Tainted Returns

My apologies for the long delay in updating. Computer problems combined with RL rearing its head plotted against me. : )~
A huge thanks goes to Beamer! She was a tremendous help with this chapter. Without her, well, lets just say parts of this wouldn't be worth reading. THANKS! All remaining mistakes are mine.


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Part Thirteen
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Spike gaped after the rapidly retreating form of Xander Harris. His mind on complete shutdown, he didn't know how long he simply stood there trying to make sense of what had just happened. Kneeling, he absently picked up the key and undid the locks still holding him captive, never taking his eyes off the door through which the boy had disappeared.

He felt the manacles fall away with a sense of relief that was all twisted up with a sense of loss. He knew what it was; he'd been through it once before. He had to admit that he *really* wasn't looking forward to working through it again; although he was glad the boy hadn't been of the mind to stake him.

For the first time since Angelus had deserted him, Spike had bowed before someone else. It wasn't a feeling he was used to anymore, nor was it particularly comfortable. His own sense of superiority warred with his instinctive needs. His instincts didn't care that he'd submitted to a different Xander than the one who remained. They only cared that he was being abandoned . . . again.

"You knew it was going to end this way, so why are you so bloody surprised by it?" he muttered to himself, lurching to his feet. "It's not like you *wanted* it. Be bloody grateful the whelp's not in a dusting mood, and just get on with your life." He didn't want to 'belong' to the whelp. He didn't need to belong at all. He was the Big Bad. He might be leashed, but that wouldn't last forever. When, inevitably, the chip no longer held him, he would be free, and that's exactly what he wanted.

When the words of reason he muttered with utter disgust held no power, no dent in the ache that filled his chest, Spike sighed deeply. Closing his eyes, he dropped his head back and fought the tears he in absolutely *no* way wanted to shed. He was in love with Buffy. He may -- *may?!* -- have screwed that up for all time, but that didn't change how he felt.

"Bloody *fucking* hell!" he shouted. Launching himself into action and grabbing up his clothes, he dressed as quickly as he could. Love or no love, he had to find Harris. He had to try to make this right.

//Why?//

With one shoe on and one shoe in his hand, Spike's movements faltered. "Good bloody question," he replied to the silence around him. Why *did* he care? He should be happy that Harris was probably miserable, hating what he'd done. Spike smirked briefly before the expression faded. The git was probably having a massive wig and questioning his heretofore-unquestioned heterosexuality. Spike should be ecstatic. He'd created havoc without even trying.

He wasn't, though; he was as bloody miserable as he'd pictured Harris to be. "How do I get myself *into* these situations?" he asked plaintively. He got the answer he expected -- silence.

The debate continued as he finished dressing, his mind whirling in useless circles. **I should just leave town until I get myself through this,** he thought shabbily. It was possible, given enough time. He'd already proved that. So what, if Harris had gotten him to do something not even Buffy had.

Sure, he'd let her beat the piss out of him -- not that he could have done much to stop her, even if he'd wanted to. Sure, he'd let her do whatever she wanted, no matter how humiliating it turned out to be. Sure, he'd pretty much turned himself into a pathetic tosser for her, basically prostrating himself on the alter of his love for her, but he'd never, *never*, gone so far as to submit, saving that last tiny piece of independence, that last little bit of control, for himself.

//Why?//

"She wouldn't have bloody understood the significance! That's why!" he shouted, angry at the little 'why' voice inside himself. He didn't want to think about it; thinking about it led to *big* thoughts about the fact that he'd actually considered it in the first place.

It had never really been a conscious thought before, and it was with sudden, startling clarity that he realized; if Buffy would have understood what it meant, he *would* have. If Buffy had demanded it of him, he would have readily surrendered that last bit of himself.

He was panting. He couldn't stop. **Love's bitch is right!** he accused himself disdainfully. **But could I at *least* be a bit less pathetic about it?**

//Xander understood.//

Half way to the door he stumbled as that thought flashed through his mind. He couldn't readily move past the thought that the *slayer* -- the woman he loved -- knew and understood less about vampires than her goofy sidekick.

He groaned as he resumed his stride toward the door. He was so confused, his insides twisting in knots, trying to pull him in two, diametrically opposed directions. He wanted to hide, to disappear and lick his wounds until they healed -- both the physical and the emotional. But his thoughts wouldn't leave him be. Too many questions, wants, and desires were tearing him up, begging him to find answers -- answers to entirely new questions.

Did Xander *really* understand what had happened, what it meant for Spike, or had he merely been reacting to the instincts left behind by his own . . . demon? Spirit? Whatever it was, Spike suddenly *had* to know. He had to find out what Harris was going to do now. Would he block it all out, act like nothing had happened, nothing had changed? Would he hem and haw, and stutter, trying to work past red-faced embarrassment?

Of course old ones bubbled right along side the new questions. Why had he fallen so hard for someone who was -- if he was being completely truthful -- utterly wrong for him? Someone who couldn't, wouldn't, understand the least thing about him? Why had Harris picked *him* to pick on? And having done so, why had the git taken it as far as he had?

Flinging the door open, having no clue what he was actually going to do about any of it, Spike yelped and jumped back. The sun hadn't set yet. Trembling, glad the doorway had been shaded at least, he berated himself for having got so caught up in everything that he hadn't even realized it was still day.

Growling lowly, he slammed the door shut, quickly retreating from the deadly rays of the sun. Spinning on one heel, he headed for the basement, and for the sewer entrance he'd be forced to use if he didn't want to wait until sunset.

**No, I don't bloody well want to wait!** he snapped silently, almost muttering the words aloud. **I . Want . Answers!**

By the time he'd reached the sewer exit nearest the whelp's apartment, he knew the sun had gone down. Glad he didn't have to wait, Spike scrambled quickly out into the new night. He ignored the buzzing questions his thoughts kept throwing at him. Convinced he would leave town as soon as he had the answers he wanted, Spike strode with single-minded determination toward Xander's apartment.

He'd go in. He'd get the whelp's attention. He'd demand to know what the hell Harris wanted now. Did he want absolute silence? Did he want-- Spike growled at himself as he stopped in front of the whelp's door. His brain was getting bloody repetitive now, and he wished it would just shut the hell up!

Spike raised his hand, but froze mid-motion, a voice sounding from inside the apartment. Had one of the Scoobies come over *that* quickly? Leaning a little closer to the closed door, he frowned slightly. He couldn't hear anyone but the whelp. Who was he talking to?

"Yeah, I know I worried you. I'm sorry."

Must be one of the Scoobies, then. Who else would be worried about him?

"Yeah, well, it was kind of unavoidable."

**Oh, hurry up and get off the phone, Git.**

"I said I was sorry, and that it couldn't be helped. What more do you want? Blood? Besides, I *did* call you. Yesterday morning."

Spike snorted. Was that *Xander* getting snippy with his friends. It was certainly hard to believe.

"I know. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to snap --"

Unable to identify the new emotion in Xander's voice, Spike inhaled deeply. He sensed impatience, uneasiness, and kind of nervous. . . . **The whelp's lying to one of his friends!** Xander wasn't sorry. He was angry still and . . . something else. Spike's eyes widened as he realized Xander didn't want to be talking to his friend -- whichever one it was. That was a *very* interesting tidbit. Spike had no clue what it could mean, he just knew that it was interesting.

"-- It's . . . been a really long couple of days."

Spike listened as Xander sighed heavily, fighting against the strange urge to comfort the boy.

"I'm fine. Hey, would you do me a favor?" Xander asked with forced brightness.

Spike stiffened, worried about what 'favor' the whelp would ask for at that particular moment, thoughts of help with stakage and other not-so-vampire-friendly favors flitting through his thoughts -- all this despite the fact that Xander hadn't done so earlier, when he'd had the perfect opportunity.

"No, nothing like that," Xander assured quickly the other listener. "I'm fine, really. Just, would you let everyone else know I'm okay? All I want to do is shower and then fall into bed."

Spike breathed a sigh of relief. It almost drowned out the soft footfalls of Xander's increasingly agitated pacing.

"I *know* I should do it myself," Xander snapped, sounding at the end of his control, his frustration and fear coming through loud and clear to the listening Spike. "Yeah," the boy continued sarcastically, "I should call everyone individually and stand here exhausted while they lay into me like you have."

The pause was long enough this time that Spike leaned closer straining to hear any sounds. The boy wasn't moving around anymore -- either that or he was doing it *very* quietly. Had he hung up?

"Damn it, Wills! If you aren't willing to do it," Xander snapped angrily, "just say so, and I'll damn well call them tomorrow."

Spike reared back in surprise. He couldn't recall a time he'd heard the boy swear at *any* of his friends.

"Thank you," Xander breathed softly. "I appreciate it. And tell them, I'll talk to them all - at the same time - tomorrow."

**That's going to be fun,** Spike thought dryly.

"Scoobie meeting? Yeah, that's as good a time as. N. Nite, Wills."

Spike almost knocked as soon as he heard Xander hang up, but Xander's tense muttering held him in place, listening.

"Damn!" Xander exclaimed, his angry steps echoing as he moved. "Treating me like I'm a child," he continued, muttering half-under his breath.

As Xander moved farther from the door, his voice became harder to hear, and Spike strained to hear the mumbled, angry words.

"Acts like I wouldn't call if I could have." Xander snorted, slamming a door.

**The fridge?**

"Right, I can see that call now. 'Hey, Wills, sorry to bother you, but I thought I'd let you know. I got drenched in demon blood. What? No, it doesn't hurt, just made me not give a damn about right and wrong. What?" Xander continued, his rant now getting loud.

Spike almost laughed.

"You'll send the slayer right over to 'contain' me. Thanks, Wills, just peachy that idea.' Not!"

Spike snorted at Xander's sarcastic 'Not', then jumped as something hard and *big* crashed against the door. It shook, making Spike take a second to reconsider confronting Xander right then. Maybe it would be better if--

"FUCK!"

**Right,** Spike thought, **later it is.**

He'd only made it a couple steps from the door when he spun back around. **Sod that!** he thought angrily. **Don't give sod all if he's angry.** Stomping back, Spike didn't give himself time to think before pounding loudly on the door.

"Who is it?" Xander growled, wrenching the door open without waiting for a response. "Oh," he said flatly, his eyes flashing. "It's you."

Spike almost stepped back at the sudden rage he saw. He steeled himself. He didn't back away from anyone, let alone Xander Harris. "Yeah, it's me, Git."

"What do you want, Spike?" Xander snapped, turning and walking away from the open door. "I'm not in the best of moods right now."

Intent on striding into the room after Xander, Spike bounced off the invisible barrier. He'd forgotten. He didn't have an invite here. Confusion stole through him at the hurt that welled up at that thought. Why the hell should he care? He knew why, deep down. He just wasn't ready to go there. He wasn't here for that, anyway. It didn't matter in the least. He was out of here as soon as he was sure how Xander wanted to play this. It shouldn't take too long to work past the shit Harris had pulled, but if the git was going to be an idiot and spill all to his friends, Spike was planning a *very* long vacation.

"We need to talk," he said.

"Talk?!" Xander repeated, incredulous, spinning back around to gape at Spike. Then, suddenly he was laughing, gut-wrenching, hysterical laughter. "I'm so mixed up that I don't know whether I'm right side up or upside down. I'm seriously questioning my orientation. I'm angry at *everyone*. I don't know whether to hide in my room until it all goes away, or whether I should just cram it all down and forget it, and *you*, the soulless vampire, want to *talk*."

Spike hid the wince. No one had to know, except himself. "Invite me in."

"No," Xander replied coldly. "Do you have *any* clue how seriously whacked out I feel right now? I'm--"

"Yes," Spike admitted softly, before he could censor his response. **Do I *ever*!** "I do."

Xander froze, his words coming to an abrupt halt. "Just leave, Spike," he said tiredly. "I can't deal with this right now."

**Guess that answers *those* questions.** The git had absolutely no clue what he'd done. "Fine," Spike snapped, "I'll leave after you answer one simple question. Are you telling the others about what happened? *Any* part of it?"

"Are you out of your ever-living mind?!"

"I'll take that as a no," Spike replied, grinning slightly, unable to stop the disappointment from seeping through him. "See you around, *Harris*." He shouldn't be disappointed. He should be glad. It wasn't supposed to hurt, like it had with Buffy. He was bloody in love with Buffy. It had hurt that she was ashamed of what they'd shared. The git telling his friends, on the other hand, should be the last thing he wanted. It would just lead to all sorts of trouble they could *both* do without. He turned to leave, but a tired sigh stopped him.

"Come in, Spike."

He turned slowly, feeling like the world was suddenly moving in slow motion. He took two steps forward, wondering what had made Xander change his mind. The barrier no longer present, Spike slipped inside the room. It felt like coming home. With a frown, he ruthlessly stomped the feeling down.

TBC
Kiristeen
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