Truth Denied

Appropriate Ratings: NC17 overall but this chapter... PG13 or possibly R for the subject matter
Warnings: Well, he talks about what used to happen, so possibly triggering to anyone who's gone through it.
Disclaimers: Not my characters. I make no money off this, I'm just playing. I promise to give them a bath and thorough cleaning when I’m done! Joss Whedon is my lord and Master. All hail Joss Whedon.
Short Summary: Xander shares his wounds.
Beta: Tamakin with some Spike help from Limerickgirl. Thank you so much again!!! Any errors are mine and mine alone.


Comments keep my muse well fed.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Spike chewed and swallowed his mouthful of green before putting his fork down on the table and leaning back, looking at Xander with a curious expression on his face.

“Xander, you don’t have to lie to make me feel better.”

“I’m not lying Spike,” Xander whispered.

“But… you did the dirty with Anya, you lusted after the Slayer, hell, Willow! Are you bi?” Spike was confused. Out of everything Xander could have said this was not what he was expecting.

“I was trying to be what…,” he sighed. “You know my father never would have accepted it if I came out of the closet, so I pretended. I tried to be what he wanted, what everyone expected. I’ve been hiding it for… years.” And now I’m not, and the first person I tell isn’t my best friend, isn’t someone who’s told me they’ll stick by me no matter what I do or say, nope, first person I tell is an ex-murdering fiend of the bumpy faced people. Yeah, this is just how I imagined coming outta the closet.

“I’ve always preferred boys to girls. On the day of the wedding when that demon showed me my future I saw how much I resented Anya for not… for making me keep up the lie, for not letting me be who I am. I couldn’t do that to her. I loved her too much! I just… wasn’t in love with her,” He toyed with his napkin, shredding it with nervous fingers. Something inside him started to crack.

“I respected her too much to use her to keep up the charade. I kept trying though, afterwards. Kept thinking as long as I didn’t… as long as I kept… as long as I couldn’t be honest to myself, my friends and family… I just couldn’t stop, you know? I couldn’t stop lying, I couldn’t live my life like I wanted because I’ve never been able to. I kept… I kept thinking my father was going to find out, that my mother or uncle, or someone was going to find out,” Xander was whispering. His busy hands had turned his napkin into confetti, so he fiddled with his fork instead. Anything to keep from looking up.

Spike simply nodded to himself and went back to his salad, munching away as if nothing big had just been spilled on his lap. “So why the explosion at the club?” he asked nonchalantly.

“I just… couldn’t go through with it.” Xander slowly started to remember what breathing was like.

“Afraid it’ll get back to your old man?”

Xander snorted and popped the tomato into his mouth, chewing it resolutely. “Spike, my father is dead. He refused to be run out of his home when everyone else was leaving. He didn’t exactly have any life savings to rent a hotel room or credit to charge it on and pay back later. He fell to the bottom of the pit when we finally closed the Hellmouth.” He ate a strip of chicken from his pasta, anything to keep from gritting his teeth and locking his jaw. The food fell like lead into his stomach, which felt like an explosion of butterflies had taken up residence. An explosion of butterflies with stiletto heels and sharp little teeth all trying to chew and poke their way out of him; it wasn’t a good feeling. Maybe food was a bad idea right now…

“Then what? Don’t wanna be gay? Thinkin’ you can just ignore it a’ it’ll go away?” Spike was speaking softly, careful not to sound accusatory, just curious. He didn’t want to spook him or confront him, he just wanted to know.

“No Spike, I know it won’t just go away. I don’t WANT it to go away, I just want to be… happy with who I am. I just… can’t.” Spike shot him a shrewd look and busied his hands with his burger, putting the condiments on it, making sure the meat and bread were properly aligned, anything to keep from folding them into fists and storming out of here looking for a fight. He was happy he no longer had a demon or he wouldn’t have been able to sit still and keep listening. The boy needed his ear, his support, not his violent temper.

“This isn’t your first gay experience is it?” His voice was carefully measured, “You’re not new to this, are you?” He fought against his own curdling stomach as well as his anger. He’d always suspected, always, that someone had hurt him in the past. Something so big and painful he couldn’t tell anyone. Him being gay was a huge surprise though. Spike’d caught whiffs of Xander’s scent when they were together, alone or with others. He’d always excused the burst of pheromones as being triggered by something else. A picture of Anya, the Slayer’s ass in that mini skirt while she dusted another vampire, or some other small thing. His body language had never hinted, well… other than that time in the basement, but he had been sure the boy had just been doing it to torment him.

Xander gritted his teeth, feeling them grind together. He slid a French fry from Spike’s plate and tore it apart with his fingers, wishing he’d kept his mouth shut. Better than eating it…, his stomach roiled. He was sure this was going to be a really bad decision on his part, “No, this wouldn’t have been my first experience.”

Understanding dawned on Spike’s face, Xander’s body language hinting at the truth and he remembered something he’d overhead upstairs when he was stuck in that chair. Vampiric hearing came in handy at times, even when what you heard wasn’t always good news. He hadn’t put two and two together before, he hadn’t cared enough to even try to put two and two together before but now… now it made sense. His eyes hardened into chips of ice but he was careful to keep it out of his voice, “Your first time wasn’t a good time, was it?”

Xander licked his numb lips and swallowed. “No, it wasn’t,” he whispered.

He blinked back tears hurriedly, trying to keep his voice calm and even. He hadn’t meant to share this part, this was what he’d wanted to keep private, secret, take it to his grave secret, but the dam had cracks in it and it wasn’t keeping back the tide anymore. He struggled to patch the holes and cracks that kept spreading but it was a loosing battle.

“Tell me. I’m here for you, alright? You’ve heard mine, part o’ mine, read other parts in the Watcher’s diaries. You know the worst I’ve done and had done to me. I promise I won’t judge you, and I know this isn’t easy, but you need to let it out. It’s eating you alive; you gotta bleed the poison out, mate.”

Xander stayed silent, thinking on what he’d just been told, on the offer to share his pain, on the person who’d just made the offer. He owed Spike some explanation after all the guy had done for him, after everything he’d put up with. He didn’t think Spike would think him dirty and unclean, he knew what vampire’s did to show dominance, or just for fun with their childer or victims. He wasn’t exactly new to the whole… thing. A small part of him yearned to share his story with someone else who’d survived something similar… so he wouldn’t feel so alone. Besides, his father was dead. He was dead and couldn’t do anything to Xander or his friends if he told anyone. He couldn’t make life any worse for Xander anymore. It was an oddly freeing revelation. All this time he’d been hunched under fear of his father and now it just slithered away from him. His father was dead, it was time he lived like it was true.

He ate a forkful of his pasta, slurping in a stray noodle that tried to escape, and made up his mind. He didn’t have to say who it was. Nothing could make him say who it was… but the dam was broken and if he didn’t let off the pressure he was going to break into a thousand tiny pieces.

“I was eight,” he couldn’t bring himself to speak clearly, or loudly, he may be free of his father but some things were still hard to talk about. Spike leaned in close to hear every word. “It was just… that was the first… that’s when it started. I was eight, he was rough, and I spent years trying to forget it. I turned sixteen and… I’m not even sure he knew it was my birthday, I think he just thought it was some special day, or something, maybe. I don’t know… I never asked.” Xander toyed with his pasta, twirling it around his fork. He kept trying to catch his breath, trying to hold on tight to the table before the spinning restaurant flung him into space. It was harder than he thought, actually finally admitting it to someone, anyone. It was something he’d kept private, clutched to himself for so long, sharing it was… too alien, too complicated. He wished he’d never started talking about this, never started sharing his secret. He looked up to tell Spike he couldn’t, couldn’t say it no matter how much he should but those blue eyes were shining with such support and understanding. Those eyes let him tell the rest.

“That’s when it became more… regular. He made me… he made me do things to him, f-forced me to let him do things to me. I didn’t have a choice! I was just a kid Spike, just a kid who didn’t know… couldn’t… I couldn’t stop him. I was fighting demons and had a super girl as my best friend and I couldn’t stop him. I couldn’t tell anyone, because then they’d know… they’d know I was… and he promised to hurt them if they found out and hurt me and hurt my mom, and no matter how much of a bad mom she was she was still my mom and-and I couldn’t! I just couldn’t.” He flinched when Spike reached out to wipe away a tear he hadn’t been able to hold back. He panted in breath after quiet breath but couldn’t seem to get in enough air. He swallowed back a sob, shoulders shaking under the strain of trying to keep his control.

Spike was clearly at a loss of what to do. He’d only been human for what, a few years? How was he supposed to cope with a blubbering human with more emotional baggage than, well… most people. He knew he should be comforting, soothing, but wasn’t sure how. Soul or no, human or no, he’d spent most of his existence a murdering monster, he wasn’t prepared for this by any stretch of the imagination. He handed Xander a napkin to clean himself up and blow his nose on, then quietly cleared his throat.

“Not many people can. Not your fault; it was never your fault, an’ don’t ever think it was. He was the bastard who took advantage, forced himself. Doesn’t matter you’re gay. You didn’t ask for it Xan, you didn’t tell him it was okay. Even if your body reacted it wasn’t your fault, no matter what the bloody bastard said.” Xander clenched his eyes tightly, face stretched in a grimace of pain. A soft whimper slipped past his lips before he clenched them tight. The world had melted away, leaving them in an empty sea of black, no one else existed but the two of them, and still Xander couldn’t let himself cry.

Spike leant down further, his voice soft, supportive and confidential. He held tight to one of Xander’s hands, rubbing his thumb on the back of his hand in a soothing motion, “Tell me who it was Xan, it’ll be better when you do.”

“He’s dead Spike. He’s gone, there’s nothing you can do.” Once more Xander felt drained. Talking to Spike was like someone was siphoning the air out of him, leaving him limp and empty.

Spike wouldn’t let him go that easily, “Doesn’t matter Xan, you need to say it, you need to get it off your chest.”

The bottom fell out of his stomach when he saw the intense look Spike was giving him. He felt the blood drain from his face, leaving him lightheaded, adding to the spinning. He fought against his trembling lips, “You know, don’t you?” His words triggered another spike of panicked pain in his gut. Spike knew. Spike knew and had probably known for a while.

Xander was sure of it, certain the vampire had seen something, heard something, in those few nights he’d spent in the basement tied to that horrid orange chair. He looked up at the blond, waiting for the accusations, the mocking smirk, laughter, anything, but Spike stayed silent, waiting for him to say it himself, knowing he needed to lance this boil of putrid abuse on his own.

“My father, damn him! It was my FATHER!” A sea of emotion came rushing out of him in a torrent of tears. He ran out of the booth, pushing past a surprised waiter to lock himself in the bathroom. He slammed his back into the door three or four times before he slid to the floor, crying quietly.

Damn him… DAMN HIM!