Tainted Returns

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Part Fourteen
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They stared at each other for several long moments before they both shifted uncomfortably.

"You realize don't you, that I still really hate you," Xander offered finally, his tone a mixture of exasperation and amusement.

"Ditto," Spike replied immediately striding past Xander further into the room.

Xander sighed heavily. Moving just far enough, he dropped down onto the couch and threw an arm over his eyes. "I really screwed things up this time, Spike. I know that."

"Well, I. . . ." Spike's words trailed off as he shifted uncomfortably. He was unsure what to say; he hadn't exactly had much practice at the comforting shit. He'd even botched trying to comfort Buffy the day he'd gone to use the shotgun on her.

Xander went on after a couple moments of silence, as if he hadn't heard Spike's aborted words. "You want to hear something hilarious?"

"Sure," Spike replied uncertainly, stepping closer. "I could do with a spot of funny."

"He thought that if he-- *I* thought that if I didn't do anything *too* bad, everything would be fine."

"Not really seeing the funny, H-- Xander," Spike frowned, not understanding what the boy was getting at.

Xander lifted his arm slightly, peering out from under it. "Don't you get it? He, *I*, had no fucking clue about what would happen after. He was completely clueless, utterly without clue."

Spike sighed, dropping into the chair directly across from Xander. This was going to be a long night. "That's the thing about having no . . . moral compass; things like consequences have no meaning. Guilt, regret, they have no definition. They simply don't exist."

"So, you're telling me you don't regret what happened?" Xander asked at the same moment Spike continued.

"Until you're hit over the head with 'em."

"Oh."

Spike shrugged, leaning back. "Regret, is a strong word, Xander. I. . . ." Spike hesitated before continuing, suddenly pulling himself back upright. He was afraid this would just reopen another can of worms, ". . . .regret what I did to Buffy."

Xander made a sound, one that Spike couldn't fully identify -- either disgust or sarcastic agreement. Either way, at least the boy wasn't automatically laying into him about it. It helped him control the impulse to make a dash for the door -- and freedom -- getting himself free of this uncomfortable topic.

"But honestly," **Just stake me now before I give Harris the reason he needs on a platter!** "the reason I regret it, is because it didn't work, and I'm left with the *very* unpleasant results."

Xander jolted up, glaring at him. "Continue," he said softly.

Spike sighed. **Yep, should have kept my gob shut.** "One: I hurt her, which despite what you may believe, was *not* my intent. I was angry and lashing out, feeling like I had to *prove* something to her." Spike ignored the tense look on Xander's face, not really believing he was saying this, and continued on doggedly. He had a point to make here and it was too late to back out now. "Two: she, of course, hates me now. Understandable though that may be; it wasn't what I wanted. The problem is, it never even occurred to me that I might make the situation worse. I just knew, at the time, that I had to do *something*."

When Spike finished, Xander didn't say anything, just stared at him.

Spike rolled his eyes finally. "Unpleasant as the subject matter was, do you get my point?"

"Yeah," Xander said slowly, drawing the word out, obviously gathering his thoughts. "The hyena part is like that. Tomorrow, or even twenty minutes from now, doesn't exist for that part of me. The hyena lives in the now, and only the now."

"Yes! That's it exactly. Makes it kind of difficult to plan things, when every instinct is screaming at you to just *do* it."

"Yeah, I get that now."

"Do you really?" Spike asked intently, wondering if that were truly possible.

Xander nodded absently, his eyes unfocused and seeing inward. "Only one problem."

"What's that?"

"That doesn't help me figure this out. I can't just bury all this anymore. For one thing," Xander paused, shaking his head in disbelief, "I find I don't really want to."

"You don't?" Spike asked in shock. He *really* hadn't expected that. Hysterical Xander he'd expected -- and gotten -- but he'd also figured on huge amounts of denial, which didn't seem to be happening. It left Spike at something of a loss.

"No. I learned something over the last couple of days." Xander paused. "Well, not while they were speeding by me at light speed, but now, thinking back on them, I learned it. The thing I learned."

"Xander?" Spike interrupted, amused.

"Yes?"

"You're babbling like Red."

"Sorry," Xander replied, grinning ruefully. "The point is, I learned that you can't be happy, living your life *just* to make others happy -- not really."

"Point. But how can the two . . . sides be reconciled?"

"Three actually, if you want to get technical, but really only one. It's me. It's *all* me."

"What?" Spike asked faintly.

Xander blew out an explosive breath, jumping off the couch and pacing impatiently. "Didn't you listen to anything I said?"

"Yeah, pet, I did. Just that all of it didn't make a lot of sense. Well, it probably did -- make sense I mean," Spike frowned, glaring at Xander. "Now you've got *me* doing it!" He shook his head, staring down at his restless hands. For one of the first times in his life, he had no clue what to do with them. He jumped up, pacing him for for only a few feet before he stopped, realizing how . . . nervous it made him look. He just wished he could smoke; the problem was he didn't have any. He sighed again, reluctantly continuing. "But, to be truthful, I was kinda caught up in my own troubles at the time."

Xander stopped *his* pacing long enough to blink at Spike in surprise, then he ducked his head, blushing. "Yeah, I imagine you were. Sorry."

"No worries," Spike replied immediately, brushing aside Xander's apology, wondering where the hell this was going. This was certainly not the conversation he'd imagined on his way over. Part of him didn't really care, however; part of him simply reveled in the confidences being given him by this man. The sane part of him was screaming, asking what the hell he was doing, and telling him that this was going to hurt when all was said and done. When Xander got back with his friends, he would revert to type, Spike was pretty damn sure of that. Then, once again, Spike would be left out in the cold.

Right now, however; he couldn't bring himself to care. He was tired of trying to always be careful today for fear of what tomorrow may bring. Like he'd told Xander, he simply wasn't put together that way. He'd spent the better part of a year trying to rewire how he thought -- no puns intended, thank you! -- and look where it had got him. Nowhere, that's where. "How about you remind me," Spike said softly.

For several long moments Xander stared quietly and Spike began to think the boy wasn't going to answer. Then Xander began to speak, so softly at first that Spike had to listen carefully, then louder as his confidence grew.

"There was nothing 'left behind'," he said, miming air quotes, "when the hyena was banished -- or whatever word is right for that. The *memories* of how the hyena acted -- and made me feel -- got mixed up with the darker part of myself." Sighing softly, Xander resumed his seat on the couch.

"There was nothing to *be* left behind when the Halloween Spell ended -- just memories. Like I told Cordelia, back when you and Dru were getting all cozy with 'The Judge', I remember it all. Even now, I could quote you military procedure."

"Please don't," Spike quipped, making himself sit back down when all he wanted to do was, well, anything but sit still.

Xander chuckled, casting a knowing look at Spike. "I know stuff about ordinance and access codes, that boggles my mind really. I never understood bureaucracy until that Halloween. Strike that, I still don't understand bureaucracy, but I *could* use it to my advantage, thanks to the soldier memories."

Spike listened quietly, a lot of what Xander was saying was a repeat of what he remembered from before, but this was more, and it was giving him an incredible insight into the mind of Xander Harris. Of course, before today, he'd have looked on that thought with horror.

"Anyway, the soldier stuff wasn't that bad. I mean it gave me *skills*, skills I'd never had before -- and I have to say they've come in handy more than once. It was the hyena stuff that got me. The *memories* of how the hyena acted -- and made me feel -- got mixed up with the stuff I already liked, or thought maybe I *might* like. Only in my deepest, darkest, most private thoughts."

Xander stopped and shook his head. "I was a teenager at the time, that kind of stuff was "sick" and "perverted". I buried it all so fast, it was *almost* like it hadn't happened. Everyone else was glad to believe it, and truth is, so was I. I wasn't anywhere *near* ready to deal with that. I was still trying to figure out the . . . normal stuff." Xander paused and cocked his head. "You know what I mean?"

Spike nodded. "I remember. Don't forget, you're looking at a bloke who grew up in good old Victorian England -- the inventors of repression." It may have happened a long time ago, and he may not much like to think about it, but he did remember.

"Yeah, never thought about that," Xander laughed and shook his head.

Spike almost missed the change in expression when Xander leapt up off the couch and headed for the kitchen.

"You want a beer?" he asked.

Not one to pass up free beer, no matter who was offering, Spike grinned. "I could do with one," he replied. Hell, he could do with a good bottle of Jack right about now, but he didn't want to break up the bizarre atmosphere they had going here. This was the first civil conversation he and Xander had ever had, and it felt surprisingly good.

Xander silently came back into the room and handed him an opened beer. Without saying a word, he crossed to the picture window and stared out into the night.

Usually, Spike was comfortable with silence; too much talking made him jumpy, but as the silence wore on, he had the sudden urge to break it. Xander beat him to it by a breath.

"Can I ask you a personal question?" Xander asked quietly, not turning around.

Spike eyed the way the boy was standing; tense, one arm hugged across his chest as he nursed the beer he was holding. **Must be a doozy of a question,** he thought warily. "Go for it," he said, wondering whether he was going to want to answer.

"Do you hate what happened?" Xander asked, his voice almost inaudible. He didn't move. He just stood there, staring out the window.

**Ok-ay, didn't expect *that* one this century.** Did he hate it? No. Was completely okay with it? Again, no. And what the hell was the boy doing asking him this shit? Why did he need to know. This was just a chit chat to make sure no one was going to stake anyone, and then *he* was taking off for parts unknown.

//Right! So why does the thought of answering the question wrong bother you?//

**Shut up!**

He must have been silent just a little too long, because Xander turned, nervously fingering his beer bottle.

Spike sighed. What was it with him and wounded puppies? "No, I didn't."

"No?"

Spike snorted and shook his head. "You repeat any of this, and I deny it," he warned, glaring at Xander for good measure. "But I . . . enjoyed most of it."

"Most of it?"

Spike rolled his eyes. **Hell! This is getting be home confession week!** "Could have done without the uncertainty factor," he admitted, conveniently taking a swig of his beer to break eye contact, without *looking* like he was breaking eye contact.

"Uncertainty?"

"What are you? A bleedin' Parrot?" Spike asked angrily. He didn't want to answer the questions. Hell, he didn't even want them to have been asked in the first place. All this made him feel too much like when he'd been mortal -- all uncertain and . . . afraid.

Xander shrugged sheepishly. "Sorry. What--"

"How about I ask *you* a few questions?" Spike hurriedly asked, interrupting Xander. It was time he re-took control of this situation, preferably before it spiralled *completely* out of control.

"Oh, um, okay."

"Did *you* hate it?" Spike asked, controlling his smirk by the thinnest of margins. **There! That ought to send the boy running for cover, and pulling the denial blanket in with him!**

Spike's mouth almost fell open at the rush of lust that waved off Xander. **Okay! Didn't expect that.** He took one step forward, drawn by the tempting sent.

Xander gulped, and Spike could see the boy's trembling. "N-no," he said, and hastily ducked his head.

**And I didn't expect *that*, either.** Spike moved back, suddenly feeling very unsure of himself again. Everything he did today seemed to back-fire on him. It was an unsettling feeling and he didn't like it one bit. **What the hell is going on here?** He glared at Xander, wanting to rant and rage, and demand to know exactly what Xander thought he was playing at.

How could the boy *not* hate what happened? He was one of the good guys. He hated demons -- vampires in particular. Spike fully admitted the boy had good reason, but still.

Xander took in a deep breath, letting it out in a huff, and Spike snapped his head back in the boy's direction.

"Okay, Spike. I'm going to go out on a limb here."

**What? No, you're not supposed to do that! You're supposed to kick my arse out of here, ranting that you never want to see me again. I disappear, and we all forget it ever happened!**

//And now who's the one running for cover and grabbing for that nice comfy denial blanket?//

**Sod off!**

"Look, Xander. No need for that. Thanks for the beer. Got things to do, you know. See you 'round," Spike said quickly, setting the empty bottle down and heading for the door.

"Spike! Wait," Xander said. "Please."

Groaning, Spike stopped, his hand on the door. He refused to turn around, though. "What?" he asked in a near whisper. He didn't want to hear what Xander wanted from him. He wanted to walk out the door and never look back. He wanted-- He wanted to *not* feel what he was feeling -- not care about what Xander thought and felt -- not care about whether, or hope that, Xander might care about what *he* thought and felt.

"I want-- I would like it, if we could see where this might head."

**Don't *do* this to me, Harris!**

"I-if you would too."

Spike's head dropped back and he closed his eyes, letting his hand fall from the door handle. That was *Harris* saying that! Without turning around he straightened almost immediately. "Do you get some kind of perverse kick out of blasting away every preconceived notion I have about you?"

Xander laughed. It was a delighted, child-like laugh and it had Spike turning around before he realized he was doing it. Mischief danced in Xander's eyes, and curled the corners of his mouth upward. It made him look years younger, wiping away the worry lines that were almost a constant presence on the boy's face anymore.

Spike couldn't help it; he responded with a slight smile of his own. The boy's sudden good humor was infectious. **Should be quarantined!** Of course, since he was already infected, he'd have to be quarantined as well. Images of what they could do to pass the time during their mutual confinement flashed through his mind, and he shifted, his jeans uncomfortably tight as he rose to the occasion.

Xander's eyes widened, his nostrils flaring, and he stalked forward, all traces of child-like gone, replaced almost instantly with predatory grace.

**Okay, Mr. Split Personality, who said you could suddenly alter the script?** Spike thought, startled, taking a step back only to find the door right behind him.

"Hey!" he complained. "I don't bloody recall saying yes, Harris."

Xander grinned, his gaze flicking down, then right back up. "Maybe not, but your body did. Smells great!"

Spike glared. That was *not* fair! Harris wasn't supposed to be able to smell him like he could-- **Oh!** He swallowed, now that he was paying attention, the lust rolling off Xander was incredibly inviting. "I'm not a slave to my body's responses," he snapped.

//Liar!//

"Unlike certain hormonal teenage I k I know," Spike taunted, going on the defensive the only way he still could -- by lashing out.

"Oh, really?" Xander asked, pressing up against Spike, aligning the entire length of their bodies perfectly. "Then why aren't you pushing me away?" he whispered, leaning in and lightly raking his teeth across Spike's earlobe.

Spike shivered, his eyes drifting shut. **Not fair!** Part of him wanted this so badly he couldn't think straight. Of course, an equal part was *still* screaming. "Don't feel like it just yet," he replied, stubbornly refusing to listen to the nay sayer he'd developed over the last year. Smirking, he shifting subtly against Xander. **To hell with tomorrow!**

"So, I can take that as a yes?" Xander whispered, dropping his head and nibbling down the side of Spike's neck.

"Take it any way you bloody well want!" Spike exclaimed. "Just get *on* with it." Arching forward, suddenly tired with waiting for the sodding human to move it along, Spike pushed Xander far enough away to capture the boy's mouth with his.

Xander moaned, parting his lips and meeting Spike's probing tongue with equal enthusiasm. Spike groaned, feeling himself melt against the warmth pressed against him. Xander tasted even better than he remembered.

"Hey, Spike?"

"What?" Spike mumbled irritably, immediately trying to resume their kiss.

"That 'hormonal teenager' crack doesn't hold water."

Spike blinked, pulling back in surprise. "What?!" The sodding git wanted to talk about wise cracks when they had their tongues down each other's throats?

"The crack you made, about me being ruled by my hormones, because of my age."

"What about it?" Spike demanded, finally giving in and leaning back against the door.

"Like I said," Xander continued, grinning widely. "It doesn't hold water."

Spike rolled his eyes. "You already said that. What . About . It?"

"I'm older than you."

"In what sodding universe?" Spike asked incredulously.

"This one."

"Okay," Spike said cautiously, "please tell me how 20 is older than 120? Rounded."

Xander's grin just widened as he spoke. "How old were you when you were turned?"

"Nine--teen." He snorted, then chortled, then broke down and actually laughed. "Only you," he said after a moment.

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