All I Need...

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Part 2

Three months since Africa, since he’d woken again with so much that he’d lost and yet none of it was why he’d actually been there.

‘Can’t do that, buddy,’ the demon—Chip—had said. ‘You should have told us, or me, anyway, what you really wanted. Could have saved you a whole lot of hurt. Just be glad for what you did get.’

It still felt like a betrayal although on reflection he had to admit the demon was right. He never had said exactly why he was there, exactly what it was he was trying to regain. And on the bright side, he had two good eyes again, even if it did fuck with him. He’d gotten used to the half-seeing, the depth-perception issues and all.

Of course, on the not so bright side, he could see in the dark now, had taken to growling, and well done burgers were a thing of the past. Too dead, too far from life, too… not raw.

He was handling it better than he’d done in high school, though. Maybe because he was older now, more aware of who he was… or maybe because the damned spirit was weakened after all the years of confinement. He didn’t know for sure and actually didn’t much care. He’d never been that great of a human to begin with, no matter what his friends had tried to tell him. And now… well, now he wasn’t entirely human at all and that made sense. He was… at peace with what he’d become.

He was faster, stronger, more… himself… than he’d ever been before, and that was fit.

Still, that didn’t mean Giles would agree, did it?

He sighed softly and pulled the lately disused eye patch from his back pocket, pushing and tugging until it was settled over what had been an empty socket the last time the Watcher had seen him.

It wasn’t exactly a lie, he figured, and… if Giles asked him flat out whether he’d undergone a mystical trial and gotten his eye back, he’d admit to it.

He wasn’t sure that he’d be honest about the hyena if asked, but that was a whole other story.

Boot-clad feet stomped lightly up stone steps and he swallowed hard, raising one fist to announce his arrival.

“Xander Harris for Giles,” he said as the door was opened by a young woman—a very young woman—who made him… twitch. There was an energy about her that skittered over his skin like the dirt mites in Africa had done for nearly two years. ‘Slayer,’ he realized, shuddering slightly, and if this was anything like what vampires felt when a Slayer was near, he was amazed that Spike had ever managed to be in the same room with Buffy, much less touch her.

Angel, he could understand. The big brooding sack of sad- and- sorry had always shown a streak of self flagellation, after all.

He sidestepped the girl, being careful not to touch her. If he could feel what she was, after all, there was a chance that she could…

More than a chance, he admitted silently as suspiciously sharp eyes followed him closely.

“He’s expecting me,” he added, not particularly interested in killing the girl right then although he would if he had to.

And maybe he wasn’t handling things as well as he’d thought because the idea didn’t bother him that much. It would have once, he knew, but he wasn’t sure if the change was because of the spirit within him or the things he’d seen, done, been a part of between his hometown becoming a smoking hole in the ground and the trials. It could have been either, really.

He pushed the thought away with a mental shrug as he walked through long, poorly lit hallways beside the girl, neither of them willing to allow the other at their back.

Finally, many turns later, they stopped in front of a large set of double wooden doors and he nodded then pushed them open, flashing for a moment on the old library at Sunnydale High.

“The prodigal returns,” he announced with the closest thing he could muster to the old goofy-Xander grin. “The prodigal donut-guy, anyway.”

Pale eyes in a slightly cocked head roved the tightened and whipcord-toned form for a moment, seeing the distilled Xander, the man, not the boy he remembered and Giles smiled a bit sadly at the loss.

“Jellies?” he asked, as though the young man had left mere minutes earlier. It was a fiction, he knew, but for the moment he could pretend.

The white paper sack hit the table in front of the older man and Xander couldn’t help giving him another grin, this one more in keeping with the being he’d become. “Jellies,” he agreed, “and those frosted ones with the little sprinkles. Taste like meal worms, kinda. You know, with the crunch.”

“And that was something I truly had no interest in knowing,” Giles admitted slowly. “However, since I do know it now, I believe I’ll stick with the jellies.”

Xander shrugged and pulled a sprinkled donut from the bag, taking a huge bite. “Suit yourself, G-man,” he said around a mouthful of soft, sweet cake. “So, what’s the what?”

He waited until the younger man was seated across from him then acquired one of the jellies he liked so much. “We have a… situation, Xander. I know you’ve expressed a desire to leave the Council and I suppose I can’t blame you for that. You’re still quite young. There are things I’m certain you want in life that don’t involve demonic activity.”

A dark brow rose over the uncovered eye. “But?”

Giles nodded and removed his glasses, polishing the lenses unnecessarily in an obvious attempt to cover his discomfort.

“But?” Xander said again, crossing his arms over his chest. Of course there was a ‘but’. He’d known that even before he’d arrived at the Watchers HQ. Hell, he’d known it as soon as he’d gotten Giles’ voice mail asking him to come to London. Whether the ‘but’ was something he was willing to help out with was another matter entirely.

“Yes,” Giles finally answered, not sounding terribly happy about what he was going to ask, “I… wonder if I might impose upon you for one last job. As I said, we have a… situation. In Uganda.”

It was a disbelieving stare that he turned on the older man. He’d just left Africa, barely made it out with his life in fact, and here was Giles—pseudo father-figure who’d treated him better than his own parents ever had—asking him to go back? He didn’t even have to think about it.

“No. And in case that isn’t a strong enough word to clue you to the world of no, let me just add… Hell no, fuck no, and there is no fucking way!” He was up and pacing—stalking, more like—around the room, shooting glare after pissed off glare at the other man. “There isn’t a single fucking thing you could say that would ever get me to set foot on that continent again! Not in this lifetime! Are you out of your fucking mind?”

And that had gone just about as well as he’d expected it to, Giles told himself with a purely internal sigh before doing what he knew he should have done to begin with. He pulled a sheaf of photographs from the folder beside him, tossing them across the table.

“I may very well be insane, as you’ve suggested, Xander, because… the images aren’t terribly good but…” Giles frowned deeply, finally placing his glasses on his face again to spear a sharp glance at the agitated younger man. “Look at them. Please. And tell me that I’ve lost it. I sincerely hope you do because… to my eyes, the person in those photos looks like…”

He didn’t want to look, didn’t want to know who or what Giles thought he saw and yet somehow he couldn’t keep his feet from moving to the desk, couldn’t keep his eye from looking at the top picture. He couldn’t stop his hands from spreading the twelve or so shots across the table, eye widening even as his heart beat faster for some unknown reason.

“Spike,” he nearly whispered, head spinning as he tried to find a way that it could possibly be… “Spike…? But he’s…”

“Yes. Dead. In the literal sense, as opposed to the vampiric one. That’s what makes this so very… disturbing.”

“Disturbing,” Xander echoed, one finger lightly tracing the blurry suggestion of sharp cheekbones beneath a shock of white hair. “Disturbing?” His laugh was high pitched and frightened. “That’s the best you can do?” he demanded, voice rising, becoming louder until he was nearly shouting at the Watcher. “Disturbing? How about im-fucking-possible, Giles? Un-shitting-likely? Not… Jesus Christ! Disturbing!”

“I… it is possible that someone simply looks like him. I’m hoping that’s what it is, but… the intelligence we’ve been able to gather indicates that this is…” Giles shook his head. “The person in those photographs is reported to be English, cocky, and allergic to sunlight. I don’t see any way that it could be Spike but if it’s not, then…”

“Then someone’s pretending they’re Spike and there can’t be a good reason for that.” Xander nodded slowly, sinking into the chair he’d vacated minutes earlier. His fingers traced the figure in the pictures again and he frowned deeply. “It has to be deliberate. Nobody looks like Spike accidentally… no one ever could. He was… one of a kind.”

“He was,” Giles agreed quietly, “And he deserves some respect. His memory deserves some respect.”

“Yeah.” He closed his eyes, although only one was visible, shivering long and hard before looking at his former mentor again. “Okay. So why me, Giles? Why not one of the girls? I… shit, G-man, I really don’t want to go back there…”

The fingers of one hand rubbed at his furrowed brow for a moment before Giles replied. “The others… bloody hell, Xander. They don’t care, alright? Or not enough to drop everything for this. They have lives now, and things they can’t leave. Buffy has her hands full with six young Slayers, Dawn’s got final examinations next week although I believe she would miss them if it truly were Spike, and Willow… Willow’s stuck in Brazil. The Hellmouth there has been acting up and she can’t leave.”

Longish brown hair swayed slightly as the younger man nodded unhappily.

“You’re the only one left who knows him, Xander. I would go myself, but…” Giles gestured vaguely around him.

“The Council. Yeah. Um, Andrew?” It was his only hope. “Andrew knows… knew Spike. He could…”

“Andrew is in hospital. Some odd strain of malaria he picked up in the Amazon. Or that’s what we’re hoping it is, in any case. He won’t be active for a good three weeks, assuming all goes well.”

“Shit. There really isn’t anyone else, is there?” he sighed and swallowed hard. “Fine,” he said softly, tone dark and full of poorly hidden anxiety, “I guess I’m going to Uganda. Shit.”

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(A/N: Many thanks to Selene and TheShadowCat for the reviews. Always appreciated and adored!)