A Second Chance

Part One

The full moon cast a silver glow on the tanned skin of the boy, causing him to look almost ethereal and otherworldly. Keeping to the dark shadows, Spike stalked silently behind the carelessly whistling human, telling himself it was the chase, the hunt, that excited him so much, that made him almost feel his borrowed blood pound in his dead veins.

It wasn’t the pure innocent beauty of the boy, it wasn’t watching the gleaming black hair blowing messily across his forehead and those pink luscious lips pursed wetly as the idiot announced his presence to any predator in the area. He didn’t want the bumbling teenager. He just wanted to eat him. Or so he kept telling himself.

Apparently, so did the fledge who ignored Spike’s presence and jumped out from an alleyway to grab the boy by the throat. Within moments, the young vampire was dust and Spike found himself gazing down into the dark incredulous eyes of Xander, from where he sat confused on the ground, covered in ashes.

He looked almost grateful, which galled Spike, because he hadn’t even realized what he was doing until it was done. Face flashing to demon, he snarled down at the boy and Xander’s face went white even as his eyes narrowed and he pushed to his feet unsteadily. Spike could smell the terror wafting off of the boy but, except for the paleness of his face, he couldn’t see it.

Annoyance turned to grudging respect, then back to annoyance, as Xander stared him down, snapping, “What? Can’t go get your own meals and have to steal from other vamps now?”

He scoffed, “Who bloody says I’d want to eat you?”

They stared at each other a few more moments, before Xander looked down and sighed, edging warily away. “If you aren’t gonna kill me, then I’m gonna get home. School tomorrow, and all that, y’know? Not that you would care I have school, but I want you to know I’m not running away, or walking, just…class, can’t be staying up all night. So yeah, this is me, going home. Like…right now.”

Another two steps backwards, and Spike lunged forward to grab the kid’s arm. Liquid chocolate eyes widened and Spike moaned at the scent of fear and pheromones coming from him.

“Never said I wasn’t gonna kill ya.” He yanked the boy closer and Xander stumbled, falling against him, hands grabbing onto Spike’s shoulders. Ignoring the terrified whimper, his head darted down so that he could lick from the boy’s collarbone to his ear in one long swipe, the body clinging to his shuddering, the smell of desire coming from Xander spiking his own.

‘Bite him, bite him,’ his demon chanted, coming to the forefront so suddenly that his face changed without him willing it to. Leaning his head down again, he could almost feel the hot blood rushing into his mouth, but his body wasn’t listening to him. His hand fisted in the boy’s shaggy black hair, yanking his head back, and when Xander gasped in pain, his mouth came down over the boy’s, tongue delving inside to taste and stroke the soft, heated flesh.

They both moaned, arms tightening on each other, as Spike devoured the boy’s mouth, claiming, dominating, possessing it for his own with every stroke inside, every nip on the boy’s lips, every soft caress. When Xander’s soft tongue shyly ventured into his mouth, Spike growled and shook in need, and he nipped sharply at it. The taste of the boy’s blood was like nothing he had tasted before, sweet and hot, spicy with his lust, and Spike jerked back, stepping away from him.

“Go,” he panted out, eyes blazing gold, fangs itching to bury themselves in the tender skin of the teenager’s neck. Xander, confused, took a step towards him, and Spike snarled, shoving him away, wanting him to run home so he didn’t have to feel this dividing need, didn’t have to argue with himself over whether to kill the boy or not, take him or not.

His shove slipped, however, and instead of knocking the boy backwards, his hand sank into a warm chest, through skin and bone, wrapping around his heart. If the boy didn’t have his heart, he couldn’t stare at him with those gorgeous, sweet, innocent eyes, eyes that begged so much from him yet expected nothing.

With a yell, he yanked the offending organ out and it turned to dust in his hand. The last expressions on that beloved face were hurt and betrayal, and love, before Xander’s body disintegrated. Still love.

Dublin, Ireland

Spike awoke screaming, sitting straight up in bed. Eyes closed, fists clenched in the sheets, tears pouring down his face and screaming. It was the sound of Xander’s name, loud and echoing in his own voice, that brought him back to reality. His eyes opened slowly as he panted, throat raw, chest tight with held-in sobs.

Blue eyes bright with tears darted around the hotel room, reassuring himself that it had been just a dream. It was more than that, though. His memories of Xander were all he had left, and now his nightmares were fucking even those up.

Wasn’t the way it had ended, of course, but enough of it had been real to make him ache. Even now, ten years after the boy had died, he could remember every moment they had shared, every touch, every kiss, every harsh word or cry of ecstasy.

He had stalked Xander for weeks after he had let him and the witch go, cursing his own softness in doing so. That night that the fledge had almost killed his boy had been the first time he had kissed him, first time he admitted to himself that he had wanted the kid. Xander, for all his arousal, hadn’t been quite as ready to admit anything, though, and had punched him hard and stalked away, after Spike had raised his mouth from those warm sweet lips and told him to go.

That had been how it really ended, not Spike pulling out his boy’s heart, for Christ’s sake. And those warm brown eyes hadn’t held love for him at that time, not yet, but he had wanted to run from them when they first started showing it.

Now, he’d give anything to see those eyes again, shining with love for him or not, even hate would be preferable to not having Xander in this world.

Sighing deeply, Spike climbed out of bed and stretched, knowing he would get no more rest that day. Ten years and he was still haunted. Yeah, he loved hard when he loved. He still dreamed of Dru sometimes and wondered how she was doing, he still heard Angelus’ husky laugh at night, but Xander? Xander haunted him.

He would spend months ruthlessly suppressing any thought of him, any slightest memory. It would work until he saw a head of dark hair, smiling brown eyes or a flash of a crooked white grin and he would rush back to his hotel room and throw up violently, sobs wracking his body as he begged to be released from the pain.

After, he would spend days not moving, not eating, just sitting in the dark and going over every moment he had known his sweet, gorgeous boy in his head. From the first night he had seen him, dancing with the Slayer at the Bronze, all goofy smiles and bumbling steps, to that last, awful night, he went through them one by one, every word, every smile. Making sure that he remembered it all, never forgot a single, precious second.

There had been many a night, after one of those episodes, that he would sit on the roof and wonder how badly it would hurt to watch the sun rise, how quickly he would burn before he didn’t feel anything anymore. Something always stopped him, though.

Like it had that first horrid night, when he had finally escaped from his sire’s embrace hours later to rock and keen over the cold body of his claimed, holding a stake to his heart determinedly.

That empty gaping hole in his mind had glowed slightly, had warmed a little, and that had somehow been enough to keep him from doing anything drastic. Moments later his snarling sire had loomed over him and ripped away the stake, thus ending his first suicide attempt.

He didn’t have Angel to save him from himself anymore, he hadn’t seen any of the old group since that night, but some weird hope, some odd feeling that said it couldn’t be this bad forever, was enough to stop him at the last minute every time. And thinking of Angel, he realized that he seriously missed the poofy buggar.

He had left that night, ten long, aching years ago, without a word to anyone, with one last kiss on those cruelly cold, dry lips, lips that had always been hot and wet, wonderfully alive. There had been no way he could have gone back to their apartment, no way in hell he could have stood seeing Xander’s things still lying there waiting for him to come back.

He hadn’t been able to face the Scoobies either; his hatred had faded over the years, but he still blamed them. If it hadn’t been for them, his laughing, golden-skinned, brown-eyed boy would still be taunting and teasing him, loving him. So staying in Sunnydale had been out.

Could have stayed with Angel, but it was just too close, too raw, too many memories. So he had run, and had been running ever since, from city to city, country to country, continent to continent. At least when he didn’t see anyone who knew Xander, he could pretend his boy had left him or he had gotten tired of him and done the leaving himself, that Xander was still out there somewhere and there was always the possibility of a reunion. Of course, he never would have left Xander and he would sure as hell not have let him leave, but it was still a nice thought.

Eventually, though, he would break down and get reminded, or end up drunkenly telling the whole sorry story one night, and wake up with the desire to go somewhere new, somewhere that even the memory of remembering Xander wasn’t.

So onward he would go, until he couldn’t run anymore, until he had been everywhere and ended up in the one place that started things back at the beginning again. Not London, not Sunnydale, but Ireland. Ireland was the beginning to him, the place his sire had been born and raised. He realized now what needing to come here meant.

It was the first step in facing the past.

Suddenly, he couldn’t spend another minute in the misery he had been living in. It was time. No more running. It was time to face the past so he could either move forward, or end it once and for all.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, he pulled open the phone book and called the airport. First stop London, then off to LA. He had some demons to face.

---

London had been the same, it pretty much always was every time he went. The only real memories there were good ones, aside from his human life, so it hadn’t been that hard to bear.

Now, though, on the plane to LA, he was having serious doubts about whether he could do it or not. Shaking hands opened the third little bottle of Jack Daniels in as many minutes, and he gulped it down quickly. He knew Angel would be pissed over the way he left, but that couldn’t be helped now. He just hoped the other man wouldn’t mind putting him up for a bit because he just wasn’t ready to make the trip to Sunnydale.

Not now, not yet.


***

Angel felt him the moment he arrived in town. At first, it was so unfamiliar, it took a moment to place what the feeling was, but then a broad smile briefly flickered over his lips. His boy was back.

A small part of him had been wondering if Spike was even still alive, but surely he would have felt it if he had passed. So it was with great relief, and more than a bit of anger, that he looked up to see a head of now honey-blonde hair and those burning blue eyes, wary eyes.

He was out of his chair and holding the startled younger vampire against the wall before he even realized that Angelus was angry enough to take control. Not that his demon was any angrier than he was. Snarling down into Spike’s face, he thumped the blonde’s hard head against the wall a few times, then hauled him into his arms and hugged him tightly.

“You damned idiot, I thought you were dead!”

A dark eyebrow raised and Spike opened his mouth, but Angel glared and he shut it. “Don’t even go there, boy, you know what I meant.”

“Worried bout me, Peaches? Touched,” he smirked. His eyes, though, his eyes were filled with a kind of confused relief. Did he really think Angel wouldn’t worry? Wouldn’t care?

Stupid childe.

In answer, he just hugged Spike against his chest again and breathed deeply, the scent of family soothing Angelus and reassuring himself that his childe was still around. Stupid, stupid boy.

Pulling back, he grabbed him by the shoulders and shook him harshly, opening his mouth to yell at him some more, when Spike’s eyes went over his shoulder and widened, mouth gaping. Frowning, Angel looked backwards and saw Buffy staring at them with tears in her eyes and he smiled softly at his mate, knowing how badly she had felt about Spike and Xander after seeing Spike break down over the boy.

Feeling Spike move under his hands, he loosened his grip and turned back to the blonde vampire, just in time to see Spike jerk away and head for the door.

“Spike?” he heard Buffy ask in a hushed voice and he could hear the suppressed tears in it. Spike stopped, his back to them, shoulders hunched and muscles quivering.

***

Not fair, not fair, not fair!

He had sensed her and for some odd moment, he had thought Angel was actually living with Dru, but even before he looked up into her eyes, he had known who it would be standing there, smelling of his sire and family. Buffy.

The unfairness of it almost brought him to his knees and it was all he could do to stand there and not scream in agony. Angel had gotten to turn his Slayer, a Slayer for fuck’s sake, and his boy was rotting in the ground. They had forever and all he had were memories and dust, not even the promise of seeing him again in the afterlife because there was no chance Xander was in Hell and there was even less of a chance that he was going to Heaven.

If it hadn’t been for the raw pain in her voice, he would have walked out the door and kept walking until the sun rose. At the feel of Angel’s hand on his shoulder, he stiffened even more, every muscle quivering with the need to escape.

“I’m so sorry, Spike, I hadn’t wanted you to find out like this. We just couldn’t find you.” He heard the apology and sympathy in his sire’s voice and sighed shakily, staring blankly at the carpet. A single tear full of bitterness, envy and broken dreams slid down his face and he raised a shaking hand to wipe it away quickly, before straightening his shoulders and turning to stare at his new ‘sister’.

She hadn’t been made long after he had left, a year or two maybe, and was still the beautiful girl he remembered. Her bottom lip quivered as she stared back at him and he hesitated a brief moment, flashes of bitter arguments and a choking hate going though his mind, before he opened his arms to her and let go of the past.

He had his arms full of soft woman and golden hair before he had even blinked and he bent his head to breathe in the traces of sun still left in her silken locks as she wrapped her arms fiercely around him, murmuring something. It took a moment before he got over the distraction of Buffy actually hugging him before he realized what she was sobbing into his shirt.

“Sorry, sorry, sorry, we didn’t know, all my fault, never should have met him, wouldn’t have happened if he hadn’t met me, God, I’m so sorry…” she kept repeating it over and over as he stood stunned, feeling the same pain and anguish inside of him radiating from the small ex-Slayer in his arms.

Awkwardly patting her back, he looked with wide eyes at his sire, asking for some help. Angel just stood there with a sad smile on his face, so Spike had to wait for the storm to recede, just stroking her back. All of his past hate and anger towards her slipped away with every tear from her eyes, every choked apology.

Later, when they were all sitting on the large couch in front of the tv, Buffy on Angel’s lap and Spike curled up facing them, they talked. Mostly they asked about where he had been, what he had been up to. It was awkward and full of silent pauses when someone stumbled and brought up something painful, but it was nice to talk to people he had known for so long after years of strangers.

They didn’t say much about what had been going on around there or Sunnydale and he didn’t want to ask. Eventually, Buffy’s eyes started drooping and Angel told her softly to go on up to bed and he would get Spike situated for the day. With a last kiss pressed to Spike’s cheek, she smiled and told him goodnight.

Shaking his head at the sight of Buffy the vampire, he watched them kiss and whisper softly about something, eyes flickering to him and back. Slipping a pack of fags from his pocket, he shook one out and lit it as Angel reassured Buffy about something and gave her one last smile, saying he would be up in a minute.

There was silence for a few minutes after she disappeared upstairs, Angel staring at the floor, brow furrowed as if he was debating something in his head. Spike was about to roll his eyes and make some comment about brooding, when those dark eyes came up and looked into his.

He could tell his sire was about to say something deep and important and his mind raced to put it off, he didn’t want to deal with anything else that night. He was tired and emotionally drained, just wanted to sleep.

“So, think ya could put me up a few days, Peaches?” he asked, and the other man just nodded, opening his mouth and Spike sighed, knowing it hadn’t worked.

“Spike…” he started, then growled softly and ran his hands through his hair. Looking down, then back up at Spike again, he said, “You can stay as long as you like…but first, you need to go to Sunnydale. First thing tomorrow. Dawn and Willow deserve to know you’re alive and okay, and to hear it from you, see you.”

Blue eyes blinking, Spike just stared a minute, before smirking and shaking his head. “I’m not that hard up, wanker. I can find a place to stay on me own.” He stood up, his mind screaming at the very mention of Sunnydale, too soon, too soon, but a strong hand gripped his arm and held him in place before he could walk out.

“Please, Spike. I can’t imagine how badly it has to hurt to even think about going back there, but I really think it would help. I might be wrong and it might make it worse, but you have to face it. I wish I could do it for you or go with you, childe, but it’s something you have to do on your own.”

Heart aching, chest hurting, mind spinning with everything that had gone on that night, Spike clenched his teeth and closed his eyes, nodding slowly. He didn’t want to, but his sire was right, the bastard. It was time, and he had to face it.

---

The next night, after a surprisingly tight embrace from his sire and a sad-eyed goodbye from Buffy, he took one of Angel’s cars and headed towards Sunnydale.