Collective Experience

Fic: Collective Experience

NB: Third part in the Five Gold Rings series

Author: josie_h

Pairing: Xander/Spike (some

Rating: NC-17

Parts: /?

Summary: Post New Year's Resolutions, Spike tests the waters at Sacramento, can they truly 'be a
couple'?

Spoilers: Season 7 latter part only – departs from canon as you will see.

Author’s Note: Don’t own the characters etc and bow down to their original creators Joss, et al., plus
all the wonderful online writers who continue to give them life.


------- Part 2--------

Xander stumbled through the door late Friday evening, over tired and rather cranky, suit jacket over
his shoulder and tie askew, briefcase and three tubes containing building plans clamped rather
precariously under one arm. He had all but forgotten he had a guest when he tripped over the large
mail delivery that had apparently come while he was at work.

“Oh for *f@#k* sake! Spike!!!’

His house guest arrived seconds later, leaning against the bedroom door jam, bare-chested, top
button of his jeans undone, and appearing relaxed and pleased to see him. Xander took several
seconds to process the centerfold-ready picture his lover presented and was left with a combination
of annoyance at his partner’s good humor, and pleasure at finding someone who might counter his
bad mood. He sighed heavily, dropped the accoutrements of the day, moved to his vampire and
pulled him into a tight hug that spelt tired adoration.

“Hey sweetheart. ‘Cha been up to today?”

“Until now? Only been up a couple ‘a hours.”

Xander groaned his envy at this statement…

“Writing mostly – logged on, had a chat to a few folks, uploaded me next chapter, read some… That
sort of thing. Oh and I had to do a bit of money stuff – figured you wouldn’t mind, I used your land
line for a few calls…”

Xander put his head down on his partner’s shoulder and just held on for a moment, licking and
nipping gently at the base of his neck.

He stilled, answered, “Nahh ‘s fine”, then went back to his ministrations. Spike arched his neck back
to allow more access to the sensitive spot, and at the same time snaked his arm around his
partner’s hips and pulled him closer.

The vampire rocked them both gently for a moment then gave a lust filled, “C’mon lover let’s you ‘n
me find something more interestin’ to do, than standin’ in the entrance hall.” He wiggled an eyebrow
suggestively, pushed a knee between Xander’s legs and pressed his hardness against his partner’s
hip. He then squeezed the backside one more time and pulled his tired partner toward the bedroom.

Xander let out a loud ‘umph’ as he was pushed back onto the bed. His shoes and socks were
removed before he struggled determinedly and sat up, protesting that he needed a shower.

“No”

“What no!?”

“I smell bad… let me shower… ”

“Like you the way you are luv… c’mon… missed you…”

“C’mon Spike, stinky boy here.”

“Nah pet, you just smell like you… all lust and salt, musk and male…” As if to prove a point, he
slowly tugged his partner’s shirt from its tucked position, buried his nose in the flesh, sniffed loudly
then licked around the exposed belly button.

Xander stopped his amorous partner mid suckle, pushing the tongue from its task, closed his eyes
and determinedly stated, “Spike!… Stop!… sorry… just stop… I need to… just…No...No!!” Spike
reeled back with surprise at the final ‘No’, memories of a certain blonde many years earlier salting
an old wound. In truth, Xander’s demeanor was one of self disgust not annoyance with his
significant other as he pushed away, but his lover was long gone by the time he reopened his eyes.
Oblivious of the level of hurt incurred, he shrugged off the rest of his clothes and wandered to find
the welcome jet of hot water.

Xander had half expected company in the shower but as he emerged from the bathroom, rubbing
his hair with a towel, he saw the door to the study pulled almost shut and heard the furious tapping
of computer keys. Deciding that Spike must have resolved to do some writing, he wandered into the
lounge, noting that the fish tank needed cleaning again; that he really should do some laundry; and
that his work gear was still lying in the entrance hall and needed retrieving. Instead of following the
innate urge to tidy, he grabbed a large cushion from the recliner and lay nose down on the soft
leather of the four-seater to ponder the ‘crappiness’ of his day.

He and his team had spent months on the tender, a multi-million dollar contract with seventeen key
sites across California, a government project no less, and only days away from signing when he
went away. But a change of the governor’s staff and intervention by lobbyists over the Christmas-
New Year break, had seen the project disintegrate into a political quagmire of epic proportions. They
had finally been told today that there was “a possibility of re-tendering in a year or so…. after we
re-evaluate the changing needs of all stake holders.” *Right… that makes me feel *so* much
better!* His boss had been careful to point out that Xander’s team had done nothing wrong per se
– indeed was most complimentary, but it still left Xander feeling flat and upset and uncannily like
Xander the Zeppo of Sunnydale… And yet…

Turning to face the balcony window, he spotted the flare of a lighter followed by the glow of a
cigarette in the dark. He realised Spike had again been left unattended. *And the award for the
worst host in the world goes to……* He stood, rewrapped the bath towel to Roman approved toga
standard and headed outside.

Spike was facing away from him as Xander pulled open the sliding doors. He flicked a glowing butt
over the balcony and continued to stare into the night.

“What.”

It came as a demand not a question.

“Just came out to spend some..”

“No.” This time the answer was an emotion filled growl.

Spike still had not turned to face him, and Xander felt a sinking sense of real fear and rejection as
he stared at his partner’s tense shoulders and white knuckled grip of the balcony rail.

“Spike, wha...” He was cut off by a hand thumping the rail hard.

“You said no, so that’s it…. I wasn’t even… You *know* I wouldn’t! Never have… Couldn’t …ever...
Even when I didn’t… But you said no... so… ” There was a pause and heavy sigh into the night. The
voice dropped to almost a whisper, “Always a bad man… just thought… knew it was too good… but
for a few days… thought for a moment… but always the bad man…” the words trailed off.

Xander suddenly realized the gravity of the issue, and was acutely aware of his role in the present
*and* the history – his hatred of the blonde vocalized even after they were reluctant partners in
‘Buffy’s wake’; the condemnation that endured after the soul; all recalled and distilled by his simple
‘no’ this evening. That ‘no’ borne of fatigue and frustration had nothing to do with Spike or the past,
yet was a direct hit of depth charge proportions to the vampire’s hope for their blossoming
relationship. That single, simplest of words had rekindled memories of the harshness and insanity of
the chipped years, the sadness, the hunger and errors borne of desperation.

“Oh…God… Spike! Sweetheart… I am *so* sorry… I didn’t…”

“You don’t get to do that…” the voice was flat, low and without emotion.

“Do what??? Spike I was just tired – tired and pissed off… but not with you …. Not with you! Do you
understand… Come on Spike…. Please understand?!” Xander walked up behind his partner and
pulled him into a spooned hug, but the vampire’s head remained down and there was no effort to
show love in return. The self loathing was running far too close to the surface to contemplate letting
anyone else ‘in’.

“No.” Spike remained firmly facing away from his friend and pushed out of the embrace to flee to
the other side of the small balcony.

Xander was at a loss, the women he had dated were always so articulate when it came to any of his
errors, and defined their needs very specifically as to how he was to ‘fix things’. Yet now he was
faced with a male vampire, golden eyes shedding blood tinged tears, as taciturn as his broody sire,
and currently refusing to look at him.

He did the only thing he could think of and walked into the study, noted the laptop on screen saver
and hit the space bar. A document opened,

“No one to tell
No one to tell
Century and a half
Not a fast study
E’en now
Hurt the boy

Broken, defective, ce moi
Teacup with no handle
Repugnant, despicable, contemptible
Was it always thus?
Demon eyes drip blood
Silent markers on marble cheeks

Eternal hatred
Damned to solitude
The soul bleeds
The soul bleeds”

There was no rhyming, no pentameter, no rhythmic imperative… just the overwhelming evidence of
pain.

Realization hit hard. Spike was in Sacramento *because* of Xander. Yet had been left on his own
all day, every day, and borne it without complaint. Whenever his host was present Spike had been
attentive and loving, and yet Xander had repaid that by rejecting him in the cruelest possible way…
reminding him of the event that drove him to regain his soul in the first place.

*Oh My God… Omygod!* Xander flew outside in time to see the swish of a duster as it disappeared
over the third story balcony, though heard no sound as the vampire landed and sped away.

He had hoped for a quiet ‘makeup’ snuggle with his undead partner but seemed to have badly
miscalculated Spike’s level of hurt. He contemplated searching for the vampire, quickly deciding that
there was little merit in trying. One thing vampires excelled at was disappearing into the night…

Xander watched his way through two of the three Lord of the Rings extended versions in his
collection before falling into a dissatisfied sleep, balcony door still wide open to let in any errant
partners.

He was woken around daybreak with the warble of various birds; the pain in his back from a
number of misplaced cushions on the couch; and an overall feeling of cold.

He pushed up and went to the bedroom with the vague hope that he would find his friend in bed
asleep, but Spike had not returned…

Saturday was supposed to be about lying in with his guest; about fooling around and snoozing
afterwards; about pondering what they might do that night. Instead Xander was left with a sense of
dread. This wasn’t like losing a puppy, one couldn’t put an ad in the local drug store window or on
the back of a milk carton ‘Lost one vampire – answers to the name ‘Spike’’!

He checked the underground garage of the apartment twice, then stared into and called repeatedly
down a sewer entrance in the next street, all to no avail.

By nightfall he was frantic, alone and beginning to grieve for the friend he was convinced had gone
for good. He could do nothing. The sheer powerlessness and the not knowing too reminiscent of
other times… Times of war and loss and grieving… and the Sunnydale Xander.

He jumped online on his own computer, hoping in vain that Spike might have somehow sent a
message… then logged off again almost immediately, frustrated by his own stupidity. He rang a
work colleague at 8pm, hoping that the distraction of a club or at least a beer and a movie might be
on offer. The answering machine chirped a promised call back and hoped he had a good night. *If
only that could be true.*

He wasn’t stupid enough to go wandering to look for his friend in the gloom of the evening, too
many years on a hellmouth left him with a self preserving avoidance of such activities, though he
was sorely tempted to do just that. Instead he poured a full glass of the JD that had been purchased
specifically for his missing friend, forewent the ice, and sat in front of the absentee’s computer for
the third time that day.

There was mail in the inbox this time, and Xander opened it.

“FB for “Dark Princess”

Dearest NP

Thank you for writing again!

I observe that when tears drop onto a keyboard, they inevitably end up on the letter 'n' and spread
from there.....

Your story is poignant, evocative, and speaks of an acute loss that only those who have felt the
same might dare to express.
Through your impeccable characterizations you draw a picture of angst all the better for its
'societally expected' formalities
(or lack thereof), and the absence of resolution that accompanies the death of a beloved... the
exquisitely understated pain
and grief in this piece juxtaposed to the mundane discussion of what to do with her collection of
dolls…all so *very close to home*.....

Thank you for allowing tears to flow... to strike such a cord is to heal a little more.....

Your devoted reader
Max”

Xander sat staring at the screen until he realised that he too was splashing large salty droplets onto
the letter ‘n’.

He flung himself onto the couch and began to weep in earnest.

Sometime around 3am, he woke enough to grab a much needed glass of water, divest himself of
clothes and bury his person miserably under the covers of the bed that until his error had been filled
with a wriggling vampire who in sleep had alternated between starfish and limpet, either of which
would have been unbelievably welcome now. He grabbed a pillow hugged it tight and fell back into
an uneasy slumber.

Rising again around seven Xander pulled on a t-shirt, sweat pants and headed out to buy a paper
and hopefully find a bakery open. Depression called for donuts.

Opening the door resulted in a very drunk, very injured vampire collapsing onto the entrance hall
floor.

“Oh sweetheart!! Oh thank god! Oh Spike”

He dropped to the ground, cradled the beloved, now blood covered, head in his lap and pondered
what to do next.