Trickster II: Janus' Shadow

In the end, Xander dropped the blood off at his apartment first. He could afford another $200 for more blood, but he didn't really think he could play cool-guy in Cooper's place again. His hands sweated so much that the wheel of his car slid through his palms on every turn. And yeah, that didn't seem very safe.

Guiding his car to the curb in front of Giles' building, Xander sat with the setting sun shining weakly through the darkened window of his driver's side door, wondering what the hell he was doing. Part of him wanted to start the engine with its particular low rumbling drone and drive away. He couldn't be what Spike needed, and trying and failing to fill that role might get him killed. Could… no… *would* get him killed. Killed and vamped. And really, after one round of eating people, he really didn't want to go for round two. Another part of him just wanted to feel those strong muscles under his hands, that body full of coiled energy bending to his will, and oh god he was screwy in the head.

Memories of feeding, knowing that his new claimed childe hunted at his side, rose to the surface. The joy of that night had dulled the edge of pain from the betrayal of his own first childe, but then he didn't really have a first childe because he wasn't really a vampire, only the watchers diaries he'd read did speak of Nusa, his sire, and Jalon, his ungrateful and mutinous childe. He'd even read references to Nusa's elusive favored, and Xander put his forehead on the steering wheel and he tried to gather thoughts which scattered like sand caught in a dust devil—whipped around in every rising circles.

Right, thinking had never been his strong suit, so he needed to simply act. Yep, just call him Xan the acting without thinking man. No matter how hard his heart beat or how badly his palms sweated, he couldn't let Spike stay chained in that bathtub. With a new resolve, Xander pushed open the door and stepped out into the failing sun of evening, the streetlight flickering to life just as he slammed his door.

With more confidence in his step than his heart, Xander strode up the walk and rapped cheerfully on the closed door. It only took a second for Giles to open it, looking at him with an expression that came close to concern.

"Xander? Willow said you needed to go to work. The girls have gone to patrol the east side."

"Yeah, well Jamie burned his hand on the fryers and so they called me with the panicking, but business was non-existant, and they sent me home," Xander lied. His job with Hotdog on a Stick had lasted about as long as any other job he'd taken to cover up for his real source of income, which meant not very.

"Yes, well, I do hope he's all right," Giles muttered as he turned back toward the living room. A large book lay open on the coffee table, the familiar black leather and yellowing pages could have been any number of volumes, but Xander recognized the angular, tilting hieroglyphs that ran down the page: a Guel'tec text on vampire anatomy. Xander felt a sharp stab of fear that Giles might want to confirm one or two of the books more outrageous claims. He looked back at the man still standing by the open door and instantly regretted the thought. Giles might stake a vamp, but he didn't torture them, unlike some humans in Sunnydale.

"Researching the next apocalypsy goodness?" Xander asked as he walked in the room and dropped into the armchair. After closing the door, Giles picked up a postcard from his desk and started fidgeting with it in a way that suggested that the man wanted to take off his glasses and polish them.

"No, I'm researching what they might have done to him."

"They have a section on sadistic humans playing mad scientist in there?" Xander asked, nodding toward the open text, and Giles looked sharply up at him.

"Not as such, no," Giles admitted and then he dropped the postcard back to the desk and came around to the couch, sitting carefully. "Xander, I am aware that this puts you in a difficult situation. Please have the respect to just tell me what you want rather than attempting to manipulate me."

Xander had been carefully investigating the pepperoni stain by the one foot of the couch, but at those words, he focused all his attention on Giles. "I'm so not trying to manipulate you," he immediately assured the man. "It's more like, I don't know how to say what I want to say, which may not really be what I want-want, but more like what I, you know, need-want. But the whole beating around the bush thing is far less with the manipulating than just with the awkward."

"Spoken like a true American," Giles sighed softly, and now the glasses did come off. "Need? What do you need, Xander?"

"I need the key, G-man." Xander held his hand out toward Giles.

"I'm not sure that's a good idea, especially given your respective... histories," Giles answered, and the very fact that he had ignored the hated nickname told Xander just how upset Giles was in his own repressed, English way. As expected, he attacked the glasses with a white handkerchief.

"Our history means that I understand him. I can deal with him far more effectively than you could," Xander pointed out. Giles looked up sharply.

"And the fact that you had a Transylvanian accent when you said that... should I be worried?" Giles demanded sharply, and Xander flinched. Yeah, great, the Zeppo-stupidity did pop up at the absolute worst times. He couldn't believe that he had slipped that badly. He could only shrug.

"You know the memories are still part of me. And yes, Spike brings them up a little more. I'm not a vampire, and I'm not planning on doing the whole Benedict Arnold thing," he promised softly as he glanced toward the bathroom. How much could Spike hear, and how much did the vampire believe? Xander truly wouldn't let Spike touch one of his friends, so he meant the whole not-going-traitor promise, except that Buffy and Giles and even Willow would probably consider him a traitor for even fantasizing about hot soldier blood running down a cold sidewalk, rivers of red parting for pebbles set in concrete and filling the cracks with the brackish, coppery scent of life. Xander shook his head to try and clear his mind of that thought.

"Xander, I never," Giles paused, and Xander could practically see the man gathering his thoughts. "I know how loyal you are, and I don't for one second doubt that. I do worry that your vampire memories exert too much influence over your decisions. I worry that Spike could take advantage of that." Giles' words did give Xander pause for thought. After all, Giles had no idea what had happened at Angelus' mansion that day, what they had done to him. He didn't know what Xander had done to Angel and Spike when he was under the influence of the spell. Hell, if Giles knew one quarter of the history Xander shared with Spike and Angel, the watcher would either chain Xander up or stake the two vampires. Probably both.

"I know how to handle Spike," Xander promised. Giles looked at him for a long time before reaching into his pocket.

"Be careful," Giles said as he handed over a small silver key.

"Aren't I always?" Xander grinned playfully, and the look of despair on Giles' face made him laugh out loud. "I'll be careful, *Dad*," Xander added. Giles just made a hrumphing grunt and took his cup into the kitchen.

Xander hurried into the bathroom with the key, and he opened the door to find Spike staring at him with a mask of complete indifference. The expression broke Xander's heart more than anything else could because he knew how strongly Spike felt things. He knew how Spike's emotions normally flickered right under the surface of his skin. The devilish delight and playful cruelty that usually animated Spike's features had made Xander love him, or at least feel the sort of possessive desire that passed for love among vampires. Instead the emotionless face with the black eyeliner looked truly dead.

"So, we're on patrol tonight on the west side tonight," Xander said as he reached out for the chains looped around Spike's arms. Giles claimed to have fed Spike earlier, but when Xander's hand closed around Spike's wrist, he could feel cold flesh. Vampires were room temperature unless they were hungry--seriously hungry. He turned the key in the lock before Spike found his voice.

"Bloody… not really up to a fight. Can't hurt a soddin' thing, remember?" Spike snarled angrily, and Xander allowed his own vampiric nature to surface as he closed his hand around Spike's neck and slammed the vampire's head into the tile. Spike flashed into game face and raised his lip in challenge as he reached up and grabbed Xander's wrist. Xander knew how the chip worked. He'd had a client who had escaped with one. Or got turned loose as a guinea pig with one, he was never quite sure which. Now he just had to reassert his relationship with Spike. That and he had to make Spike feel like a hunter again because this pale creature without any spark of life was not his Spike.

Strong, pale fingers dug into the flesh of his wrist, and Xander grimaced in pain. He could see Spike's eyes narrow as he fought the agony inflicted by the chip. Despite the torture, Spike continued to squeeze, and now Xander could smell the metallic scent of his own blood as he stared into Spike's yellowed eyes.

Xander flinched as the fingers tightened incrementally, but this was a battle he couldn't afford to lose. At Xander's flinch, Spike let go and howled as he gripped his own head in a vain effort to soothe the pain. His hands clutched at his short spikes of hair, pulling at them and pounding the ceramic tub as his body twisted, the chains unlocked but still looped around him so that the metal struck the ceramic tub with small chiming noises.

Xander stood and looked down at the writhing figure still draped in chains. Part of him sneered in disgust that Spike could let himself be leashed by humans. Another part railed against someone causing Spike pain, someone other than himself anyway. Yet another part wanted to run away in fear because Spike was still an actual vampire and Xander had no doubts about how wrong this could go. The part that won, however, was the part of him that wanted to comfort the childe who had submitted to him. No matter how hard he tried to tell himself that Spike's submission didn't count what with the whole spell thing, Xander still felt like a sire. He felt like a sire who had failed once and who refused to fail again. Okay, counting Jalon he'd failed twice, but he really didn't want to fail for a third time.

Sitting down on the cold edge of the bathtub, Xander stroked Spike's stiff hair as he held out his bloody wrist.

"Drink, childe," he said softly. He hadn't intended to use that endearment. He was human, and as such had no role in the vampire hierarchy. He couldn't claim the title of sire. He was weak, just as weak as when Angelus had him dragged back to the mansion in order to repay the humiliation of that Halloween night. But just when he thought Spike would reject the offer of blood and the title that Xander had linked to it, lips closed around the wound.

Xander groaned as Spike sucked enthusiastically. It felt a little like pulling a scab, like scratching a poison ivy rash, like stretching a sore muscle. He felt as if having blood in his body was some itching torment, and Spike's sucking scratched that itch. Oh, the pain was there, making him suck air into his lungs noisily, but the pleasure of feeling his blood pulled slowly from his body more than made that worth it.

The wound was small, and Xander could feel two pins barely prick the surface of his skin, and then the pleasure and pain doubled. Xander couldn't even describe the feeling, but it left him humping into nothing. He remembered Nusa draining him, the absolute pleasure of sinking into the darkness of death even as he orgasmed. Maybe it was that thought that made Xander aware of the fact that he was becoming lightheaded.

"Stop," Xander ordered and for a half second, Xander thought he had misjudged. He thought that Giles had been right and he had gone completely insane when he allowed Spike's fangs anywhere near him. He thought wrong because Spike pulled his fangs out after just a second and then licked at the wound before settling back in the tub.

Looking down, Xander traced the spreading red and purple hickey with a finger. Two tiny fang punctures and three nasty, crescent-shaped fingernail marks decorated the inside of the bruise. Okay, no more feeding the vamp with the wrist, Xander realized as he looked at the ugly discoloration.

"So, this goin' to be your revenge? Keeping me in the bathtub? Takin' me out to play sire?" Spike's expression had disappeared under that mask of indifference again, and Xander stood and turned his back as he went over to the sink to run cold water over his arm. He doubted that he could keep it from looking like a vampire chew-toy, but at least it gave him something to do.

"I don't know what the hell we're doing, Spike."

"Right, same as always then."

"Enough," Xander practically yelled as he turned around. Spike had stood so that the chains now lay in the bottom of the tub at his feet, but at Xander's yell, the vampire flinched back and pressed himself to the tile. Xander raised a lip to sneer at the gesture before it occurred to him that Spike had no defenses against a human, and he had no way to judge Xander's intentions.

Xander turned back to the sink and found himself surprised to see his own reflection: dark, unruly curls, a slightly paler than normal complexion, dark eyes. He struggled to find that words that would make Spike understand what he could and could not offer to the young vampire. At 120, the childe should still be safely behind a sire, the greatest risk to his unlife being that same sire that protected him.

"Spike, I look at you and I still see my little one, my hellcat, the childe I claimed," Xander admitted to the mirror. "I look at you and I want you so bad I can't see straight, and I hate myself because I can't be the sire who claimed you. You are so damn strong, but you need a sire. You shouldn't have to do this alone and every damn sire you've had has failed you. I want to beat myself black and blue for being one more person to do that to you." Xander let the words fall from him without even thinking about what he was admitting. He turned around and stepped forward and let his warm hand wrap around the back of Spike's neck where he gently squeezed and soothed tight muscles.

"When Angelus brought me to the mansion, I would have endured all that and more if it had earned you a place at Angelus' side again. I would have given up anything to fix what I had damaged." Xander watched as his words slowly eroded Spike's indifference until he could see the fear and uncertainty etched in those beautiful features.

"Not bloody likely. Soddin' arsewipe had slipped 'round the twist, so I sure as hell didn't want to play childe to that bastard." Xander pulled, but Spike refused to be coaxed out of the bathtub. Instead Xander stepped up into the tub himself so they were face to face.

"You're so damn strong. How the hell did you even escape the government?" Xander didn't offer sympathy. He knew Spike couldn't put up with sympathy.

"Bloody stupid humans. Thought I was one of their fledges, thought I couldn't resist drugged blood."

"But you have far too much control to fall for that," Xander added, and now Spike let himself be pulled forward just a fraction so that his head hovered near Xander's shoulder. "Did you kill any of them?" Xander asked as he reached up with his second hand to feel the ridges under Spike's brow.

"One. Thought they'd tazered me it hurt so bloody much, but I had to get out of there."

"So damn strong. Hunger can't rule you; pain doesn't stop you. My hellcat," Xander practically whispered, and he knew his pride colored every word. Spike's head rested on Xander's shoulder now.

"Not soddin' strong at all. Bloody humans have leashed me. Can't even fucking feed."

"Ve'll vork on that," Xander immediately promised, and then he realized what he'd said. "Not that feeding is good," he suddenly stammered, pausing as he felt panic jumbling his thoughts together. "Killing is definitely off the approved list because killing humans is, well, wrong. Major wrong. Wrongage of epic proportions," Xander knew he was babbling, and he bit his tongue hard enough to stop himself. He could feel Spike shake slightly, and he held that trembling body even tighter.

"Bloody hell, you're as loony as Dru," Spike finally said, and Xander realized from the amused tone that the trembling was not a reaction to the fear but rather laughter. He pulled back, and Spike was laughing so hard that a single tear had escaped the side of his eye.

"Hey, no laughing," Xander complained.

"Oi, you listen to yourself and try not to laugh."

"I listen to myself all the time."

"Doubt that. You're slipping back and forth between those two personalities of yours like some sort of metonym."

"Yeah, well I'm still the boss of you," Xander pointed out. That made Spike stop and look at him seriously.

"Are you?" The tone of Spike's words made Xander stop and think through the situation.

"Yeah. Before, well not before when I was a vamp before, but before when we were in the mansion, I couldn't be what you needed." Xander stopped as he tried to explain it. He'd knelt on the floor naked knowing he was going to die. Of course, he'd been wrong, but at that moment when he'd been pulled in front of Angelus, he hadn't doubted that he saw death in the insane vampire's yellow eyes. "You needed a hunting partner, and I couldn't be that. I thought Dru could be," Xander admitted.

"She left me for a bloody chaos demon," Spike shrugged, but at least this time he didn't try to hide the pain. Xander had listened to Buffy's stories of Spike's rage when the vamp had returned in search of a love spell. He'd smiled and nodded at Buffy's imitations, but Angel's eyes had remained somber, and Xander had gone home and cried over the fact that the demon had come back to town without hunting him down. And how sick was that?

"She really is insane. Those things are gross," Xander answered, and Spike made an amused snort.

"You're not kiddin'. They're downright disgusting. So, you're planning on sticking around this time?"

"Both times, you were the one who left," Xander pointed out.

"Both times, you didn't bloody stop me," Spike countered.

"I will this time. You can't hunt, which means you need to find another way to feed, and I'm the one who's going to provide the blood until we can figure out how to get that chip out."

"And then?" Spike's guarded tone instantly revealed the vampire's fears, and Xander couldn't blame him.

"And then you're still going to be mine," Xander replied.

"Vampire can't belong to a human, mate. You know that. I get this chip out, and you won't have the strength to keep me by your side. Makes me wonder if you're going to really work all that hard at getting the chip out."

"I will get the chip out because you are my hellcat. We'll work the rest out later."

"I could solve the problem. I think the little experiment with your wrist proved that." Spike purred and leaned close again, nuzzling Xander's neck. Xander allowed his eyes to fall closed as a talented tongue ran from his collarbone up to his ear where dull teeth nibbled at the ear lobe. "I could turn you and have you as my childe. Wouldn't bloody bollocks it up like a certain broody vamp we both know." The words were whispered in a low rumbling voice, and Xander groaned as a hand slipped under the waistband of his jeans to find a hard cock.

Spike pushed, and Xander let himself be turned so that Spike pressed up against his back, a cool hand reaching up under his shirt and fingers splaying across his stomach. "You remember being turned, the perfect joy in that second when your heart beats for the last time, the feeling of your orgasm and your death merging like nothing before and nothing after. Let me give you that again," Spike whispered roughly.

Xander reached under his shirt and put his own warm hand over Spike's. He did remember. He remembered the feeling of belonging to someone and knowing that he was safe within his sire's protection. He had been Nusa's prized possession, jealously guarded and defended and owned in a way that made all other relationships in his life seem like faint outlines and meaningless encounters. But he'd grown past that and now he needed to do the possessing. No one could take the place of his Nusa, not even his hellcat.

Xander tried to wrestle his attention out of his hard and throbbing cock so he could explain it to Spike without seeming to reject the young vampire. His eyes drifted open. "Giles!" he yelped.

"I had," Giles stood at the doorway to the bathroom and cleared his throat, "worried that you were having problems with the," Giles coughed softly, "the chains. You had been in here rather a long time."

"You're soddin' interrupting, Watcher," Spike snarled, and Xander landed his elbow in Spike's side; however, the vampire kept snarling and feeling Xander up at the same time.

"Spike, stop," Xander ordered, but the strong arms around him held him in place while the hand that had explored the contours of his stomach started drifting southward. Xander opened his eyes in horror about the same time that Giles' mouth fell open. When Giles started reaching behind him, Xander knew he had to make a move or watch Giles stake his hellcat.

Xander reached down and dug his thumb into a nerve on Spike's wrist. Trying to escape the pain, Spike shook his wrist and pulled it away from Xander, giving Xander room to twist slightly in Spike's embrace. Xander aimed his hardest punch at Spike's sternum, where the two halves of the ribcage met in the front. He tilted his fist slightly so that he hit the sternum dead on with one knuckle. Xander grimaced in pain with Spike. Now openly snarling, Spike grabbed for his hands, and Xander knew he had neither the speed nor strength to avoid being caught. Instead, he let Spike catch him and then pulled back hard enough that his wrist made a popping sound and Xander gasped in pain. Spike dropped like a stone clutching his head.

Not surprisingly, Giles stood next to the bathtub with a stake, which Xander snatched from the older man. When Spike finally got control enough to open his eyes, Xander crouched over him with a stake pressed against Spike's chest. The vampire froze.

"So, are ve clear who is in charge of whom?" Xander asked calmly, and even he could hear the accent. Spike looked up for several seconds, and Xander wondered if he could dust the vampire even if he had to. In the end, Spike dropped his gaze.

"Yeah, mate," he offered.

"Good. So we're going on patrol at Grove cemetery." Xander stood and handed Giles his stake.

"I'm not sure that's such a good idea," Giles said in a tone that made it clear that he knew it was an absolutely horrible idea.

"We'll be fine, G-man."

"First, define 'fine.' Second, please do not call me that name."

"Um, fine means that if you don't ask, you won't notice anything that might drive you to drink, and you know the nickname is all in love, G-man."

"Xander," Giles said, the one word carrying tones of frustration and worry and paternal concern. Xander smiled. Giles was the one person whose paternal tones didn't annoy him. His own father had learned the hard way that Xander would not tolerate manipulation or abuse--not even verbal abuse.

"Giles, I'm going to be a lot less on edge having him around than I am thinking about him in your bathtub."

"Bloody hell, not goin' to let him tell you what to do, are ya?" Spike demanded, and Xander could hear the confusion under that obnoxious aggression. If Giles could order Xander around, and Xander could order Spike around, that put the young vampire directly under Giles in the hierarchy. Xander could see how that would be a problem. However, he wasn't a vampire and Giles wasn't a vampire and Spike was going to have to do some adapting.

"I hardly think offering advice is ordering," Giles pointed out.

"No, but your advice has been heard and we're still going hunting, G-man," Xander quickly answered because Giles and Spike talking to each other was not ever going to be of the good.

"Patrolling," Giles said quietly.

"What?" Xander asked in confusion as he replayed the last part of the conversation in his mind.

"I assume you are taking Spike patrolling since hunting has some rather unfortunate connotations. Before you leave, there's two days worth of blood in the refrigerator, and I would expect a visit from Buffy tomorrow. She will not be pleased."

Xander blushed as he realized his slip.

"Uh, yeah, patrolling," he corrected himself. "Spike probably needs to drink the blood before we leave, but I have more at home, and on that whole Buffy visiting thing, that might not be the best idea." Xander ducked his head and tried his best 'help me' expression on Giles.

"She will eventually figure out that you've moved out of your parents' home." Xander must have given Giles a surprised look because the older man rolled his eyes. "Really, did you expect me to believe your ridiculous stories forever?" Then Giles turned to Spike, his face hardening into an expression that reminded Xander that the man had at one point been more likely to summon evil than fight it.

"And if you harm him or turn him, you will beg for a stake before I am through with you," he promised darkly. Spike leaned back against the tiled wall looking indifferent, but Xander could see the small muscle twitches that showed his distress. Considering he was trapped in a small room with two people who he couldn't fight, both of whom had threatened to turn him to dust, Xander couldn't blame the vamp. In fact, Spike's ability to hide that fear made him smile with pride. However, he needed to get Spike fed and back to fighting if he wanted to save his hellcat from dangers just as real as the slayer or the Initiative or a cranky watcher.

"If you've finished with all the threats, maybe we should get going," Xander suggested, carefully keeping his accent all California boy.

"Yes, well, do be careful," Giles said, pinning him with a look that made it clear Giles still thought his plan was stupid. Xander didn't bother disagreeing since a big part agreed with Giles. After all, he'd seen his own arm, and Giles hadn't yet spotted the carefully hidden wound that showed just how dangerous Spike could still be.

"You know me, Giles. Always careful," he answered as he scooted past Giles out into the apartment. Behind him both Giles and Spike made small disbelieving sounds, but at least Spike followed. Now he just needed a plan because he was running on instinct, and at least half his instincts belonged to a vampire—an angry vampire who wanted revenge for his claimed childe.