Cause and Effect

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Chapter Twenty
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William lay back down contentedly, watching as Xander headed out of the room. He belonged! He grinned. It was a wonderful feeling. Delicious tremors slid through his body at the remembered feeling of his Sire's lips at his throat, drawing the life-giving blood from him -- claiming him. The blurry voices, the half-remembered memories, were wrong. He *did* have a place. He was more than trash.

His grin widened until he knew he looked ridiculous, and he didn't care. He pushed aside the tiny little voice that said there was something not quite normal about a human sire. He couldn't remember when he'd felt happier, more comforted. Of course, that was pretty much a given; he *still* didn't remember much at all. But, now, he didn't even care overly much about that.

The smile turned into a smirk; he could hear Xander humming from the bathroom. *He'd* done that! *He'd* made Xander that happy. It was a good feeling.

Suddenly, however; a tremor of a different sort skittered down his spine. Fear, not a new feeling certainly, hovered around the edges of his happiness. He'd have to watch out, be careful. He knew that. He had to keep Spike buried, keep that voice from inciting him to things he *knew* were bad, wrong. He hadn't heard anything from that insidious little voice since he had awoke here in Xander's apartment, but he didn't believe he'd heard the last of it. That was the trap.

That little voice had fooled him before.

He frowned. **It has? When?**

Not wanting to, but not daring not to, William searched the fragments of memories that teased the edges of his thoughts. He knew if he didn't remember how it had tricked him before, he'd be vulnerable to it again, and *that* was to be avoided at all costs.

Shadowed images darted behind his eyes, as if he could actually see them, but he couldn't. They never fully formed, remaining dark, unfocused, amorphous, and try as he might, he couldn't shed light on them. Each time he got close, fear nearly overwhelmed him, tying his stomach in knots and loosing nausea that threatened to shatter is meager control.

The sound of the toilet flushing, followed immediately by water running, jerked William out of the vicious, seemingly useless, circle they were trapped in, reminding him what came next. Xander was going to remove the bandages. The thought excited him as much as it terrified him.

Would he be able to see? Or was there damage severe enough that even a vampire couldn't heal from?

Another image rose up in his mind, this time accompanied not with terror, but with hopelessness. He saw wheels. He couldn't move. Someone, a man, stood behind him, taunting him. He remembered rage. He remembered wanting to reach out and put his hands around his tormentor's neck. He remembered a woman's soft, silly laughter only as it sparkled through his mind.

**Who?**

As quickly as the images, sounds, and feelings came, they left, leaving him as adrift as he'd been only moments before. Shying away from that, he cocked his head to listen. He could still hear Xander moving around. What could *possibly* be taking him so long?

Frustrated, he bolted up, throwing the covers off, and then, thinking better of moving quickly, he eased himself out of bed. He *couldn't* stay there another moment. He *had* to know.

Despite his precautions, the room spun and he wobbled, his balance precarious at best. One hand out, his fingertips pressing against the wall next to the bed, barely managing to stay on his feet, William swallowed rapidly again and again, fighting against the sudden rise in nausea. He steadfastly waited it out, determined to meet Xander at least half-way.

He took one unsteady step, not certain his legs would hold him up. Frowning angrily at himself, he didn't understand why he was so weak all of a sudden. He'd managed better yesterday!

He took another, and suddenly the world around him spun. He could feel it. He dropped to his knees. Try as he might, he couldn't hold on. His awareness faded away to nothing. . . .

**

Everything was black, and for a brief moment, Spike felt panic surge through him. Then, pressing little details worked their way through to him. The pain caught his full attention first. What had he done? Fought a Rogarsh demon single handedly? His skin was tender. It tingled as if it was all new. He shuddered briefly, his mind automatically flashing mental images of what might cause *that* feeling -- despite the fact that he couldn't remember it happening. Immediately, resolutely, he turned his mind away from *that* path, continuing his mental assessment. Deep inside, from head to toe was a low-key ache that he couldn't ascribe to any specific wound. It just hurt, though he had certainly felt worse -- after Glory had finished with him sprang immediately to mind.

He groaned quietly, even his retracted fangs ached with an unholy fire that he couldn't remember feeling there *ever* before. But when he tried to remember what had brought him to this point, he came up with a complete blank.

The constriction around his face came next. He reached up a hand and was surprised to find cloth wrapped around most of his face. His first instinct to rip off the blinding material, he denied it. The vague ache and incredible itching of his eyes told him they too had been injured, which meant the bandage was probably there for a reason.

Finally satisfied he'd catalogued all his aches and pains, happily finding that none of it seemed bad enough that he wouldn't heal relatively soon, he turned his attention outward. Where was he?

It took him only seconds more to put the sounds and smells together. He was at Harris' apartment. **Odd, that,** he thought. Despite the strange friendship that had developed between the two of them over the past six months, he'd rarely been here, more often Xander came to his crypt looking for him, than the other way around.

His frown deepened. He must have been hurt badly for them to bring him here. "Bloody hell!" he exclaimed, frustrated at simply not knowing.

A loud crash jerked his attention toward what he knew was the bathroom door.

"What did you drop this time, Harris," he asked sarcastically, his tone at once biting and fondly exasperated. But something about it didn't feel right. His gut twisted. He frowned in response. **What the bloody hell?**

"Spike?!" Xander squeaked.

Behind the bandage, Spike blinked at the utter shock he felt shoot through the boy, his eyelids brushing irritatingly against the cloth. A flush, feeling amazingly like being hit by lightening, shot through his body in a double wave.

**Damn!** he thought irrelevantly. **I must have been feeding damn well lately to feel *that*! Why can't I *remember*?**

"Who were you expecting, Angel?" he snapped, renewed fear and confusion making him defensive. He wanted to know what was going on here, and he wanted to know NOW.

"Okay, what the--"

The bedroom door flew open, sending Spike into a backward jump. Unfortunately, the bed was right behind him. He tripped and fell, landing sprawled across the bed in an ignominiously heap.

"Bloody fucking hell!" Spike exploded, immediately jumping back up, ignoring the pain it caused him, ignoring the rush of dizziness that swirled around him. That wasn't important right now. "What the hell are you doing here, Peaches?"

**Wait!!**

He could feel himself begin to pant. His chest tightened in a band constricting over his unbeating heart. He couldn't breath. He took in air faster. He couldn't get enough. Never mind that his brain tried to tell him he didn't need it; he *needed* to breathe, and he couldn't.

Everything felt wrong. He could smell Angel, but he didn't smell . . . no, it wasn't his smell that was off, it was something else. There was something . . . different. And Xander, he didn't *feel* right either. He almost dropped to his knees. It was only sheer force of will that kept him upright -- that and the sudden helping hands he felt holding him.

"It's okay, Spike," Xander said softly.

"Like hell it is!" Spike snapped angrily, wanting nothing more than to jerk himself out of their tight grips, but his body wouldn't cooperate; it was too busy trying to draw in air he shouldn't need. "Nothing's right! Nothing feels right!" he shouted.

"We can explain that, Spike," Angel said just as softly as Xander.

It was unnerving! "Don't *do* that, Angel!" he hissed angrily.

"Do what?" Angel asked, perplexed.

"Be nice like that!" Spike snapped back. "It's . . . it's--" -- How he *hated* sounding like the Scoobies, but. . . . -- "Ewww!"

On his other side, Xander snickered.

"Oh, laugh it up, Xapper!"

"Okay," Xander retorted, still sounding far too amused for Spike's comfort.

"Xander!" Angel admonished.

"What?"

"Don't be rude."

Spike snorted. "He's always rude," Spike said. "It's why I like him."

Dead silence met that quiet proclamation.

"What? I'm not allowed to like someone?" he asked, glaring ineffectually behind the bandage.

"Of course not, Spike," Xander assured him, his tone oddly patronizing as he continued. "You have my permission to like anyone you want to."

Spike snapped his head around to stare at Xander, momentarily forgetting there was a rather serious impediment to that maneuver. "Right! Like I need *that*, Harris."

"Xander!" Angel snapped. "What the hell do you think you're doing?"

Spike could almost feel the eye roll that responded to *that* stupid question.

"Angel? Is Spike in a blind panic anymore?" Xander asked, sarcasm fairly dripping off his voice. "No?" he continued, answering his own, somewhat rhetorical, question. "Well, blind still, yeah, but not panicking."

"I don't panic," Spike stated, feeling the need to put his own two cents worth in.

Angel gasped, disbelief rolling off the older vampire in waves. "I can't believe you *said* that, Xander."

Spike felt a head shake from Xander, and knew what was coming. He waited for it.

"Angel," Xander replied slowly, sounding ominously like an adult talking to a particularly slow child. "Spike knows damn well any injury he has is *temp . o . rar . y*. If we treat him like a fragile doll, he's gonna start thinking something is *seriously* wrong with him."

"Oh," Angel replied, somewhat subdued.

Spike smirked. It wasn't often he got to see -- figuratively speaking -- someone get one over on Angel.

//Like, DUH!?// resounded through his mind, sounding suspiciously like Xander.

Spike's stomach flipped, and he'd could *swear* he felt his heart thump once deep within his chest. "O--" His voice cracked and he cleared his throat, trying again. "Okay, someone start explaining now," he demanded, forcing back the panic that threatened once again. "If you don't, that earlier scene is gonna look like Mary's fuckin' lamb!"

"First thing," Xander said quickly, "is that there *is* a logical explanation."

//Sure there is!//

"So, no worries there."

Spike jerked out of Angel's grasp, turning and grabbing hold of both Xander's arms by feel alone. "Why are you lying to me, Xander?"

"He's not, Spike," Angel said.

Spike ignored him, something he didn't quite understand barely keeping him from shaking Xander so hard his teeth rattled while he waited for Xander to answer.

"You're right, Spike. I'm sorry. No more sugar coating."

"Sugar coating?" Spike echoed faintly. What the hell was bad enough that Xander -- *XANDER* -- felt the need to sugar coat it for him? Xander didn't soften *anything*. He needed to sit down.

"Sit down, and I promise, full answers to *all* your questions -- at least all of them we actually *have* answers to."

"I won't sit down until--"

" *Sit*!" Xander ordered, guiding Spike two steps backward.

Spike sat, amazement coursing through him that he'd actually *obeyed*.

"Okay, thank you," Xander said. "Now, do you want answers first, or do you want the bandages removed?"

"Answers," Spike replied immediately. "No, wait," he contradicted, suddenly not so sure he wanted answers; he wasn't altogether certain he'd like what he was going to hear. "The bandages."

"Okay," Xander agreed. "Just a moment while I pick up the med-kit."

"That's what you dropped?"

"Yeah, that's what I dropped," Xander admitted, chuckling as he moved away.

It took only moments, Spike knew, for Xander to return, but it felt like forever. Now that he'd decided to get them off, he wanted it done now. He resisted the urge to simply tear them off, barely, waiting semi-patiently for Xander to do it.

"Angel," Xander said as he slowly began unwrapping the cloth, "open the door and turn out the light."

Spike half sighed, half snorted. "Get on with it!"

Xander laughed. "Be patient, Spike. I may not," he began, then interrupted himself, "Yeah, I know, patience *isn't* your best virtue. Do it anyway."

Spike growled. "You're pushing your luck, Harris."

Xander laughed again. "That's what I do."

Spike was tempted to roll his eyes, but the brief stab of pain, and a strong desire not to delay the removal restrained him.

"Okay," he continued, abruptly switching topics as Spike heard Angel return. "Now, I want you to close your eyes."

"Why would I want to do that? You're takin' the damn bandage off to see if I can If If my eyes are closed--"

"Do it!"

Spike closed his eyes, tempted to reopen them as soon as he had. This was just getting too strange. "The explanations had *better* be good ones," he griped just before he felt Xander's touch against the remaining cloth patches over his eyes.

"Oh, they're doozies," Xander admitted, pulling the last bits free. "Okay, now, when I say, I want you to slowly -- *slowly* -- open your eyes. It's pretty dark in here, to me anyway, but. . . ." his voice trailed off.

Spike forced himself to be patient. He supposed if Xander wanted to play doctor, he could-- Spike stopped *that* line of thought before it got fully started, a surprising jolt of arousal shooting through him as his mind descended into the gutter. The last thing he needed was to scare the poor boy off by suddenly getting hard.

"Okay, open them."

Spike did, slowly easing his eyes half open, glad then, that he'd listened to Xander's instructions. Light painfully stabbed his eyes, and he immediately slammed them closed.

"What's wrong?" Xander asked, worry and fear making his words sharp.

"Bright," Spike replied.

"Angel, close the door. The moonlight will have to be enough, I guess."

As soon as he heard the door shut, Spike once again opened his eyes. This time, the light wasn't so bad. It *was* however, surprisingly bright. A shiver ran through him as he realized with sudden clarity that vampire enhanced sight was *not* enough to explain why everything seemed so bright.

How long had the bandages been on? How long had he been out? Why the bloody hell couldn't he *remember* what happened to cause it in the first place?

Everything was fuzzy, a curious shade of grays and whites, tinted only barely with the red of Xander's body heat. He blinked, concentrating on his eyesight, rather than his disturbing lack of knowledge.

"Well?" Xander asked impatiently.

"Everything's all blurry, but I can see vague shapes, and *lots* of light."

"Alright!" Xander whooped.

Startled, Spike jumped, then frowned. Confused, considering he didn't think it was anything to crow about, Spike squinted toward the Xander shaped fuzz. "That's good?!" he asked incredulously.

"That's fantastic!" Xander replied smugly.

"I think it's time for the explanations now, Xander," Angel said softly. "It will make more sense then."

The fuzzy shape of Xander nodded.

TBC
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