Unacceptable Losses

Spike stalked downstairs, through the lobby, into the basement where one vicious swipe at the punching bag sent it swinging wildly. He clenched his fists. One punch didn’t begin to dampen the need to strike out, so he stilled the heavy leather bag and proceeded to pummel it with a rapid rhythm. He focused solely on the feeling of skin smacking against leather. For a moment, he considered returning upstairs and interrogating Xander. Maybe he’d been attacked. That would give a focal point for the anger over the violation that marred the man’s skin. He almost let himself take comfort in that thought, but he knew those types of marks too well to believe that they came from a random attack. Decades with Angelus made sure of that. Whoever whipped and beat Xander knew what they were doing, and with the restriction of the marks to back and presumably buttocks and thighs, Xander clearly held still for it.

“Bloody fucking hell,” Spike ground out between swings. One more clue in the mystery going on under the nose of the hordes of concerned friends, and it was a clue he would have rather not found. Unfortunately, it was clue that couldn’t be left alone, and he doubted either one of them wanted to have the conversation that couldn’t be avoided.

Upstairs, Xander wearily turned on the shower and stripped out of his clothes. He let them fall to the floor then kicked the entire pile into a corner of the bathroom. No point dripping all over them later and adding wet clothes to the wet towels he intended to drop on the floor to press Angel’s buttons. Stupid neat-freak vampire. No wonder Spike became as averse to house-keeping as he did. Anyone would in reaction to that kind of upbringing. He snorted, briefly distracted by the vision of Angel playing head of the household to Spike’s rebellious teenager. The vision faded, however, as he caught a glimpse of his back in the mirror. He swallowed awkwardly. Spike saw that, those bruises and red welts.

Taking refuge from the sight and his thoughts under the harsh spray of the shower, he tried desperately to blank out his mind. He failed. Instead, he imagined the disgust in Spike’s face as the vampire dropped him like the revolting deviant he was, and he scrubbed violently at his skin, hardly able to stand touching himself.

Stepping out of the shower, he dried and dressed himself in old sweats without facing the mirror. The empty bedroom seemed desolate somehow. Anxiety pricked at his muscles, and he couldn’t remain still. Pacing did not relieve the despairing anticipation of what Spike might have to say on his return. Xander stopped at the end of one lap around the room, standing in front of the closet, staring at his travel bag. He had been such a fool, to think that it would be okay to stay with anyone who knew Buffy, any of the Scoobies who knew the Xander he used to be. He couldn’t do this anymore, but he couldn’t find a way out.

Pounding at the door startled him out of his dark reverie. Before he could cross the room to answer, Angel threw the door open and strode in.

“Where’s Spike?”

“And a good evening to you as well,” Xander spat sarcastically.

Angel stalked across the carpet and stood in Xander’s personal space. The menacing presence did not have the desired effect, however. Xander’s ire rose, and he glared back.

“He’s not here. So fuck off and threaten someone who’s actually afraid of you.”

“Dawn said he came up here to talk to you, so where did he go?” Angel all but growled. The day spent surrounded by humans, researching yet another threat to the people around him had him on edge, and Xander Harris irritated him on a good day.

“Yep, he was here. Now he’s not. Sorry if that’s a difficult concept for you.”

“Don’t push me, boy.”

“Who knows, maybe I staked him?” Xander offered a careless shrug. He could feel the tension in the vampire, and he couldn’t resist the niggling thought that he might be able to use that promise of violence as a means out of his own predicament. “After all, it’s what I do, isn’t it? Kill off the champions?”

Angel grabbed Xander by the shirt front and lifted him off the floor.

“I don’t like you. I’ve never liked you. But I’m going to offer some advice. Do not ever talk about what you’ve done. And never threaten one of my family.”

“Jealous much?” Xander forced a cocky grin. “Just ‘cause I managed to do what the great Angelus never could? Two and a half centuries, and you never killed a slayer did ya. Then along comes the bumbling kid you couldn’t stand—one day as a vamp, and I killed the queen slayer, best one who ever lived.” He watched the vampire’s eyes flicker gold and leaned forward to whisper cruelly. “Buffy.”

The sensation of flying across the room came to an abrupt stop against the far wall. Bright lights played across his vision, but cleared quickly as a game-faced Angel loomed into view.

“Dawn and Spike seem to think you need kid gloves, but maybe you just need that smart mouth beaten out of you.” Angel yanked him from the floor and slammed him against the wall. Pain shot through his back, bringing him to the brink of blacking out, but he gritted his teeth and held on. As much as his body protested the treatment, his soul cried out for more, yearned for the possibility of making all the pain and confusion end.

“Too bad,” Xander gasped, “too bad I didn’t fuck her first.” He pulled in a deep breath, determined to continue in the face of the growl that his words pulled from the vampire. “I can only imagine…what it would have been like…sinking my cock into that tight body…while I drank her dry.”

Anger deepened the ridges on Angel’s face as intelligence flickered through his golden eyes. He slammed Xander against the wall once more before tossing him roughly onto the bed. Clenching his fists, he approached the sprawled figure. Under the desperation and fear he sensed from the man lay determination. That determination confirmed his suspicions.

“I am not your way out, Xander. Remember that.” He towered over the bed, struggling to push down the need to strangle the infuriating man. “Now, I’m going to tell you this once, and I expect you to listen well.” Angel leaned down to whisper in Xander’s ear. “I don’t care what good you are to the Council or to Dawn, but you are less than nothing to me, and you will not use us to punish yourself.”

Angel stood and returned to his human guise, speaking almost genially. “Oh, and Xander, when you wake up, I want you to back your bags and get the hell out of my hotel.” Without warning, he lashed out with a single punch and rendered Xander unconscious. Shaking off the momentary twinge of guilt, he felt his demon grumble in dissatisfaction at the lack of blood and broken bones, but he left the room without looking back. Forgetting his desire to find his grand-childe, he pounded down the stairs and out into the night to find a place to work out the violence that his demon demanded.

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

Finally able to pull himself back into some semblance of control and rational thought, Spike ceased his attack on the punching bag and sat on the bench, leaning back against the basement wall. Violence clearly wasn’t going to break through Xander’s walls. He glanced down at his swelling knuckles, and an idea began to form. One of the many things that caring for Dru had taught him was that where violence failed, kindness could break someone just as effectively. He glanced at the shelves on the opposite wall, and his gaze landed on the various bandages and ointments stacked there. Dawn and Faith had brought several gifts from the witches, one of which was a concoction they designed for the slayers to aid in healing the bumps and bruises they routinely collected.

Decision made, he picked out one of the many jars and jogged up the stairs. He reached the lobby in time to see Angel slamming out the front doors. Spike sighed at the characteristic air of brooding and contained violence that habitually surrounded his sire these days. One problem at a time. Xander had to be his priority. He spared a thought for Dawn, wondering what had happened to the plan to go book-hunting, but shrugged it off. With the great poof in that kind of mood, Nibblet was better off on her own.

Spike continued up the stairs to Xander’s room, surprised to find the door open.

“Xander?” He stepped into the room and stopped sharply as he scented blood seconds before his eyes fell on the unconscious figure on the bed.

“Bloody hell, pet.” Spike dropped the jar on the edge of the bed and settled next to the prone man. “Can’t leave you alone for two minutes.” He brushed hair back from Xander’s face and took in the swollen jaw, blood tricking from where teeth cut into the inside lip.

Looks like I know who pissed off Captain Forehead, he sighed internally. The boy clearly had a death wish if he was pressing Angel’s buttons enough to get himself decked. Time for kindness. He rose to gather a wet cloth from the bathroom and began to clean off the blood, ignoring the deep-seated desire to lick away the blood.

Xander groaned as the pain in his face registered.

“Hold still, pet.”

“Spike?” Xander’s eye snapped open and he scanned the room, panicked.

“He’s gone. No doubt out beating the demon population into submission.” Spike sat back to watch Xander’s reactions.

“Oh.” Xander closed his eye and turned away.

“Wanna tell me what happened to get his knickers in a twist?”

Xander shrugged, though the movement looked painful and awkward from his position lying on the bed.

“Suit yourself.”

Xander kept his eye closed, waiting to feel the bed shift as the vampire got up, but he was met by only silence and stillness.

After a long moment, he sighed and turned to face Spike’s disgust and disappointment. To his surprise, the cool blue eyes held only compassion and concern. Tears threatened once more, but before he could turn away, strong fingers grasped his chin gently.

“We need to talk.” Spike overrode the protest forming on Xander’s lips as he continued, “No arguments, but first we’re gonna take care of those bumps and bruises. As well as the new ones you seem to have acquired in the last hour.” Spike smirked, but without malice.

“Think you can sit up?”

Xander pressed a hand to his slightly spinning head as he struggled into a sitting position. As Spike leaned toward him, he startled backwards.

“What are you doing?” He could feel his heart pound in confusion. Desire and panic arose simultaneously, and his flight response kicked in. Spike growling at him, hitting him, he could handle, but Spike taking care with him drove him from the bed. Unfortunately, his rattled body proved unable to coordinate the rapid retreat ordered by his brain, and he ended up in an inelegant tangle on the floor.

Before he could pull himself together, Spike had him upright and sitting on the bed once more. The vampire’s eyes glinted in amusement, but his words brooked no argument.

“Sit.” He turned to pick up the jar of ointment. “Now, can you manage to get that shirt off without falling over?”

“Huh?”

“Shirt. Off.” Spike gestured with the lid of the jar in one hand. He raised the jar. “Gonna fix you up, pet.”

Xander shuddered at the tone, and without thinking began to take off his shirt. He raised it halfway before remembering the vampire’s earlier reaction. Shame coloured his cheeks, and he began to turn away once more.

“Now, pet. None of that.” Spike gripped Xander’s bicep. “Seen it all already. We’re gonna take care of those.”

“Don’t.” Xander forced the word out through gritted teeth.

“Told you before. No arguments.” Spike set the jar on the bedside table and forced Xander to look at him. “So take off the shirt and let me use some of the witches’ magic goop here to make it better.”

When Xander still didn’t reply, Spike continued. “I could tie you up. Force you.” The expected blast of pheromones and embarrassment sent a pulse to the vampire’s groin. He forced himself to focus on the immediate need to help the man heal, reluctantly squelching fantasies of Xander shackled and obedient to his demands.

“Spike,” Xander forced himself to meet that steely gaze, despite his desire to submit and allow the vampire to take all decisions, all control, from him. “What are you doing?”

Spike sighed. “Just trying to help you, pet. But you don’t make that easy.”

“What do you want from me?” A lost expression crept into the confused brown eye.

“Right now, I want you to take off that shirt, lie down on the bed, and let me take a look at that back. Can you do that much for me?”

Suddenly tired, Xander nodded. He pulled the shirt off and turned face down on the bed. Spike studied the expanse of bruised skin, pushing down the demon that raged at someone else touching what he was quickly coming to claim as his. With gentle fingers, he began to massage the ointment into bruises and welts.

Xander tensed as the vampire’s fingers touched him, but he gradually relaxed as the massaging continued. The ointment felt cool and refreshing on wounded skin, and the strong fingers pulled tension from his muscles. Along with the tension, the careful hands pulled emotions buried deep, the loneliness, guilt, despair. Without realizing it, Xander wept quietly under the vampire’s ministrations.

Spike scented the tears, welcoming the release, hoping that they signaled the turning point he had been waiting for.