wesleysgirl | Headful of Ghosts, pt 28

They drive half the night, then stop and sleep when Xander's past the point of making sense. Spike's still wound up, jittery, can't sleep until an hour after dawn, and then Xander's up by mid-afternoon and pushing for them to get moving again. Slowly, they create a pattern; start driving when Spike has to huddle under a blanket, and stop long after Xander's exhausted.

It's a solution that pleases neither of them, but it's the best they can do.

There's no point in trying to settle anywhere. They fight vampires, demons. They run from a dragon one night; the flames it breathes down on the car hot enough to melt the paint from the roof, but somehow, against all odds, they get away. There's not enough food for Spike, though Xander manages with tinned things and a can opener.

Finally, one night when Spike's strung out, shaky with hunger, Xander crouches down next to him and offers his arm.

"No," Spike says.

"Look, you're more good to me undead than you are dead," Xander says. There's a little, sharp knife in his busted up hand; two of his fingers don't sit straight anymore, even though he abandoned the makeshift splint a week ago.

And he's right, so Spike nods and hates himself for being grateful.

Weeks later, Spike gets up just before dawn. Xander's asleep, sprawled on his back and snoring. Spike creeps upstairs, the house they've holed up in silent around them. He needs... he doesn't know what exactly.

He finds a tape player with working batteries and a collection of half-decent music; slips the headphones on and turns it up loud, careful not to sing and wake Xander but unable to keep from moving to the beat. He's listening to a band he doesn't know the name of when he hears something indistinct, separate from the music, and clicks off the machine.

Xander's shouting his name, the level of panic in his voice sending a bolt of sheer terror through Spike, who drops the tape player to the floor and runs for the stairs to the accompaniment of a desperate inner voice that's chanting what might be something close to a prayer.

Spike falls down the last three steps, careens off the wall, and tears around the corner to collide into Xander full-force. Xander yelps, and Spike barely manages to get a hand around the back of Xander's skull before it smashes into the tile. "Fuck," Spike says, his knuckles stinging. "What? What is it?"

Xander's hands are all over him, head, shoulder, back, hip. "I woke up, and you... I opened the front door, and -- God, I thought you were dust." Xander's eye blazes. "You asshole," he adds, and punctuates it with a fist to Spike's face.

"Bloody hell!" Spike rolls off and away, rubbing his cheekbone. "Wait, you hit me and I'm the asshole?"

"I thought you were dead," Xander says, sitting up. "I called and you didn't answer me."

Spike wants to shout at him, but he can see that Xander was genuinely afraid. That makes him feel guilty, so he ends up shouting after all. "I was upstairs!" he says loudly. "God forbid I want ten minutes to myself!"

Xander looks down. "You could have told me where you were going," he says sullenly.

"Fuck you," Spike says. "You're not my mother, thank God. I don't owe you anything."

Xander's quiet. "Fine," he says finally.

"Fine," Spike says back. "Good. Glad we're on the same page."

They don't talk at all in the car. Ten hours of silence. It isn't until they're holed up in a new place that Spike chances an apology. "Didn't mean to scare you," he offers, tossing a pillow from one of the other rooms onto the king sized bed.

"You didn't," Xander says, not looking at him.

Spike wants to tear his hair out. "God, what does it take with you? I said I was sorry. You know how many times I've said that since I was turned?"

"Three?" Xander guesses.

"Maybe four," Spike says, and they grin at each other warily.

"I get the bed," Xander says.

Spike looks at him in disbelief. "No, I do. You take the one in the other room."

"The one that doesn't have a pillow now?" Xander asks. "No way. This one's mine."

Defiant, Spike strips down to the skin and lies down. "If you want to sleep here, you'll have to sleep with me."

To his surprise, Xander calls his bluff, pulling off his own jeans and t-shirt and getting underneath the covers wearing nothing more than boxer shorts. "I'm not sleeping with you," he announces. "I'm sleeping in this bed. That's it."

"Think of the scandal if word got out," Spike says, tucking his hands beneath his head and looking up at the ceiling.

Minutes later, Xander's snoring.

When Spike wakes up, Xander's arm is around his waist from behind, Xander's breath warm and sweet against the back of Spike's neck. Spike tries to stay relaxed, not wanting to lose the moment -- bit of comfort, that's all it is -- but he can hear Xander's heartbeat speed up, and then Xander pulls away.

Deliberately, Spike rolls over and drapes his own arm over Xander. "No one to see," he says, kissing Xander's bare shoulder. "No one to care."

Xander's tense but aroused -- Spike can smell it. He strokes his hand tentatively along Xander's side, and when Xander exhales and turns toward him, he forgets everything for a while.

After, when they're both sated and half asleep, Spike hears Xander say, "Spike." It's not a question; sounds more like Xander's trying it on for size.

It doesn't require a response, but Spike gives him one anyway. "There's no one else," he says.

They both know that's the problem.

End.

This is it -- it's as done as it can be in this hastily-written format. If anyone would be willing to beta-read it for me, that would be fantastic -- just let me know.

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Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

From:

vampirefever.livejournal.com

This is the first time I've commented on this fic, even though I've read every part as soon as you've posted it.

I've lovely every moment and thought it was a heartbreaking and, at the same time, hopeful ending.

Wonderful stuff.

From:

Headful of Ghosts, pt 28

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