Turnabout

Xander woke up weary the next day. Thanks to the heavy curtains over the window, he had no clue what time it was, and for a moment he debated simply pulling the blankets up over his head and burro bac back down to sleep. His growling stomach and complaining bladder vetoed the idea, so he reluctantly threw back the comforter and hauled himself to his feet. He reached out for the lamp on the bedside table and flicked it on, filling the space with a warm yellow light. He slipped on the eye patch automatically. Making his way to the bathroom, he surveyed the room he had been too exhausted to take in the night before. The dark wood furnishings combined with the maroon walls and deep brown carpeting to give the room an almost ornate feel despite the plain lines and lack of frills. The single bathrin tin the suite boasted a shower as well as a bathtub that was so huge that it bordered on being a small pool, or at least so it seemed to Xander who was accustomed to combination shower/baths too cramped for him to even stretch out in. The white tile and brass fixtures gleamed in the bright overhead light, their shine only partially offset by the deep green bathrug and towels. Xander quickly decided the light was too much and flicked it off, making do with the lamp light that filtered in from the bedroom as he first used the toilet then moved to the sink. He removed the patch long enough to splash water over his face and run his wet hands through his hair to tame some of its unruliness. He braced himself on the sink's edge and stared into the mirror. Shadows played across his face and the blankness in his eye reflected the question back at him. What now?

Spike woke as soon as he heard Xander moving around in the other room. Unwilling to crowd the man, he waited silently as he listened to Xander walking into the bathroom. To his surprise, Xander didn't bother to shut the bathroom door. He noted the brief flicker of the light on and then off again and wondered about Xander's choice to remain in the dark. In the silence that grew after the flush of the toilet and splash of water in the sink, Spike decided that it was time to step in and say good morning, or good afternoon, rather, if he was any judge. It felt like late afternoon, but he wasn't surprised that Xander had slept until nearly evening after the stress of the last forty-eight hours. He snapped on the light in his bedroom as a means to let Xander know he was up rather than sneaking in and startling him.

Spike leaned on the doorframe of the bathroom and watched Xander stare at himself in the mirror. The lost, blank look unnerved him. This wasn't the man who faced down demons with a joke or rallied his friends through sheer determination and love. This wasn't even the man who had argued and pleaded with him in the dingy motel room. This Xander was empty, and Spike needed to find a way to bring him back.

"Mornin' pet. Fancy some brekkies?"

"Hmm? Yeah, sure." Xander didn't turn from the mirror. He hadn't heard Spike approach, but he had noticed the light come on and knew the vampire would head straight for him.

"C'mon downstairs then."

"Be down in a minute."

"You alright, mate?"

"Yeah, fine. Be down in a minute." He flicked his eye toward the reflection of the doorway in the mirror, knowing he wouldn't see his companion but acknowledging him nonetheless.

"Kitchen's on the first floor, ugh ugh the lobby, left of the desk.

"Got it."

Spike stepped in to the bathroom and laid his hands on Xander's shoulders. "It's gonna be okay now, pet. Promise." Xander closed his eye and didn't respond. He waited, trying to listen for Spike's retreating steps. He didn't hear any footsteps, but heard the snarked "Evenin', poof" float up from the lobby. Presumably Angel was up and still in the hotel as well. Xander turned his gaze back to his reflection. As much as he didn't want to face Spike, he wanted to face Angel even less. The few times they crossed paths in the last few years had been reserved if not amicable, but getting caught out in his current position brought back the one long night spent under those powerful hands at the Fabulous Ladies Night Club. He shuddered, remembering the feeling of those fangs sinking into his shoulder as the cool cock pounded into his ass. None of his visits to Sang Froid had come close to the euphoria of Angel's bite, and now that he needed that oblivion more than ever, he feared what he might do living under the dark vampire's roof. He didn't love Angel, and he knew the vampire didn't love him. They didn't connect on anything but the most physical of levels that time, but if Xander was honest with himself, he still sought the feelings that came from that night. His dreams continued to be haunted by the freedom of surrendering himself to those powerful hands so skilled at inflicting pain and releasing him from his world of confused desires.

That need had fueled his decision to lose himselfthe the offerings of Sang Froid. The despair and loneliness of the summer after fighting the First finally broke his resolve never to become what he knew Riley Finn had become during his confusion over Buffy's distance. The moral superiority Xander enjoyed from having experienced the bite within the context of a charged sexual encounter with a friend—of sorts at least—eventually mattered less than the promise of escape from the growing pain and isolation, and in the end he became something worse. At least Finn never paid for his addiction with his body.

Disgusted with himself for even acknowledging the memories of Angel, of Riley and even of Sang Froid, Xander shoved his hands through his hair once more and stalked back to the room to rummage through the boxes for clean jeans and shirt. He knew he needed to drag himself downstairs before Spike came up to collect him. As he dressed, he tried not to feel utterly lost and disconnected. He knew that in this place under the care of these two vampires, he would be forbidden the transcendent pain that had for so long been the only indication that he was still alive.

When he reached the kitchen, he found the larger vampire back-pedaling across the kitchen, pursued by his Childe. Spike poked Angel in the chest, punctuating his gripes.

"No soddin' milk or eggs or bread or juice. What the bloody hell do you feed those pet humans of yours, you poncy git?! Or do you even bother feedin' `em? Not like you were ever the nurturin' type. Used to just leave me to fend for m'self when I was stuck in that bleedin' chair didn't ya. Coulda bloody starved to death, fer all you cared."

"Issues much?" Xander interrupted, grinning. Seeing Angel scolded by the brash younger vampire, he couldn't help but be amused. Two heads swung to take in the lanky frame lounging in the doorway. Spike immediately turned from berating his Sire to stride over to the human and tentatively touch his arm. He backed off immediately when Xander carefully stepped away.

"Stupid pillock doesn't have any human food in the place," Spike grumbled, "Tryin' fix you something to eat, wasn't I?" He shot a glare at the larger vampire who leaned against the counter with arms crossed, surveying the pair in the doorway.

"There'ffeeffee," Angel offered evenly. "I'm sure the delivery menus are still at the front desk. We can order whatever you'd like."

"Coffee's fine," Xander shrugged.

"No, coffee is not bleedin' fine. You need to eat." Spike continued to glare at his Sire.

Angel sighed and shot a look up at the ceiling. He really should have gone in to the office, but he had wanted to be there when his guests woke up. Having a souled, resurrected Spike and one very damaged Xander under his roof made him nervous. Though their current relationship didn't seem as antagonistic as he had seen in the past, he didn't trust Spike not to, well, he didn't trust Spike period. And under the stillness Xander had exhibited during the car ride, he sensed the mortal's misery and temptation to bolt at the first opportunity.

"Spike's right, Xander. We need to get you some food, and I don't have anything here." Spike interrupted with a growl. "We don't come here very often anymore. That's why there's no food." Angel was irritated that he felt the need to justify the state of the cupboards to his childe, but he fought against the irritation in favor of focusing on Xander's well-being.

"We can order something in for now, and I'll take care of getting some groceries. Just make out a list of the things you'd like." Angel moved toward the front desk to retrieve the menus.

"Whatever. Anything's fine," Xander shifted uncomfortably under the attention.

"Sit." Spike pushed him into a chair at the table and poured two cups of coffee. "Have to take it black, pet."

Xander grimaced and accepted the cup. At least if he had coffee to drink, it gave him an excuse not to talk. He warmed his hands around the cup and tried not to let Spike's simple gesture of domesticity affect him. This place was not a home, and the last thing he wanted was to let his guard down and begin to feel it as such. It would be so much easier if he would just knock me out with a microscope and leave me locked up somewhere, he thought morosely.

As Xander sat hunched over his coffee mug, Spike reflected on the man in front of him, trying to read emotions that barely registered in that brown eye. He silently scented the air, breathing deeply through both nose and mouth, but could discern little more than the faint trace of despair. Here in Los Angeles, Xander had managed to shackle down his feelings and thoughts more than he had been able to during the last two days Spike had been with him. Perhaps the presence of Angel had something to do Xander's iron control. From what he knew, there was no love lost between those two.

When Angel returned, Xander picked a menu at random. It turned out to be Thai, so he pointed at a few items and handed the menu over to Spike. Spike added his order before returning it to Angel to do the honors. He left the two of them silently sipping coffee in the kitchen as he placed the order from the phone in his office.

After making the call for food, Angel placed another call. "Lorne? I've got a bit of a situation here. . . yeah. . . look, can you stop by and. . . actually both of them. . . no, I don't want to upset either of them and have them take off, but I need to know more than they're saying. . .okay. . .and, Lorne? Could you have someone pick up some groceries to feed Xander? . . .Just have them use a company card and get whatever an empty kitchen should have to feed a twenty-something guy. And send over some blood for Spike. Thanks. See you then." Plans settled, he returned to the silent duo in the kitchen.

"So, where's the telly?" Spike looked up expectantly.


~~~~~~~~~~~~~

True to his professed disdain for television, Angel declined the offer to join Spike and Xander in their indulgence in a bit of Jerry Springer to go with lunch. He led them to the suite that had been set up as a common room when Angel Investigations used the Hyperion as their base. In deference to his human employees, and later the more permanent residents Fred and Conner, he had refurnished one of the rooms as a living room of sorts with several couches and chairs in lieu of a bed. The television had been installed in that room as well. It was here that he left Spike and Xander to set up the numerous take-out containers on the coffee table as they settled at opposite ends of the couch most advantageously positioned for TV viewing. As a means of escape, Angel checked in with Wesley and found out that his help was needed in following up on a lead that indicated one of Wolfram and Hart's long-term clients had contracted a hit on the heads of the Estate Management department over an inheritance dispute. He grimaced to think that this sounded like a much more enticing option than daytime television.

Spike hardly spared a glance for Angel's clearly insincere apology over leaving them on their own for a while. He knew that the television would drive the older vampire away, and he had purposefully suggested the most irritating viewing he could think of just to make sure. Xander didn't seem to care what they watched. He was no more engaged with the flickering screen than he was with the pad thai that he shoved around absently in the Styrofoam container. Spike watched the man play with his food, twirling noodles onto and off the tines of the plastic fork. Very little made it to his mouth.

"Something wrong with the food, pet?" Spike inquired softly without looking from the screen.

"Sorry," Xander mumbled. "Guess I'm not really hungry." He set the container on the table and gently pushed it away.

Spike set aside his own container of shrimp tempura that he had been alternately dipping in blood and sweet and sour sauce and leaned back on the couch. He carefully gazed at his friend, taking in the hunched shoulders and restless hands as they shredded a napkin.

"Wanna tell me what's got yer knickers in a twist, luv?

"What am I doing here, Spike." Xander continued to stare at the napkin. "What do you want from me?"

"I dunno, pet." Spike shrugged. "World seems a different place since I was last in it. Diggin' m'way out of that rubble. It was like gettin' born one more time, but with nobody there. No mum. No Sire. Just me and heapin' mounds of dirt." He stood and began pacing agitatedly. "I don't know where I've been, Xan. I don't know what happened to me. Walkin' away from the Hellmouth was somethin' I never expected once I put that soddin' amulet around m'neck. But then there I was standin' under the bleedin' stars one more time. The place was a mess. Hell, you saw it. Place is a bloody hole in the ground. I thought about just lyin' there and waitin' for the sun to come for me, but I had to know about Buffy, about all of you. When I got to that bloody awful motel, and I knew you were there," he took an unnecessary breath and looked directly at Xander, "it was like comin' home."

Xander stared at him for a long moment, then let out a harsh disbelieving laugh.

"I've been Drac's thrall before, and I'm not falling for that whole touchy-feely thing from you. Why would I ever be `homo yoo you, Spike? It's not like we've ever been the bestest of buds."

"Dunno, mate. And don't compare me to that poncy bugger. Never understood that whole bug-eatin' thing he got off on." Spike flung himself back down on the couch next to Xander. "I don't understand this either. All I know's that findin' you felt right. That hasn't changed."

"So being here feels like home? With Angel?" Xander concentrated on keeping his voice expressionless.

"No, you git. Bein' with you's what feels like home still. Bein' here's just about havin' someplace to crash. Someplace to get you away from that…" he searched for the words.

"Whorehouse? Stable? Den of iniquity?" Xander offered quietly.

"Iniquity?" Spike raised an eyebrow at the term.

"Hang around with Giles long enough and even I'm bound to pick up a vocabulary word or two." Xander shrugged.

"Subject changed?" Spike asked slyly.

"Subject changed," Xander confirmed and heaved himself to his feet. "I still don't get why you're convinced that you need to look after me. I knew what I was getting into living at Earl's. It just didn't seem to matter much." He paused in the doorway as he continued. "You'd be better off finding Buffy and the rest of them. They're still doing the good ole save the world gig. And as much as it pains me to admit it," his voice lowered with his parting words, "you're pretty damn good at that."

"I'm not the only one, mate." Spike's whisper reminded the empty doorway.


Xander made his way back to his room. Exhaustion from trying to maintain some semblance of equilibrium around the two vampires all afternoon threatened to take over. However, more than food or sleep, he wanted space to examine and maybe to escape the tumult of emotions currently giving him a repression headache. Knowing that there was no way Spike would let him out of the hotel, and not knowing where he would go anyway, Xander opted for the promising privacy of a shower. He closed himself in the bathroom and slowly stripped off his shirt. Under the bright lights, the scars s out out in varying colors on the inside of his biceps. From smooth and silvery to raised and red, they mocked him with his choices. At the same time, they tempted him with the promise of at least a temporary relief. He traced fingers over several of the oldest scars, so faint that he could hardly see them anymore. Slowly he raised his right arm to his mouth, catching the skin on his forearm in his teeth. He imagined sharper teeth and cooler lips pressing into the warm flesh. Gradually, he sunk his teeth deeper and deeper, feeling the pain radiate. He glanced up and caught his own gaze in the mirror. Disgusted, he dropped the arm and stared back at his reflection. Why couldn't he just accept being here and step back into the Scooby life with Spike and Angel? He knew that going to England would be a simple matter of calling Giles and asking for the Council to provide a ticket. An open invitation and even a permanent guest room awaited him in the new headquarters. His passport was in order, since Giles had insisted upon that for all of them.

But England and the Council seemed utterly remote. Whereas the Scoobies had patrolled and secured Sunnydale for years, the Council focused on patrolling the entire world. The new Council, even with Giles in charge, was about slayers—-more than one or even two—-and watchers and witches. What place did one handicapped human male have in this new order? None, he knew. Without the calling to be a watcher, the powers of a slayer, or the inclination for magic, he could be nothing more than the donut boy he always secretly held himself to be. Did they even eat donuts in England? Or would he end up as scone-boy? Either way, the Council's needs differed drastically from the slayer's little Sunnydale band, and he knew he didn't fit. To Xander's way of thinking, this meant that he didn't fit any longer in the lives of Buffy or Giles or Dawn or even Willow as anything but a distraction. Faith and the other potentials he had never fit with, so that was no great loss. But it rankled that those women had more of a place in his friends' lives than he did, and he couldn't stay to watch his unconventional family change into something he would no longer recognize.

In his solitude at Earl's, Xander could admit that he needed family. He had needed Sco Scoobies not so much to save his life, although that had certainly happened on more than one occasion, but to save his heart from the desperate isolation that came from growing up in the negligent and often abusive Harris household. With Willow, Buffy, Dawn, and Giles he finally found an outlet to love and be loved. With them he was more than tolerated. But in the aftermath of the battle with the First, his continued presence would bind them to a world that no longer existed, and they needed to be free to shape themselves and their extraordinary gifts into what this new world required. So he had left, and he stayed away, reminding himself over and over that it was better, that he was now a hindrance, a liability in the cause that they had all fought for and that Anya and Spike had died for. The best way he could love them was to leave them free to move on. But all the reasoning in the world couldn't kill the wanting that remained, nor could it fill the desolate loneliness that took over the nights and days as he became more and more cut off from anyone around him.

The only connection available for a long time now came from those few minutes when he could feel his blood pumping out to nourish the vampires of Sang Froid. The incredible intimacy of knowing that they took part of him into themselves as a means to pleasure and to sustain their own lives spoke to his need to touch and be touched. Even the physical pain of giving his body over to be used in payment in lieu of cash for the bleeding gave him the comfort of touch and being wanted, if not in the way he would prefer. At the same time, handing over control to the vampires and demons that abused his body left him free to release his own rigid control over his yearnings and provided a moment of absolution. In those moments, he wasn't responsible for what was happening. Someone else had control, and he could retreat utterly into himself away from his world empty of any semblance of real companionship.

Xander stared at the mirror for several long minutes before wrapping his arms around himself, closing his eye. He imagined someone else's, anyone else's he told himself, arms around him. Despite his determination to remain isolated from the gentle concern that Spike seemed to offer, Xander found himself nearly shaking with the need to be touched, to be held and comforted now that the opportunity came tantalizingly close. He had recognized the feeling of home that Spike talked about. When the vampire appeared in his doorway, suddenly Sunnydale and the Scoobies were in the room with him, but whereas Spike expressed relief and security, for Xander that return of the familiar brought pain and panic. He yearned for even the awkward camaraderie they had had over the last few years, but knew it would end all too soon when Spike decided to get on with his unlife and leave Xander behind. Spike belonged with the slayers and watchers of the world. Having faced the agony of separation once, the despairing man had no intention of putting himself in a position where it could happen again.

At the same time that he made this determination to hold himself back, all the desperate need for someone he could care for, for someone who would care for him, came crashing in. Suddenly he had to face himself: who he had been and who he had become. He pictured Spike's strong, wiry arms holding him through the trauma that engulfed him on the long drive to LA. He remembered the feeling of those arms holding him together again and again over the few days in his motel room, and he shivered as the tears pricked. The last thing he deserved was for someone to care. The thing he needed more than anything was to let someone care. Xander stood in the center of the bathroom under the glaring lights for a few minutes more as he tried to use his own arms to hold himself together before removing his jeans and slipping into the shower to let the tears merge unnoticed into the streaming water.


~~~~~~~~~~~

Reluctant to follow Xander when the man clearly wanted only to be away from him, Spike stuffed the leftover takeaway into the refrigerator and then found himself stalking through the upper floors of the Hyperion, familiarizing himself with the layout of the hotel. At least that's what he told himself he was doing. He most definitely was not brooding or pouting about being effectively pushed away or brushed off by two of the most important figures in his unlife. Okay, well one very important figure and one who was rapidly becoming increasingly important.

Preoccupied with Xander's condition, Spike had not let himself think about the conflicting emotions brought up by seeing his Sire again. He hadn't lied to Xander when he said that coming here with Angel did not feel like home. The familiarity between Childe and Sire had been battered by a century of estrangement and outright violence. Spike was no longer the young demon who worshipped his beautiful, brutal Sire and sought to please him through imitation of the violence he saw. The fierce hunting, killing, and fucking that permeated his life with Angelus, Darla, and Drusilla abruptly dissolved into uncertainty and chaos with Angelus's disappearance. Even during his brief returns, he had patently ignored or dismissed Spike, and Spike covered up the deep hurt that such rejection caused by mocking the older vampire. However, even a century couldn't sever the bloodline connection, and despite the intense anger he continued to harbor over being abandoned, Spike found himself once again drawn to the vampire who was now Master of their line. Demons were eternal, and the bond between Sire and Childe should be no less so. He could close his eyes here in the halls of this hotel and the scent of his Sire that permeated the air still evoked the need for approval and love. His demon roared to touch and taste his master. Images ngelngelus fucking him brutally while the Darla and Dru were out hunting pulled the blood to his hardening cock. He leaned against a wall and let the scent wash through him, telling himself this was just another quick fantasy to take care of the discomfort through a quick wank.

Spike slowly unbuttoned his jeans and pulled out his rapidly hardening cock. He began a gentle pulling on the shaft, sliding his fingers up and down and occasionally flicking his thumb over the weeping head. He hadn't allowed himself this fantasy since finding Angel and Buffy back making googly-eyes at each other when he'd blackmailed them into helping him gather the love spell ingredients to win Drusilla back several years ago. While Angelus and the Slayer fighting to the death during the whole Acathla debacle made for some intense tossing-off material, lap-dog Angel simply made him want to heave. But now that droopy soul-ridden Sire seemed to be balanced with the violent demon Spike had loved for decades, and thinking about that suppressed violence made his cock twitch impatiently in his hand. Replaying the way Angel took out the Teilenon nest and asserted himself as Master started the pre-cum dripping from the slit of his increasingly painful erection, and Spike began to stroke with a desperate pressure. Pulling roughly on his cock with one hand and rolling his balls with the other, he set up a coordinated rhythm, adding a slight tug on his sac to coincide with the thumb-flick of the other hand over the steadily dripping slit. He began to pant, taking in more and more of Angel's scent, which pushed him closer to orgasm. Unconsciously he slipped into gameface, and as he bit his lower lip, fangs sent a spurt of blood into his mouth. The taste of blood in combination with his Sire's scent and the thought of Angel's cool, sure hands bringing him off, sent him crashing over the edge. He shot cool cum into his hand, dribbling onto the carpet.

As his breathing slowed and then ceased altogether, Spike looked down at the floor ruefully. Good thing this part of the hotel didn't seem to get used too often. Maybe the stain and scent would fade before Angel happened to wander up here. Spike smirked as he tucked himself away and wiped his hand on the leg of his jeans. Of course, even if Angel did happen by, Spike could hardly imagine his repressed Sire stammering through a demand for an explanation of what was obviously a cum-stain.

Physically relieved, but no less conflicted, Spike made his way back to his room. Despite the pleasure of a good wank, he wasn't sure what he wanted from this incarnation of Angel, and then there was Xander to consider. The more time Spike spent with the wounded human, the more he found himself drawn to understand and to comfort him. He realized that he missed Xander's quirky humor and open-hearted willingness to love and devote himself to his friends. For some reason, the man had cut that part of himself off and had chosen to hide out with demons, subjecting himself to their brutal ways. He recalled those nights in Xander's apartment when his own nightmares had been at their worst, and only warm arms and the low, comforting baritone seemed to stave them off enough for Spike to rest. Faced with this Xander, Spike wished he had had the courage to say something about those times. Perhaps if he had managed to express his gratitude, he wouldn't feel as estranged from Xander now, and there would be more of a firm basis between them to help the man find the way back to himself.

Spike flopped onto the bed as he tried to make sense of his complicated companions. His demon yearned for the acceptance and love of his Sibut but his soul cried out to hold and comfort the suffering human. He smiled wryly as he determined that his libido seemed to predict satisfaction either way, provided either man could be coaxed into bed with him. Clamping down on that thought, he turned over and pressed his face into the pillows. It wouldn't do to get sidetracked by unfounded hopes for sex when he couldn't make sense of the love, anger, desire, and fear that swirled around his heart. He groaned. Sometimes despite the soul, he yearned for the stark simplicity of his demon days before Sunnydale, the chip, and all the bleeding Scoobies who wormed their way into his unbeating heart.