Unacceptable Losses

"Fine. Satisfied?" Xander snatched at the floating notepad and pen and quickly scrawled a message. S – Doing Laundry. X He slammed the note and pen down on the coffee table with ill grace.

The front door unlatched, permitting him to grab the garbage bag filled with dirty clothes and stalk out the door, headed for the communal laundry room in the building.

"Stupid bossy ghosts," he grumbled. After waking up in bed with Spike, feeling like his world had shifted in the wake of the prior night's events, Xander had to get out of the apartment. Laundry promised some space to try to regain his balance and quietly freak out about what would happen next. To his relief, he did not have to contend with any of his neighbors for washer rights, and he quickly loaded the clothes he had collected into two washers. Dark and light were good enough categories as far as he was concerned. He used the change machine to get quarters and winced at the crash of coins down the metal chute. Quarters in hand, he resorted to eeny-meeny-miney-moe to decide whether to go with All, Tide or Surf from the supply dispenser. Moe. Tide it was. He dumped the soap into the machines and started them, leaving no further distractions from the maelstrom of emotions that had plagued him since he awoke next to Spike, his...what? Owner? Master?

"Fuck," he swore with more resignation than passion. He settled into an unstable plastic chair that wobbled slightly due to a missing foot. Resting his clasped hands on his knees, he bowed his head and tried to block out everything except the steady thump of the washers' dueling rhythms.

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

Spike glanced at the tense line of Xander's back as the man resolutely stared out the passenger window. He had awoken in the late afternoon to the smell of freshly washed clothes and the quiet slide of drawers being opened and closed. Beyond the minimal conversation needed to determine who got the shower first, Xander had been nearly silent. Hiding, Spike recognized, in a pseudo-submission that had him going where Spike directed and answering direct questions with the fewest number of words possible. But through it all, the confusion of unhappiness coupled with fear and anger thrummed through the man's scent and tensed body. Spike curled his hands more tightly around the steering wheel and yanked the car through the left turn that brought them in front of the Hyperion. He screeched to a halt, shaking off his unease over Xander's demeanor as he prepared himself to face Fred or Illyria, whichever she might be following Riveda's actions.

"So, um, we get out now?" Xander stammered when Spike seemed inclined to sit staring at the hotel.

"Yeah," Spike shoved the door open and strode toward the front doors, leaving Xander to scramble after him.

"Spike," Dawn looked up from her place at the lobby counter, which was covered with the same books that they had spent searching through for the last few days. "How's Xander?"

"'S fine, ‘Bit."

"Are you really?" Dawn asked as Xander joined them several steps behind the vampire. "Okay, I mean? Really?"

Her worried look brought a rush of shame over him, but he fought to smile as he answered. "Sore, tired, and weirdly less freaked than I should be after being mostly dead and trussed up like a prize hog at the state fair. What d'ya suppose that says about my life?" He managed not to wince as the joke fell flat in the silent lobby.

"Good. I mean, I'm glad. That you're okay." Dawn hesitated in approaching him, and that hesitation tore at his heart a little bit more. God, why had he ever believed that he could face her again?

"Where's Fred?"

Dawn startled at the abrupt question, but switched her focus to the pacing vampire. "She's upstairs. Angel's been with her all night." She reached out to put a comforting hand on his arm. "She's still Fred. She, well, she hasn't really woken up again, not for long anyway, but she's still Fred. Not Illyria."

Spike nodded once and glanced up the stairs. "Gonna go up."

Xander's desperation rose as Spike stomped up the stairs and out of sight, leaving him alone with Dawn.

"I think we need to talk." Dawn's somber regard twisted the knots in his gut tighter. He nodded shakily and followed her to the small break room off the lobby. He settled into one of the metal folding chairs at the round table in the center of the room, watching Dawn quietly fix two cups of instant cocoa and set one in front of him before she sat down across from him.

"Tell me about the club."

"Huh?" He blinked, surprised both by the bluntness of the question and the fact that she didn't start with a lecture about wandering off on his own and needing rescue again.

"That's where you went last time we couldn't find you, too. Isn't it."

Xander watched her hands curl around the warm mug, concentrated on the pink nail polish and short slay-servicable nails.

"Xander, talk to me."

"No." He struggled to his feet, needing an elsewhere to be. Now. He managed only a few steps toward the door before Dawn's hand on his arm stopped him.

"Stop running away from us." Concern mixed with frustration in her voice held him still. He pulled in a deep breath and returned to the table.

"What do you want to know?" He held back a flinch at the bitterness that laced the comment.

"Did you go there to hurt somebody or have somebody hurt you?"

"I..." He could feel the blush blossoming up his neck to his cheeks at her neutral Watcher tone. "It doesn't matter. I'm not going back."

"It does matter, Xander. I'm not going to sit here and watch you destroy yourself, but I can't help if I don't understand what's going on. So tell me. Did you go there to hurt somebody or to have somebody hurt you?"

"I never said that I wanted help." He ran his hands through his hair in frustration. "You're the one who dragged me here and handed me off to Spike."

"To hurt or to be hurt?" Dawn pinned him with sympathetic but implacable eyes.

"I just...I needed..." He closed his eyes. "I needed to get away from the sympathy and everyone being so fucking nice to me. I needed to be hurt." He risked meeting her eyes.

"Is that what you wanted us to do? Hurt you? Have Faith beat you up maybe? No, wait. You took care of that in that in training sessions, and she let you manipulate her into it. How do think it made her feel being the one who had to punish you?"

"I didn't..."

"Yes, you did. You made her do it, and I know she won't say anything to you about it, but maybe if you just trusted us a little, told us what you were doing, she wouldn't have had to feel like she had to be the bad guy again."

"What do you want me to say, Dawnie? I screwed up. But I was trying not to let it touch you guys. I was trying to take care of it on my own, but it all went to hell."

"But Xander, that's just it. You don't have to take of it, of you, on your own. You have people around who love you, people who want to help you."

"Right," he snorted, "So I should have asked Willow to take a flogger to my back or maybe handed you a bullwhip? You couldn't help me, and you shouldn't have to." He wrapped his arms around his chest, gripping his biceps to keep himself from shaking apart due to the anger that thrummed through him.

Dawn took a deep breath and released it slowly. "What about Spike?"

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

Spike knocked quietly before opening the door. If it had been anyone's room but Fred's, he probably wouldn't have bothered, but the only way he had to show respect for her was using the manners he professed not to have.

"C'mon in," Faith spoke in a loud whisper. "She's asleep again, I think. Hard to tell with you non-breathing types."

Spike shrugged off his coat and laid it across the back of an overstuffed chair in the corner of the room before advancing toward the bed. Faith dropped her magazine, got up from the hardback chair that functioned as a vigil position and stretched with a popping of vertebrae.

"Angel's got us on a rotating watch, but I figure since you're here, I'm off the clock. Maybe I can get a workout in before the next time I pull Fred watch. Man's got no idea what hardback chairs do to humans."

"Actually, he probably knows more about the human body than you ever want to hear about."

"And on that note, I'm outa here." At Spike's distracted nod, she continued. "I'm not sure how much she remembers. I think Angel talked to her some last night, but..." she shrugged.

"Got it."

"Just yell if you need anything. Somebody'll come running." She left, quietly closing the door behind her.

Spike settled awkwardly into the chair, staring at the still form on the bed. Fred's hair lay in tangles on the pillow and her lack of breath or heartbeat disconcerted him. It probably had all to do with Illyria burning out her human body, but it just didn't feel right to see her lying as if dead. His shifting in the chair caused a loud creak. Fred's eyes flew open. She blinked several times and turned her head to fix Spike with her gaze.

"Spike," her mouth curled into a smile.

"Fred." Spike forced the name past the lump in his throat. He reached out a hand to stroke her cheek. "Good to have you back, pet."

She gave a long blink, and when she opened her eyes, her expression turned serious.

"I need your help."

"Something hurt?" He reached out with his senses, resenting again the inhumanity that being possessed by Illyria had left her with.

"No, it's not that. I mean, I feel weird and all because with the not breathing and no heartbeat or anything, but that's not..." She bit her lip. "I need to ask you to do something."

"Sounds serious," he strove for teasing, but neither of them smiled.

"It's Illyria. It's still in me. Whatever happened that brought me back, it didn't get rid of Illyria."

"Figured that, pet. But you're here now, and we're not letting you go again." His heart burned in remembered agony of the decision made below the earth so very far away.

"No," she shook her head, "you don't understand. Illyria is still in me. I can feel it. There isn't any way to get rid of it. We both know that."

Spike shook his head and sat back as though to withdraw himself from her words.

"I only have bits and pieces, memories of what happened. I think...I think Illyria pulled me back together whenever she shifted to be me, for you guys, for my parents, for W-Wes." Her eyes filled with tears. "She was strong enough to kill me before Spike. This time she won't leave anything of me. She can't afford to. I need you to end it now, while she's still too far away to stop you. I need you to kill me."

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

"What about Spike?"

"Should he have to be the one to hurt you?" The edge in her voice cut at him.

Xander's breath hitched. No way she could know. He stared at the gentle swirls of steam coming from the mug in front of him.

"Xander, if you," she took a deep breath before continuing, "if you need this, I mean, there's got to be a way we can help you. You know? It's what we do, right? Helping people R us or is us or something. We really need a better slogan."

He offered a weak grin before sighing. "I'm not asking him to do anything."

"You're not asking anyone for anything, Xander. That's part of the problem!" She glared.

He stood. No way in hell was he continuing this conversation.

"Okay, okay. I'll back off." Her chair rocked back on two legs as she scrambled after him. She grasped his arm urgently.

"Just...I can't keep having this conversation with you, Dawnie. I know that you're worried about me. Message received. Can we please talk about something else." He hated the pleading note in his voice, but couldn't seem to prevent it.

"Yeah, okay, just don't go, alright?"

Her panic tore at his heart, and he nodded wearily and returned to the table.

"Good. That's good. Um, so, research?" The false brightness of her voice belied the worry in her eyes, but at least the subject was officially changed.

"For once, I'm here to say books are good. What are we looking for?"

"Angel wants us to find anything about Illyria. I think he wants to find a way to get her out of Fred."

"Is that even possible?" He took a gulp of the rapidly cooling cocoa, hoping it would help unknot his stomach.

"I don't know." Her troubled expression returned, albeit with a different focus. "He's kinda, um, intense about it."

Xander shook his head and forced enthusiasm he couldn't feel. "Book me, Watcher girl."

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

"No."

"Spike, please, I need someone strong."

"You talked to Angel about this?" He glared at her.

"You know he wouldn't listen. I...the things he said last night...he just wants to have me back. He wouldn't believe that there's no way to get rid of Illyria."

"You didn't ask him," he stated flatly.

"No. I didn't ask him. He kept reassuring me that he would be able to save me from Illyria this time."

"He didn't last time. Had the chance, didn't we. But we let you go." Spike stood and reached for his coat, unsure where he was going, but determined not to give in to her damning request.

"And all I'm asking you is to let me go again." She slammed her hand weakly on the mattress. "I can't do this by myself! I don't have long. I can feel it. Please, I don't want to go through it again...the pain...feeling myself get hollowed out and lost...so very lost." Tears leaked down her cheeks.

"Fred," he whispered helplessly.

"I told Wesley, last time, when I was trying to find a way to stop it, I told him that I was better than this...better than being taken out by some killer virus, well, I thought it was a virus at the time, but of course it wasn't a nice simple virus but a hell god who wants to take over the world, and I'm not going to let it!"

"Angel'll find another way," Spike protested, "S'what he does." He knew neither of them believed that, however, and the truth of her situation hung heavy between them.

"He won't. If you try to take Illyria out of me, I'll die anyway. It's her essence that's holding this form together. I'm dead, Spike. Let me die."

Spike sunk back into the chair next to the bed, took her hand, and felt himself take one step closer to damnation. "Okay, luv."