Unacceptable Losses

Shutting the door behind his early morning visitors, Xander shrunk in on himself. He had managed to keep up a semblance of the good-natured host, pointing out the features of the apartment, talking up Dennis as a roommate, all the time trying to ignore the headache and vague nausea that lingered. Dawn had been impressed by the place and delighted by Dennis, and he couldn’t deny their kindness in bringing him breakfast and some of the baseline groceries like milk, eggs, bread, and peanut butter that he hadn’t thought to order in his booze and snack-fest from Pink Dot. Spike, he noticed, had been fairly quiet and with the exception of the single innuendo in the bathroom, fairly distant. Though that distance hurt some, Xander couldn’t deny that it made it a bit easier to be around the vampire when he wasn’t hovering so much. He had no doubt that Spike could tell he had beaten off in the shower, and the last thing he wanted was to acknowledge the growing sexual tension between them. So all in all, it had been a pleasant and non-angsty visit. At the same time, he had wanted nothing more than to crawl back into bed and feel sorry for himself.

Unfortunately, their visit had sufficiently wakened him, and he felt antsy. Suddenly having his own place meant that he had no structure for his day. He had declined the offer to continue with research help, pointing out that Angel would merely send him packing once more if he set foot in the hotel. He wandered from room to room, idly running his fingers over the furniture. A cool wind brushed past him.

He shuddered and suddenly felt hemmed in.

“I gotta get out of here.” Even as he said it, he didn’t know if he meant the apartment, the city, or something more. But he couldn’t sit still here and relive the echoes of conversation, couldn’t sit here and feel the absence of friends. The need for pain that he had been repressing rose up again. The self-disgust that had glared out at him from the mirror surged to the fore, and despite his determination to resist, the new found freedom beckoned him. Chambre de Sade beckoned him. This time he would have space and time to recover, he promised himself. He didn’t have to sneak away, and he didn’t have to face anyone besides a sympathetic, but more importantly, invisible and incorporeal roommate.

Xander slapped the phone book down on the counter and flipped through the pages for taxis. He pulled the Chambre de Sade business card from his pocket. A quick phone call to Yellow Cab, and he had a taxi on the way. He pulled on his jacket and glanced around at the seemingly empty apartment.

“If I’m not back in a couple of hours, send in the cavalry,” he joked as he picked up his keys and walked out the door. Behind him the air shivered and the small business card lay innocuously on the table next to the phone.

********************


“Okay, spill.” Dawn’s patience hit an end.

“Whot?”

“Whatever it is that’s got you all broody.”

Spike tossed aside the book he had made half-hearted attempts at reading.

“Not broody.” He pulled his cigarettes out of his pocket and shook one out of the pack.

“Not inside.” Dawn and Faith chorused at him.

Spike glared at them and lit up.

“Spike!”

“This is pointless.” Spike shoved to his feet and began pacing the lobby.

“Blondie, lose the butt and tell us what’s crawled up your ass.” Faith stood in his path. He glared at her and crushed the cigarette out on the hotel floor.

“Bloody waste of a good fag,” he muttered. He whirled around and kept pacing.

“Spike,” Dawn followed and laid a hesitant hand on his arm. He turned and engulfed her in a hug.

“Sorry, just hate this feeling helpless.” Seeing Xander in his apartment, knowing that the man’s pain still ate away at him with no one to curb those destructive impulses had him on edge. He berated himself for the casual sexual innuendo that he had flung at the man in the shower. Teasing wasn’t going to help either of their states of mind, and his growing attraction to the broken human had him worried for both of them.

“We’ll figure out what the Riveda thing is. I think I’m on to something with the text on ritual timeframes.”

Spike looked at her blankly.

“Don’t think he’s talking about this week’s apocalypse, Dawn.” Faith watched the tense vampire with sympathy.

“Oh, but he seemed good when we were over there this morning. Better, right?” Dawn’s eyes pleaded with him for reassurance.

“Best get back to this prophecy.” Spike stalked back to the table. “Not gonna matter if this thing happens.”

Angel strode into the lobby, slamming an axe back into the weapons’ cabinet.

“Why is it that getting information never means a pleasant conversation over dinner?” He glared at the others.

“Any luck, boss?” Faith directed his attention from Spike’s slumped shoulders and Dawn’s fidgeting.

“It’s happening tonight.” He ran a hand through his hair, stomping ruthlessly on the fear that this would be the last time they stood in the same room together. “Riveda isn’t a god, just some upper level demon. Keeps itself pretty much hidden except for once every thousand years or so when worshippers get the opportunity to provide sacrifices in competition for access to some serious power.”

“So Riveda shows up and we kick its ass? Point me to it.”

Angel shook his head wearily. “The demon never manifests on this plain. It never even acts on this plain.”

“No wonder we couldn’t find any information on it,” Dawn’s face lit up with sudden understanding. “The demon isn’t going to be the one making with the big blood and death and pain. It would be the worshippers who get the power that anyone would ever know about.”

“And a good bet none of ‘em would give up information on the bloke that gave ‘em the power in the first place,” Spike snorted with disgust.

“But we took out the vamp nest, so does that mean it’s over?” Faith sounded almost disappointed. Days of research and nothing to pummel.

Angel unknowingly echoed Spike’s earlier movements and paced the lobby.

“They weren’t the only ones in a bid for the demon’s attention. In fact, they probably weren’t even on the map in terms of competition. Most likely they were just hired muscle for someone else who is collecting the sacrifices.”

“Is there anything special about the sacrifices? None of the texts addressed that at all.”

Angel shook his head at Dawn’s question. “Seems like it’s just about collecting human souls. The more the better. Although, my informant friend did mention that Riveda appreciates creativity and flair.”

“Sounds like you, mate.” Spike smirked at Angel, ignoring the growl he got in return.

“Anything else useful?” Faith leaned back in her chair, itching for action, any action, soon.

Angel nodded. “Seems the front runner—according to the betting pools—is named Havisham. And he’s here in LA.” A cruel smile crept across his face.

“Right then. Tonight. Lots of dead humans. Havisham. LA.” Spike looked around at the expectant faces. “What? Just summing up what we got so far. He’s the one who makes the plans.” He pointed at Angel.

“So how do we get to this guy? He’s probably not gonna let us walk in and say ‘let my people go.’ Though if you wanna go with the standard break, crush, kill, you know I’m on board.”

“Faith’s right. We have to have more information. At least now we know who we’re looking for.” Dawn settled herself at the computer and began punching in information, pleased to have some tangible information that she could work with. Angel headed for the kitchen and blood, leaving Faith and Spike looking at one another, both feeling the tension that trailed in the large vampire’s wake.

********************

Feeling his anticipation rise, Xander quickly paid the cabbie without meeting the man’s derisive gaze and hurried through the front doors of Chambre de Sade. He signed in at the desk and retrieved the key to his private locker. Behind him, the receptionist glanced at the notice on the desk and compared it against the sign in sheet. With the man’s identity verified, she picked up the phone.

“Mr. Worthington? The guest you inquired after has arrived.” She listened to the instructions without taking notes. “Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.” She hung up and buzzed Martin’s office. “Mr. Havisham has requested that you attend to Mr. Harris today.” Hanging up, she shrugged off a nagging concern. Why should it matter to the owner which dominant worked with a client? She took down the notice and placed it in the client’s file as instructed. Not like it was any of her business, she reminded herself, and Mr. Worthington might seem slimy in that too polished way, but he had Mr. Havisham’s authority to fire ‘recalcitrant’ employees.

In the locker room, Xander pushed out all thoughts of life outside the building and carefully dressed in leather and worked himself quickly to hardness in anticipation of the punishment to come. He snapped the cock ring in place and pulled on the mantle of submissiveness as he made his way to the assigned room. Xander arranged himself into a kneeling position on the mat in the center of the room and lowered his head, mentally cataloguing the punishments his body craved. Prior to a session, he disciplined his thoughts not to stray from the whips, floggers, or canes that he craved. The memories and feelings, his reasons for being here, had to wait for the implements to strike against his skin, giving him the punishment and permission he needed to face his internal turmoil.

Behind him, the door opened. Large leather boots came to rest in his line of site.

“Eyes up.”

Xander obeyed, registering the unfamiliarity of the dominant before him. Internally, he shrugged. It was only his second time here, so it wasn’t like he had a regular appointment with anyone in particular.

“Open your mouth.”

Xander’s eyes widened. He had not requested being gagged, and he couldn’t prevent his glance straying to the ball gag in the man’s hand. For a brief moment, he considered balking, but he came here to put the decisions in someone else’s hands. He opened his mouth.

As the gag was fitted into place, he had a brief moment to wonder at the odd taste and smell before the chloroform stole consciousness from him.

*******************


Two hours of internet research later, Dawn had the home address, business connections, and criminal record on one Donald Ralston Havisham, which explained the glum looks around the table.

“His manor is essentially a fortress. Even if we could get the security schemas for it, I’m not sure there would be any way to get in.” Dawn shoved at the papers scattered in front of her, her frustration evident.

“Too bad you’re not still CEO of evil incorporated. Least that might have garnered you an invite.” Spike jeered at Angel, eliciting the expected growl.

Illyria chose that moment to reappear in the lobby after having been missing since the incident at the apartment. “You have surrendered before beginning the battle.”

“Ya know, Blue. ‘Less you got something helpful to add, maybe you could lay off the criticism.” Faith nearly growled herself.

“You have not asked for my help.”

“Consider yerself asked,” Spike tossed at her, watching her closely for signs of Fred.

Illyria strode to the table and began to shuffle through the pages. Her fingers landed on a print out from a society website. She separated it from the others and continued rifling through papers until she found a feature from an architectural magazine that detailed the manor designed for Havisham by a local, and now famous, architect.

Dawn watched warily as the ex-god passed judgment on the information that she had found.

“You will aid me.” Illyria spoke to Dawn. She turned and directed the others, “You will leave us.”

“Right, that’s gonna happen.” Spike snorted.

Illyria stared at him. “While your physical pain amuses me, I do not wish to remain in the presence of your human suffering.” She shimmered and the leather disappeared, leaving her for the second time in two days wearing the face of the friend they mourned.

“I’m really sorry, guys, but I kinda need to do this my way.” Fred/Illyria fidgeted apologetically. “It probably would be better for you to go out and see what else we can find out about this ritual. It’s probably the talk of the demon grapevine by now.” She reached over and pulled the society column printout. “Oh, and Angel, maybe even without the Wolfram and Hart connections, if you can get us an invite to the auction at Havisham Manor tonight, that might give us a way to get in.”

Angel focused on keeping his hand steady as he took the paper, but couldn’t bring himself to meet the kind brown eyes that watched him. He nodded and stalked quickly from the room.

“I’m with the big guy. If there’s informants that need beating up, I’m the girl.” Faith left unsaid the fact that being reminded of Fred’s loss clearly destabilized their leader even further. She didn’t intend to let him out of her sight.

Dawn looked sympathetically at Spike, but settled back at the table with Fred/Illyria and the computer. As the only one of the group who never really met Fred, she could work with her without the same pain that the others felt, and personal issues aside, Fred/Illyria seemed to be their best bet for stopping the prophecy of Riveda’s power manifesting through its favored worshipper tonight.

Spike stood, momentarily lost in memories as he watched the two women at the table. He had loved Fred in a way not entirely dissimilar from his love for Dawn, and seeing the two of them together seemed so very right and so heart-breakingly wrong. Suddenly the directive to get out of the hotel seemed paramount.

“Gonna check on the whelp. Catch him up.”

“Do you think,” Dawn stopped, bit her lip, and finished her thought, “I mean, will he be okay to be part of this?”

“Not sure I’m gonna extend that invitation, Nibblet.” Spike answered honestly. He turned and walked out the doors to his motorcycle. Recognizing how late the day had grown, he frowned. He had asked Xander to call and let him know if he wanted to join them in the research, and while he didn’t blame the man for not joining them, he had been hoping for a call. Telling himself he wasn’t brooding, he felt the bike roar to life and drove off into the night.