Turnabout

Angel took up a defensive stance with arms crossed over his chest as he watched Gunn bang on the motel room door. Their drive down had been marked with increasingly uncomfortable silence. The silence remained unbroken until they pulled into the parking lot and Angel gave a final warning to remain on guard around Spike. Now standing outside the door, unsure of what would greet them, Angel struggled to clamp down on conflicting emotions. He could scent his childe and the missing Scooby in the room, heard the murmurs of their voices. As Spike had before him, Angel nearly reeled from the pain, fear, and despair that bled from the room. At the same time, he caught another faint familiar scent that tugged at memory but couldn't be placed.

Gunn alternately watched the door and shot glances at Angel, noting the closed posture and clenched jaw. At the same time, he tried to be aware of any threat that might approach. Coming to pick up a vampire he didn't know and acting as protection for that vampire didn't sit well. He struggled against flashbacks to the disastrous attempt to work with Harmony when she had arrived in LA a few years back, and repressed the sour thought that Sunnydale vamps seemed to have a no-stake policy that didn't apply to other demons. However, he trusted Angel and trusted even more in the fact that clearly Angel wasn't just going to welcome Spike with open arms but remain on guard.

The door to the room cracked open, and the slim vampire slipped out. The three men gazed at one another until Spike broke the stillness by pulling out and lighting a cigarette.

"Spike."

"Peaches."

Gunn watched the two demons eye one another warily, and chose to keep his mouth shut on the assumption that if getting caught in the middle of an uneasy family reunion was unpleasant in the human world, stepping into a vampire family reunion might just provide a glimpse into Hell.

"You're alive," Angel offered lamely.

"Well, not really, mate. But then, neither are you." Unsettled by the closeness of his Sire, Spike settled for the familiarity of smirking.

"You know what I mean," Angel ground out. "What happened?"

"Dunno. Big fight. Amulet pulling the sunlight through me. Pfft. Vampire melts into dust."

"And then you just showed up here?" Despite the pull of his childe's blood, Angel found irritation overcoming any sense of connection to the younger vampire.

"No," Spike turned to look out over the parking lot. "Dug m'way out from under Sunnyhell. Just sorta ended up here. Stayed when I found the whelp."

Spike tossed the cigarette butt to the ground. "So who's the muscle?" He waved a hand carelessly toward Gunn.

"This is my associate, Charles Gunn."

"Nice ta meet you, Chuck."

"Gunn," the dark man corrected coolly. "Can't say you're exactly what I expected."

"How's that, mate?"

"Considerin' your rep an' all, I guess I figured you be a bit bigger." Gunn shrugged.

Before he could register the vampire's movement, Gunn found himself pressed up against the motel wall with Spike's arm across the back of his neck.

"What is it they say? Size don't matter?" He asked conversationally.

"Spike. Enough," Angel's tone brooked no argument. "I see the soul hasn't improved your social skills any."

Spike nonchalantly let loose his grip on the larger man's neck. "Not really the brooding type, pet. You do enough of that for all of us."

"That wasn't exactly what I meant." Angel rolled his eyes at the standard jab.

"Well, now that we've done the small talk, can we see about gettin' out of here?" Gunn spoke in an even tone, battening down his anger at having been so easily bested. So much for staying on his guard.

"Right," Spike rubbed his hands together. "I've got the boy all packed up and ready to go."

"Spike, why are we taking Xander back with us? More to the point, why are you taking Xander anywhere?" Angel interrupted. He had been on the receiving end of Xander's dislike for vampires long enough to know that the boy wasn't likely to be jumping at the idea of returning to LA with two of them.

"I told you, I'm not leavin' him here. I've toim tim the same. The longer we stand around here discussin' it, the more likely we're gonna have problems leavin." Spike paced. He didn't want to discuss Xander's problems with Angel before they gim aim away from the motel. He didn't doubt that his Sire would dislike the boy's activities as much as he did, but he didn't know if that would encourage the older vampire to help or hinder his rescue attempts.

"He needs to get away from here. Any more than that he'll have to tell you himself. Trust me." Spike stopped to stare at Angel.

Angel gazed back. Trusting in his childe was exactly the thing he didn't know if he could do. Their last encounter in LA had been characterized by manacles and hot pokers, and as much as he wanted to, he didn't know this souled version of the blonde vampire. All his fantasies about finding a companion who might understand him, might ease the loneliness created by his singular existence as souled demon, became jumbled in the face of the real thing.

Spike finally rolled his eyes and snorted at the non-committal silence. "Slayer trusted me. That oughta be good enough." He turned his back and put his hand on the door handle, but before opening it, made one more low comment.

"No discussions with the boy, and no comments about him either. All we're gonna do is take `im to the car and leave. Got it?"

"Yeah," Angel sighed.

"Got it," Gunn agreed warily.


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Xander lay on the bed, staring at the ceiling. Spike had slipped out the door to talk to whoever was knocking rather than letting them in. He could hear muffled voices through the wood door, but he didn't want to make out the conversation. Apparently he no longer any any say in his own life. He snorted as that bitter thought flitted by. Not like he'd hadn't already given up any say well before Spike showed up. Tears pricked as waves of powerlessness and despair crashed over him. Spike was trying to help, but Xander knew that there was no help. It was too late and had been too late for a long time. More than his overwhelming yearning for the high that came from the vampires' bites, he knew there was no way that Mistress Viola would let him go. Spike had seen the bites and recognized what they meant, but he didn't have the whole story, and Xander knew he was going to have to tell him. He might lose Spike's friendship, but at least the vampire wouldn't get himself killed trying to play soul-savior. Xander groaned. How had it all gotten so complicated?

Leaving Los Angeles within a week after the great Sunnydale `earthquake' had concerned his friends, but they accepted that Xander needed out and away from all things Hellmouth-y for a while. The others had destinies that they felt drawn to, but he was just tired, and he accepted that they saw him as one of the casualties now, a veteran less fit for battle than ever. Regular joe-guy needed to find his way in the normal world where the things that go bump in the night were no longer his responsibility. So when he left one night without any more formal goodbye than a note, no one was particularly surprised. He decided that he didn't want to answer questions about where he would be going or how they could stay in touch. Instead he promised that he would find them through Angel Investigations later. He had no idea when `later' would be exactly and he had begun to think that it would never come. But at the time, he made the vague promise and caught a bus going in the direction of what used to be Sunnydale. He continued to find himself drawn back even though he knew his home no longer existed. He couldn't let go, and so when the got got to the town nearest Sunnydale, he got off and stopped.

Earl's NiteLife Motel happened to be across the street from the bus stop, so Xander hadn't questioned fate. He immediately booked a room, even as he recognized the clientele tended toward the non-human. But he took that as fate as well—-demon-magnet Harris living up to his reputation. The first month he spent drinking his days away in the bar under Margie's careful eye. She made sure he stumbled back to the right room after closing and never pressed to hear the reasons behind the fear and anger that lay in the depths of his eye. After the first two months, the money he had from car and rental insurance policies began to run low, and Margie suggested that he appeal to Earl for the handyman job that had gone unfilled since their last guy had taken off in the wake of the rumors about thousands of new slayers in the world. A five minute conversation sealed the deal, and Xander became the motel's plumber, carpenter, and electrician. He spent less time in the bar, though he still ended every evening there, gradually coming to talk more with Margie if not the other patrons.

On the one hundredth day after the demise of Sunnydale, Xander borrowed Earl's truck and headed toward the desolate crater in the earth that marked his former home. He stopped at a florist on the way out of town, buying white gerbera daisies for Tara, irises for Joyce, and a combination of forget-me-nots and red roses for Anya. For Jesse, Spike and himself, he splurged and bought a bottle of Jack Daniels and a pack of Marlboros. Parking at the edge of the crater, he pulled out the flowers and bottle and his car blanket and carefully picked his way down through the rubble toward the center of the crater. He knew he would never find the exact site of the high school, the cemetery, the house on Revello Drive or his apartment, so he just walked until it felt right to stop. Dust raised by his steps covered his jeans nearly to the knee and he deliberately turned his thoughts away from the composition of that dust. He spread the blanket on the ground and sat down. He rested the flowers across his lap and propped the bottle next to him. For several minutes he closed his eye and pictured the Sunnydale he knew: the Bronze, Spike's crypt, Buffy's house, his apartment, even the basement of doom. He let the tears come freely, pulling off the patch to keep it from getting wet. It felt so strange that even without an eye, his tear duct still functioned. He felt naked without the patch, but at the same time it felt honest to let his deformity show here in this place. Gradually, he opened his eye once more to stare down at the blooms resting on his knees.

He gathered the irises first and laid them on the ground in front of him and a little to the right. Gently stroking the hard green stems, he broke the silence that hung over Sunnydale.

"Willow and I researched the meanings of flowers the first time when you, well, you know. We wanted to get it just right for Buffy and Dawn, but then we couldn't talk about it. No one could really talk, except Anya, who was so confused and scared by the whole death thing." He smiled at the memory of his ex-fiance's struggles with human rituals and mortality. "But you know that. At least I hope you do. So anyway, here's irises for wisdom and faith and affection ‘cause you always believed in us and took care of all of eveneven Spike."

He set the white gerbera daisies in front of him to his left. "Hey, Tara. I brought you these `cause they mean truth and innocence. I know you'd just get all hidey and red and deny it, but you always saw what was true about not just Willow, but about all of us. And, sometimes I feel like we managed to get you killed by dragging you into the whole Scooby thing. Not that I think you didn't want to be there, but. . . " He trailed off. They all chose to be there, but so many of them died. There didn't seem to be much to say about that.

He shook himself and brought the forget-me-nots and roses to his face to breathe in the fragrance before setting the flowers on the ground directly in front of him. "An." He paused. "You must be laughing at me being all obvious with these, but it felt right. My brave, sweet girl." He closed his eye and let the memories come. Anya suggesting orgasms over a romantic dinner in a candlelit restaurant, ordering him around as they set up their apartment, gently cleaning out his wounds after a particularly rough patrol, choosing to walk away from him and stand on her own two feet, coming back to his bed for one last ride. The impulse to laugh battled with the impulse to cry.

After a time, he reached for the bottle of JD and screwed off the top. "Okay, enough poncey-stuff," he tried for Spike's accent and grimaced, glad that no one could hear him. He took a big swig and then tore open the pack of cigarettes before realizing he didn't have any way to light one.

"Fuckin' Zeppo." He chastised himself without malice. "Sorry, Spike. You would have just busted my ass for smoking them and taken them away anyway. Here ya go buddy. Not much of a thank you for saving the world, but you're not the easiest guy to buy for." He laid the pack gently on the ground and tooktherther swig of whiskey. While sorrow marked his farewells to the women, regret stabbed as he considered Spike and Jesse. He didn't have many male friends, and it hurt to have lost Jesse st ast as soon as he met up with the world of vampires and slayers. Across the course of the last seven years, he still caught himself thinking about relating the battles to his best friend, imagining his reactions to the various baddies, missing that space where he could be goofy and have that mirrored back to him in kind. Oz and Riley had eventually come along, but neither out-stayed the end of painful romances, and he found himself once again left with Giles as his only male companion before Spike came back to stay.

The regret surrounding Spike had less of the missed-chances flavor and more shame. The guy saved the world, and Xander had been alternately cruel and dismissive of him throughout the time they worked together. Earlier in the year, when the vamp had been moved into his apartment to get out of the crazy-making school basement, Xander had recognized the depth of the man's pain as he heard the moans and ragged cries that emerged from the closet as Spike slept. On the days when it was worst, compassion led Xander to creep into the room to slide his arms around the flailing figure and hold him close to calm him. Spike never woke during these times, though he would eventually sleep easier, and Xander never mentioned his actions. He sometimes wondered if the vampire knew from the looks that he threw him when he finally emerged in order to leave for his creature of the night outings. But neither said anything, and they continued to trade insults until Spike's move to the Summers’ house. Then they just sort of stopped talking. Xander often found himself watching the vampire, and periodically they caught one another's eye, but he didn't know what to say to this new incarnation of Spike beyond a few quips about the estrogen-heavy atmosphere that they struggled to live in. And Xander regretted that distance. He had the feeling that Spike could have been a friend—-and maybe more than a friend a little voice suggested, skirting around a carefully repressed memory of a debauched night spent with another souled vampire. Instead, he'd played the narrow-minded bigot and clung to the whole vampires-are-evil thing and a grudge that Spike had screwed around with two of his girls—both of whom managed to forgive. He took another swig of whiskey.

"Okay, guys. Enough with the weepies. I know my girls are in heaven," he touched the flowers gently, "and I'm guessing that Jess made it. Spike, you're a vamp and all, but maybe the whole world-save-age thing got you a ticket. Maybe Joyce and Tara and Anya can put in a good word for you with whoever's in charge of these things. I really hope so. Anyway, I wanna ask you guys a favor. I know you must be pretty, um, disappointed in me for taking off and all. Hell, I'm ashamed of myself most days." He paused. "And I'm not asking for anything for me, but could you please keep watch over the others? There are a bunch more slayers now, but Wills and Buffy and Giles won't step down any, and there's always some new evil ready to take the whole world out. Just. . . keep an eye on them. I . . . I can't . . .okay so this is selfish, but I can't lose anyone else. And I can't protect them." He finished in an angry rush before taking a deep breath. He closed his eye as the fear and loneliness pinched his chest. Suddenly a gust of warm wind brushed past him, lifting his longish dark curls. He leaned into the wind, scenting the flowers as it blew over them, and grasped onto the thought that his request had been heard.

He sat in silence and drank his way through half of the bottle he brought with him. As the sun began to set, he gathered together the blanket and bottle, leaving the flowers scattered on the ground.

"Thanks. Miss you," he mumbled, "love you."

After one last look over the desolation, he turned and concentrated on making his way back to the truck.

That night found him hunched over a table in the bar, staring at a glass he hardly sipped from over the course of two hours. Another hour after that found Mistress Viola introducing him to the pleasures of Sang Froid.


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The door to his motel room opened and yanked Xander out of his reverie. Remembering his last and only visit to the devastation of Sunnydale had become a defense mechanism for him. An escape from thoughts and realities that he didn't want to deal with. It didn't have the overwhelming power of the oblivion that came with the vampire bite, but when he needed to feel less alone, he went to that memory. To go back any further was to invite the sharper pain.

"Up, whelp. Cavalry's here," Spike strode into the room, leaving the door open behind him. Xander pushed himself up and glanced over at the two men hovering in the doorway. Shit. Of all the people who could have come.

"Angel."

"Xander."

Spike disrupted the tension that suddenly filled the room by picking up one of the two boxes stacked on the spare bed and shoving it at his Sire. He grabbed the other box and shoved it at the man that Xander didn't recognize.

"Take these to the car and we're outta here," Spike directed. He turned back to Xander without watching to see if the others obeyed his order. But Xander saw the frown of annoyance that graced Angel's features before he shrugged, turned to the other man and walked back to the parking lot.

"Spike," Xander began warningly.

"Stow it, pet. They're here. We're going." He tossed Xander the jacket draped over the chair by the door. "You're all packed up. Take one last look around if you want, see if anything's left behind. Then get your arse out to that convertible piece of crap the poof drives."

Xander carefully set the jacket down on the bed and stood with his arms crossed and jaw set. He glared at Spike.

Spike sighed and walked over to the glowering man. He placed one hand on Xander's shoulder and the other brushed a stray lock of dark hair gently behind his ear. He met Xander's gaze.

"I know you don't want this. I get that. Do you remember you Scoobies dragging me out of that basement? All I wanted was to stay curled up there, in the dark, in the corner, behind closed doors, where no one could touch me. Where the silence and the darkness and the stillness could make it safe and there'd be no more hurtin'." He moved his hand from Xander's cheek to cup his chin and prevent the other man from looking away.

"Why'd you take me out of there? Why'd you give me a room at your place?" He prodded gently as his blue eyes bore into Xander's brown one.

Silence. Xander struggled against the memories of leading the babbling Spike out of the school, listening to the once-proud creature weep and argue with invisible beings. He struggled to not remember those nights listening to Spike's tortured sobbing and the compassion that drove him to enter into the room and try to soothe the suffering. He remembered yearning to give the vampire back some sense of self and security.

"Why, luv?" He gave Xander's shoulder a shake.

"I can't," Xander mumbled, averting his eye.

"Look at me," Spike put steel behind his words and gripped Xander's chin tighter. "You know why you got me out of there. You know why you took me in. You know why you didn't leave me alone. So, pet, you know why we're doing this tonight."

Pain flashed through Xander's eye before he closed it against the intensity of Spike's gaze.

"You don't get any say right now. So put the jacket on and toddle out to the car like a good boy." He removed his hand from Xander's face and stroked his hair gently. "Let me help you."

"What will I have to do?"

"Sorry, pet. It doesn't work that way. I don't have a set of plans that you get to vote on. Question is will you trust me to take care of you?"

"Why, Spike? Why are you wasting your time? You see what I am." Xander's voice faded below a whisper, "I'm not worth it."

Spike decided not to tackle the "worth" comment at the moment. "I do see what you are, luv. I see a friend who needs help, and I want to help. But I need you to choose. Will you let me help?" He stayed still, pushing away the little voice that snarked at him for his need to play caretaker once more, praying that Xander would agree. It would make the rest of the night a little easier since he had no intention of leaving without the boy. He would just rather not have to knock him out to get him to the car. That would hardly get him in Angel’s good graces and he had a feeling he was going to need his Sire's resources to get Xander sorted.

"Okay." Spike released an unneeded breath at the whispered answer.

"Thank you." The vampire pulled the man into a tight embrace.