Wild Days

Xander:

I can't remember the last night I slept through. I used to, you know. I used to sleep hours and hours, happy and undisturbed, and not even the Hellmouth so close to me did give me a bother. Yes, those were good times. I was still a boy then, and all I could think about was losing my virginity – preferably with Buffy. Not that this was ever an option, but a guy can dream, right? I dated Cordelia - and it's still a mystery to me how it happened. I mean, she was Cordelia. Queen C. The girl with the bunch of friends, the guys drooling over her, the car, the rich parents. And still she chose me. Granted, it wasn't the great love affair of all times, but we still kissed and touched - in places. So despite the Hellmouth, the vampires, the unfulfilled love to Buffy, my life was pretty good.

I'm still not quite sure when it changed. It didn't happen over night, but I know for sure the night I saw Buffy's broken body, lifeless and still, I grew up. And that's when the nights turned into something not so pleasant. For a while I didn't mind being sleepless - because it meant I was with Anya, and we did a lot of not-sleeping in our bed. No, I didn't mind that at all. Ever since we split, the distraction is gone, and now I find myself lying awake for hours, thoughts coursing through my mind, my body alert and ready to jump. I can feel my heart hammering in my chest at times, and I wonder if I'll be one of those people who drop dead at thirty from a heart attack.

Those are the times when I miss Anya. I do miss the sex - I wouldn't be a young, healthy male if I didn't. And sometimes I even miss her presence, her comments, her very special way to see the world, but the really sad part is, I'm not sure if I miss her because I miss her, or because she would make the nights more bearable. And I'm still not closer to finding out why I can't sleep.

Maybe it's because my two best friend in the world have gone off the deep end. Or maybe it's because I suddenly realise that there are a lot of things out there beyond my control. I never used to think about it, but all that we've been through has changed my perspective. And not in a good way. I had to accept that life can be over tomorrow, that what seems true today can be wrong in the matter of a heartbeat. And I realise now it was in a momentary panic that I asked Anya to marry me. It was the metaphorical fist into the air, demonstrating we were still believing in life while everything around us was going straight to Hell.

And it was wrong.

I knew it almost instantly. Not with the clarity I see it now, but there was this feeling in my gut that told me I was making a big mistake. True, I cared deeply for Anya, was even sure I loved her, but I realised that I didn't know her. And worse, I didn't know myself. How could I commit myself to a person when I didn't know who I was? Still don't. And maybe that's the worst of it. I've reached an age where I can get a drink in any place of the world and still can't tell you who I am.

Alexander Harris. Nobody.

Buffy is the Slayer. True, she didn't exactly jump around in circles when she was called, but at least there is a purpose in her life. Not that I envy her in any way. The prospect of dying young in the line of duty isn't all that tempting. Willow - even though she struggles with what she's done - still knows who she is, what she wants to do. She's a smart girl and even without magick she'll make it. And Anya is back in the vengeance business, something she's used to. And Angel - an undead demon - even Angel knows about his place in life.

While I never even made it to college for God's sake.

I work in construction and it isn't half bad most of the time, but I'm also sure it's not a perspective in any way. On the other hand, I wonder if there is a perspective at all. I mean, the world can be gone tomorrow. What if one night Buffy isn't strong enough and what if that special demon succeeds in opening some other portal … The world would go to Hell and I can't see the devil asking for my profession before deciding how to torture me.

So all in all my life is still crap and I didn't expect this morning to be any different when I turn around and my body suddenly collides with another. Not quite asleep, but not entirely awake either, I yelp, "What the hell.."

"Umph," the body besides me says and I instantly reach for the light on my nightstand.

"Anya?" I stare incredulously at the person - *the very naked person* - in my bed. "What are you doing here?" Anya is in my bed. Okay, it isn't really my bed, we're still in Angel's hotel, but does it really matter?

She blinks at me, "Xander? Why are you up?"

That leaves me momentarily speechless. She is in my bed. Yes, for about a year and a half that was nothing special, but those times are over, and she knows it. Or so I thought. Trying to keep my voice even, I say, "Because I turned around and collided with another body in *my* bed."

There is no understanding in her eyes when she yawns and sits up, the thin sheet covering her form so far, sliding down, revealing her breasts, and instantly I feel my groin responding. "You didn't mind before," she replies, totally unconcerned about her nudity. Not that I can really blame her. Sitting naked in front of me isn't anything new to her.

"Anya," running a hand through my sleep tousled hair, and desperately trying to ignore my body's reaction to her being so close, I sigh, "things are different now. You cannot just come into my bed. We're not a couple anymore."

I'm completely unprepared for the moistness entering her eyes, "I know," she whispers, then her head comes up, and a glare is mixed with the moist shine, "And it's your fault. I still want to be a couple. You betrayed your promise to me."

"Excuse me?" I stare at her as if I've never seen her before, feeling my blood pressure rising, my aching groin forgotten, "You were the one who screwed Spike's brains out in the magic box for everyone to see. Sorry I can't just forget that." Did I know her at all? I wonder.

"Your best friend had sex with him for months," she accuses, "And you forgave her. Why not me?"

I realise she really doesn't understand it. And it shows me again that I never knew her. "Anya," I try to keep my temper in check, knowing that shouting at her will achieve nothing, even though I want to throttle her. Can't she see how much she hurt me by turning around and jumping the next guy? Does she really think I can just forget? That I can forgive and go on as if nothing has happened? "You were my girlfriend. Girlfriends don't cheat on their boyfriends."

"Fiancées don't run out on their brides either, but you did," she shoots back, "Why is your mistake less than mine? I just had sex. It's nothing special." Her eyes are big and luminous in the first rays of the sun now shining through the curtains. She looks more beautiful than ever, but it's not enough.

And that's when I finally realise it's over. Nothing special? When we were together it was what we did most of the time. And it was nothing special? "It was for me," I tell her, swallowing the stale taste I suddenly feel on my tongue. It's the taste of end. The taste of something beautiful being over. The taste of reality you want to ignore and can't.

Obviously only now realising what she said, she reaches out, "I didn't mean-"

But I pull my arm away, not wanting to be touched, "Oh yes, you did. You always mean what you say. You are the most honest person I know, because you didn't need to lie. And you know what," I sigh again, "And I just realised that honesty can be severely overrated." I manage a sad smile, "Anya, please get your clothes and go. We're not going to have sex," I tell her with a little pang of regret, but I can ignore it easily.

"But you invited me to come," she cries, tears pooling from her eyes, "*You* wanted me to come to L.A. with you."

Yes, I did. I don't know why. "I know," I reply, "It was wrong. And I'm sorry. I'm sorry I gave you the impression this … we could get back together. Because we can't. It's over, Ahn."

"How can it be over?" She is crying in earnest now, her hands trembling as she wipes the tears away. "I love you. It's all inside of me, and you can't…," she gulps, "you can't just say it's over."

For a moment I'm tempted to take her in my arms, but I would be wrong, and so I ignore the impulse. Instead I look at her, "But it is. That's what happens. I'm sorry."

"Sorry?" Her voice borders on hysterical now, and she gets up from the bed, picking up her clothes, not bothering to put them on. "You are sorry?" Her head comes up, "I will make you see that-"

"No," I shake my head, "Don't, Ahn. I'm not going to change my mind. Can't we just end this and stay friends?" The moment the words are out I realise how stupid they sound. I just hurt her, I can see it in her eyes, the way she clutches her clothes against her bare chest. And I want her to be my friend?

"I don't want to be your friend," she replies, "You hurt me. You rejected me. I'm glad I accepted D'Hoffryn's offer to become a demon again. Because now I really can relate to the women who summon me. And I will think of you each time I punish one of them." Once again her tearful gaze rests on me. "I hope you can live with that."

With that she leaves the room, and even though I know it's right, I cannot help wishing things could have been different for us. But they aren't, and there is nothing I can do but move on and hope that one day I will find what I'm looking for.

*****

Buffy:

I leave the room just before the sun comes up, quietly shutting the door behind me, and hoping Angel will sleep on, even though I remember Dawn telling me how agitated he got when I Ieft the last time. Still, I need to use my legs for a moment. I'm not used to lying around all the time, although with Angel it hardly seems that way. To be close to him, is a comfort I never thought I'd experience again.

Yawning and stretching my arms, I make my way down the stairs, surprised to find the lobby empty. Not that I really expected to find someone down here, but it has been so full of people the last few days, it just seems strange to see it deserted like this. Letting my eyes sweep around I try to get a feeling for it. It's Angel's home now and it fits. It's a little old-fashioned but with style and a lot of space. Angel always needed a lot of space. If it was the mansion, or his old apartment in Sunnydale with a sewer entrance right outside the door.

I let my hand glide over the surface of the counter, then stop at its end to gaze at the computer, the desks with files in them. That's Angel's life and I'm not part of it. The pain I feel at that is almost physical, and I wonder if there was anything I could have done to avoid it. After he left we agreed not to see each other except in an emergency and we kept that promise, ignored what we felt for each other, ruthlessly stomped it into the ground, knowing it couldn't be. Too afraid to even try.

And when we met after I came back from the dead, when Angel offered the world to me, I was too much of a coward to say yes. Or maybe I was just too messed up. It doesn't really matter. All that matters is that I hurt him deeply that night, and I can only hope that it wasn't a mortal wound I delivered. Not for him. I didn't hurt him. Not physically. But can love survive such a blow?

Does he still love me? Can he? I wonder. I know without a doubt that parting from Angel again will leave a wound that's not going to heal. Finding him in that box has brought all those buried feelings into the open, and I just can't close them up again. No way I can push them back into that tiny room in my heart where nobody can see them. They're simply too much, too deep, too powerful to shut them away.

But even if he still loves me, nothing has changed. He is still the vampire with the shaky soul, we still aren't allowed to be together and … I stop when I hear a noise from the doorway, a shiver instantly running down my spine. Without the need to look I know who is standing there, and I want nothing more than flee. Turn away and ignore his presence, but something - something I can't name - is holding me rooted in place.

He seems equally uncomfortable because he just stands there, not moving, his eyes on my back. I can almost feel them burning through my skin, laser-sharp blue, finding all my secrets, not allowing me to hide, bringing all my dark secrets out in the open.

"You gonna come in, or would you rather turn to ashes?" Silently I'm applauding myself. My voice sounds so casual, it's almost scary.

"Isn't that what you want? For me to just disappear?" I hear him coming down the stairs, then stop once again.

Just a moment ago I though it was, but the idea of him to just crumple to a pile of dust suddenly doesn't hold any appeal. "Why did you come back, Spike?" He couldn't expect us to welcome him. I always wanted to ask him why he didn't just stay away. But so far the urge to stay away from him as far as possible has been stronger, and I wonder what happened the last few days that makes me able to talk to him.

"Didn't know where to go," he replies, and his voice is tired and sad. "And maybe …," he hesitates, and his voice drops to a mere whisper, "I needed forgiveness." He clears his throat, "Who knows."

"Is that what you want from me? Forgiveness?" I slowly turn around, look at him where he stands near the doors, illuminated by the light of the morning, his bony face drawn and etched with pain.

"What I want," he laughs humourlessly, "It's nothing anyone can give me. Nobody can give me a moment of peace. A minute, a second where I don't hear someone screaming in my head, when I don't see someone's face contorted in pain. When I don't hear my own manic laughter, enjoying the scene." He looks up, his eyes going to the stairs leading upstairs, "I wonder how he does it. How he can live with it?"

"He is strong. A lot stronger than we all gave him credit for," I tell him, and he nods. "I never loved you, you know," I say suddenly, the words out of my mouth before I can think them over. I'm not even sure why they seem necessary. Spike hasn't tried to come near me once. He hasn't made any move. But I have also seen a flicker in his eyes. And I don't want any misunderstandings between us.

He laughs again. If he's surprised by the sudden change of topic, he doesn't show it. "Hell, I know, Slayer." For a moment he sounds like the old Spike, and I feel goose-bumps all over my back. But then his voice loses it's cockiness once again, "I always knew. Even then. Unlike your boy toy I never was one to lie to myself."

"What … what we did, had nothing to do with you. I was … in a bad place. And you were the perfect escape." I know it sounds like I'm apologizing to him, but I don't. I just need to say it. To make him understand. And myself. I'm not that person anymore. I've moved beyond that, and I'm stronger now. Or at least I hope I am.

"Don't give yourself too much credit, luv," he shrugs off his duster and flings him towards the sofa in the middle. "I was a soulless demon then. I wanted you. And I used your weakness. It was fun. I felt …exhilarated by the power I had over you. Even though I could kill you it wasn't what I wanted. It was far more satisfying to see you weak, to see how you came to me, begged me to make the pain go away. You were the Slayer and I had you." He makes a fist, "In the palm of my hand."

"Well," I have to clear my throat, still stunned by his revelation. Didn't he say he loved me? Over and over again? Complete with a pout and puppy dog eyes. I can remember the rage when I turned away from him, the despair and I remember the night he came and tried to force me to let him in.

"I'm sorry," he says suddenly, and I look at him, his gaze averted in shame. "I know it's not enough, but I'm sorry."

That very moment I realise that this isn't Spike. This isn't the demon I fucked. The demon who tried to rape me. He doesn't even look the same anymore. And maybe that's the reason why I'm able to say, "I know it wasn't you."

"Oh, it was me," he says, surprising me. "It was this face, these hands," he holds them out before him, looking at his palms. "You have no idea what these hands did. What this mind enjoyed."

"No," I agree. "I don't. And I don't wanna. But I have been with Angel for too long not to understand that there is a difference between a soulless and an ensouled vampire."

"He used to be a bastard," Spike says and at my look he adds. "Angelus."

I have to laugh at that, "Believe me I know. I saw it first hand." And I wish I hadn't. Or maybe I don't. Maybe I needed to see both sides of Angel. The dark as well. Maybe only after I did, I could really love him. And I do. I love him. All of him. I don't care about the demon inside of him, but I can also live with it. Unlike when he came back from Hell, I know I can live with it now. Maybe because I've seen my own dark side. I look at Spike. Maybe the last year wasn't only bad after all.

"I loved him so much." Spike gives a little sheepish grin, a new sort, I have never seen before, and it almost makes me like him again. "Well, at least as much as a soulless demon can love. But I adored him. Worshipped him. Dru was … I was smitten by her, but Angelus … he was my real hero."

"Not Darla?" I don't even know why the question slipped from my lips.

But Spike understands, "He never loved her, pet. They were … partners in crime, fuckbuddies in crime if you want, but there was no love. Angelus didn't do love. He didn't know love. But unlike me, he accepted it. I thought … my evil self thought that I still could love. I know better now, but I've always been good at lying to myself, creating fantasies around me." He shakes his head, "Darla was a selfish bitch, Slayer. She was … vicious. Angelus learned everything from her. But she would've sacrificed him in a heartbeat - figuratively speaking of course. And so would he. Does that answer your question?"

Not feeling comfortable discussing this with Spike, I turn my face away, too afraid he can read in my eyes. Even as a soulless monster he was good at it, "I … I didn't …"

"Oh yes, you did," he says and I hear the smile in his voice. "Luv, don't even try it. You love the big guy. Always did. Even when you tried to prove to everyone that you didn't. Including yourself. Your friends might have bought it, but I didn't." After a short pause he adds, "And Riley didn't either." When my head comes up with a snap, he chuckles, "Riley might be a white-bread, but for a man … when a man sleeps with a woman he can tell." He sighs, "I wonder how often you closed your eyes wishing it was him."

I frown, not sure what to say, not sure if I need to. Spike obviously knows me a lot better than I thought. And strangely the revelation doesn't make me uncomfortable anymore. Maybe one day Spike and I can even find a way to be - friends? Who knows, after all stranger things have happened on the Hellmouth.