy it.