Love's Bitches

Trying my hand at some Spander, please be gentle with me. Oh, and if this storyline has been done too often or whatever, let me know, k?

Title: Love's Bitches 1/?
Authorwainwaine (rowained@yahoo.com)
Pairing: Spike/Xander, eventually
Warnings: Bit'o'angst, bit'o'fluff, probably some bad jokes along the way. Nothing too terribly kinky, except some "luv bites" with the vampsex
Summary: Set after finale of BtVS, our boys are both at loose ends... and find in each other that which they thought they'd lost. (cheesy, I know. deal)
Spoilers: Eh, pretty much canon til season 5, after that it breaks off -- see AN for explanation
Rating: R-NC17, I'm trying to push it that way but it might take awhile :P
Disclaimer: Not mine, not a bit. Exhibit A: bank balance $14.37
Author's Note: Right... *cough* I never got to see the last two seasons of BtVS, nor past the first season of AtS, so what bobs and pieces you might recognize are purely the shakey little ideas I've gleaned from other people's fanfics. Sooooooooooo I guess you should just consider this AU and forgive-n-forget?
Also, this is my first try writing for this fandom. The past couple of years, I was obsessed with Snarry (HP/SS) and wrote loads there, but I managed to -- not quite burn out, but singed a bit around the edges. Trying my hand at Spander, cus they're both so damned cute and look *H*O*T* together.
Last, I'm not British (Texan in fact) and have no beta to look after me, so any and every misspelled word, improper tense or bad use of britishism is entirely my fault. This style is sorta new to me too, so be kind, k?
Feedback is welcome, but please limit yourself to constructive comments. Flames will be forwarded to my hormonal teenagers for their weekly bonfire and weenie roast.


:: Spike in Limbo ::

Told SlaySlayer I was love's bitch. Heh, see where that gets me every time. First with that cunt Cecily, then tossed out by Dru for some slimy chaos demon, then went round the bend to prove myself to Buffy. Shoulda thought out my answer better, but no, shot my bloody mouth off and got saddled with a fekkin soul just like the ponce.

Couldn't even be surprised when she sent him back to LA to be safe, pushing that damned amulet at me. And here was the worst part about having a soul -- I couldn't tell her no. Yeah, part of me will always love the dozy bint. Doesn't mean I want her anymore. Feel all protective of her and the Bit, sure, but... we both deserve better than the half-arsed relationship we used to have.

So she puts this gaudy necklace over my head and asks me to be her Champion, and like a fool I don't even ask 'what's the catch?' Hope she had a good time watching me channel sght ght (and did she forget the bit about me being a *vampire*?), before Sunnyhell imploded.

Saw the former ex-demonette go down, and it almost made me feel bad for Harris. Watched that little blond geek Andrew get smashed up good and proper, watched them drag him back to the bus too. Several of the wanna-be Slayers bought it, but no great loss -- the ones who died were the same ones who gave Buffy such a hard time. Can't say I'll miss them. If I were still there.

Funny that. I'm not alive, or undead. But not dead either. Sorta like a ghost, with way too much time on my hands, and having to see what's left of the group pick themselves up and start over. It's easy to tell how rough things are with most of them. Hell, the only ones who mask it well are Ripper and the whelp, but their eyes are haunted... Yeah, I'm the one to talk about hauntings.

At times I think they know I'm there, watching and waiting for something to bring me back. Course, that's not going to happen anytime soon. Get the feeling that I have to be *wanted* before the Powers kick me out of this inbetween place. Definitely not hell, just hanging around LA and the new Watchers Council headquarters in England. Odd how I can't even control where I am.

Don't much matter, I suppose. See, even in limbo, I'm still love's bitch. I'll be where ever they remember me, and consider myself lucky to know they're still alive.

:: Xander wakes up ::

Not sure how long it took me to stop the internal babble, just a constant stream of 'she's dead she's dead oh my god she's dead', like no one else had figured it out yet. There was no way we'd ever be able to patch things up, get back together, but we'd finally become friends again. Anya, damn I miss her.

By the time I broke through that mindloop, everyone else had already found a new nitch for themselves. Buffy and Dawn are both in college at UCLA, Willow dragged Giles back to restart the Watchers Council, and I think they let Andrew tag along too. That's all? We're missing people... of course we are. Sweet, unsubtle Anya! Eight potentials, the mouthy ones who wouldn't pay attention to what little training they got before the shit hit the fan. Spike... and who'd have figured him for the world-saving hero type?

Gotta admit, being surrounded by all this estrogen (again) makes me appreciate His Royal Pain-in-the-ass self. Even when he was stealing my beer and using all the hot water, at least there was no danger to my person via PMS -- or whatever politically correct term is in fashion for those few days of retribution against any sentient being with a Y-chromosome. See Wils, I paid attention in high school. Big words used properly and everything.

They talked me into remodelling the old Council building, acting as the interior designer. Ha! Buff even made a smartass comment about me being ideal for the job, after that 'gay me up' speech. After all these years, the one time everyone actually listens to me and it has to be *that*one*line*.

If I thought it'd do any good, I'd hang a sign around my neck that said: Disregard other signs and invitations. No kicking, punching, biting, slapping or taunting the stupid human with the target on his back.

Ok, so it's too wordy for a really good sign. Gets the point across, doesn't it?

Damn, if Spike were here, he'd kick my ass for feeling sorry for myself. Or at least snipe at me till I sniped back, then we'd throw beernuts and popcorn at each other and get shitfaced.

Gotta love male bonding rituals, so much simpler (and cheeper) than women's gigs. Cost of booze and snacks: between $20 and $40. Cost of shopping, spa and manicure? I cringe just thinking about the damage my girls can do in one afternoon with a credit card and the nearby mall.

Y'know, I think Giles and Andy are having a thing. Yeah, he's geeky and girly, and the G-man is so not, but... Nope, not going there. Some images should never pass through this poorboy's brain.

*sigh*

Anya's gone. For good this time, no chance for an instant replay, do not pass Go or collect $200. And my girls seem to think I've stepped outside the real world or something, cus it's taken so long to come to terms with that. Guess it isn't really that she's dead... it's the 'never coming back' part. Hey, she was a demon, and we've seen loads of 'that shouldn't be possible' in the past. So I think I've got a damned good excuse to expect to wake up one morning and find her looming over me, ready to cuss me out or toss lime jello on the bed. And no, that will never be explained.

Heard Deadboy's sire-slut got raised from the dead too, and hey, Angel did his stint in a hell dimension, which is sorta death-after-death for vamps, right? Woah..... does that mean that Spike could come back too? Even if we did see him dust.

And hey, what's up with Buffy passing the buck and sending her ex-boyfriend back to safety, pushing his job off on the bleached menace? I thought it was in the job description or something. Be broody, overuse haircare products, neandrathal forehead, saving the world on alternate Tuesdays.

So yeah, maybe I'm even more bitter about the bastard now. I mean, Spike and me weren't the best of buds, but we finally got over alot of that mortal enemies stuff. And who else would watch Red Dwarf with me? And keep me from drinking too much... even though his version of that involved chugging more than his fair share of the booze.

Damn, maybe I need to get out more. When the vampire formerly known as the Big Bad starts looking like my best guy friend, it's time to rethink my standards, right?


:: Still in Limbo ::

Soddin' hard to tell time here. Days, weeks, months, can't bloody keep track. Know it's been awhile since Sunnyhell, just from the progress made on the Watchers place.

Sorta strange, but it feels like something's keeping me stuck here. I'm no great poof, never asked for redemption or nothing. The Powers That Muck Up Everything might as well send me to whatever hell spa is reserved for demons that save their food from mass destruction. And that made alot more sense before I thought it outloud.

Spent some time testing my ghostly status. Can't pull any tricks like that nancyboy Swatze or whatever from the movie. Doesn't seem to be a medium around either. And with the cheerleader comatose, can't even send a message through a seer.

It's a bitch too. Hollywood false advertising at its best. Like that flic Poltergeist, best example: there's no fekkin way for a ghost to jump into a telly and communicate with the living. Can't even make the fuzz fuzzier.

Think being burned to dust saving the world should null my one-way ticket to hell, don't you? Not that I did it for that reason. Just cus the Slayer asked. Buffy. For her and Bit, and Red and the whelp, and even Ripper.

Yeah, kno knowing what'd happen, I'd do it ag But But I'd have to bitch about it alot more beforehand. Only right and fair. Maybe spend the a couple of days shagging my knackers off first... yeah, woulda been nice...


:: Eighteen months after Sunnydale's disappearance ::

"Really Xander, if you are that dissatisfied with your current situation, perhaps you should seek out other options. I hardly think it is appropriate for you to continue treating the potentials like a bevy of misbehaving schoolgirls. Even when they act as such."

Huh, with all the polishing he does to those glasses, you'd think he'd wear them out. But maybe he's got a point. I could be doing all sorts of things, other than hanging around here watching the twat squad beat each other up.

"Maybe you're right, G-man." And yes folks, there go the eyebrows. Heh, can still shock the Watcher. "Think I'll head back to the states, before I drink too much water around here and start craving scones or something."

Finally the gobsmacked look fades and he responds, "Quite. Heaven forbid you should consume any civilized food or permit yourself a taste of culture." He pauses, looks uncomfortable, and resumes polishing. "If... if you ever need anything... you know where we are. And please don't forget, you have a fair sum from the survivor's allotment to ease your way."

How could I forget. What he pointedly didn't mention was Anya's life insurance policy, which still named me sole beneficiary. A 'fair sum' didn't do it justice. Money-making wasn't just her hobby, not like sex, it was her primary goal. Couple of million sitting in the bank, waiting for me to sign for it.

"No sweat, Giles. You're a stronger man than I, putting up with all these girls all the time. And hey, don't worry bout me, ok? I'm just gonna buy a car, travel for awhile, maybe make it farther than Oxnard this time. Y'know, see places."

Dad always said that real men don't hug. Dad was a dipshit. Ignoring all upright, uptight British protocol, I grab him and hold on for a minute. Sooner than I expect, he hugs back, and it sounds like he's as choked up as I am.

"Yes, well, do let us know you're alright. Postcards are in order, and don't forget to use your cellphone. I'm sure Willow would be happy to deliver messages through email, if you so choose." Drawing back, his eyes are suspiciously bright. Guess mine are too.

It takes an embarassingly short time to pack and say goodbye to my lifelong best friend. She's got a good grip (finally) on the witchy stuff, and has gone headfirst into teaching and all her new Watcher duties. I think Andrew took the longest to tell me bye, and for me to turn him down as gently as possible when he begged to join me.

If I'm gonna do this, it's gotta be solo. A voyage of self discovery, like I had planned just after high school.


:: Somewhere in the Ozarks ::

*Thump*

"Dammit to hell in a handbasket! One of the three places in the entire country that AAA won't make a service call, and I have to get stuck here without a McDonald's in sight."

*Thump*

"Worthless piece of metallic shit. Jeeps are supposed to be sturdy and dependable, don't you know that?"

*Thump*

"Gods, why me... you can take the fuck-up magnet out of the hellmouth..."

In the chill dusk of the mountains, night falls quickly on Xander's rant. Between exhaustion and frustration, his body cries for sleep over the persistant gnaw of hunger. He curls up in the back on his nifty new air matress -- built specially to fit the nifty new (and totally dead) range rover -- and lets himself doze fitfully.

And even after the life he's lead, his subconscious breaks the cardinal rule of hellmouth living. He makes a heartfelt wish that one dusted vampire were here, to fix the rover and just to keep him company.

His breath evens as his body finally settles into sleep, never seeing the brilliant flash of light in the nearby trees.


:: Nekkid vamps get cold too ::

Oh, the whelp's done it this time. Stranded all on his lonesome and no working knowledge of how to fix it. No witch or watcher to bail his bum out either. Almost as good as Passions, this is.

Now now, temper! Gonna hurt your precious footsies like that, ain't ya? Oo ouch, that's gonna leave a mark, it is.

Don't pass out yet, twerp, you're my only form of entertainment these days. Damn, there he goes... sleeps like the dead. And I should know, eh?

Whatthefuck?! Hey now, that hurts! Can't a bloke get any peace, even in this not-life? Bloody buggerin' hell,s *cs *cold*. What've you done to me this time, you crazy godlings?

"Fuck me running sideways, the ground's wet. Voice? Shite! Right then, taking back half the things I said about ya, ok? But couldn't you have left me with some cloths at least? It's fekkin cold as a banshee's nipple here..."

One hundred and thirty years, give or take a few, had taught Spike to roll with the punches. So, heaving his aching body off the cold, damp ground, he staggered toward the broken down vehicle.

:: Time to pull things together ::

No matter how tired he was, Xander had grown up sleeping with one ear open. It certainly paid to know what was moving nearby, be it animal, vegetable or mineral... or whatever beasties fit in the "other" catagory. And if he's honest with himself, he learned this trick long before his life got tied in with the Scoobies. Thanks for that, Dad.

And so, when that internal radar catches a clue of non-wildlife-y movement outside his makeshift nest, Mama Harris' boy comes to consciousness about the same time it takes for his hand to draw the ever-present knife he'd taken to carrying.

Sure enough, a human-shaped shadow messing with the door handle. Heh, like I'd be stupid enough to leave it unlocked, even out here in the sticks.

Xander lays perfectly still, contemplating his best course of action, when a strip of pale moonlight br thr through the wispy cloud cover. Even with this indirect light, he cae spe spikey bleached hair attached to milk white skin. His breath catches in his throat, torn between belief it's all a dream and something akin to blinding hope.

A quiet baritone voice interrupts his indecision. "Xan, pet, it's me. Freezing out here, y'know? Lemme in, pet."

more to come, if enough positive feedback