Even when you were undead and could live forever, a single moment could alter your unlife beyond your imagining. An extra minute of gloating and you ended up with a bloody government chip in your head. A chance meeting of eyes across the room after a particularly rousing argument and you found yourself fumbling with belts and drowning in hot kisses on an uncomfortable fold-out bed in the boy's parents' basement. A negligent toss one night from some slimy demon and you heard bones snap as Xander landed just the wrong way on an inconvenient headstone.

The crackle of breaking bones had once been one of Spike's favorite sounds, but now he woke up nauseated every time he heard it in his dreams. Xander's bones. Xander's spine. Xander's muted whimper of pain and fear.

Spike had been in a wheelchair, and he had hated every endless minute of it. He hated feeling helpless, and he hated being trapped in the cage of metal and flesh. Even if Angelus hadn't been there to taunt him and to tempt Dru, Spike would have been screaming with impatience to heal.

But Xander was mortal, and he wouldn't heal. Due to one pointless accident, he was paralyzed from the waist down, and unless medical science made a major breakthrough in something other than demon-chipping technology he would never walk again.

Xander couldn't stay in the basement, of course, not with all of the stairs and his parents lurking above. Giles offered to take Xander in, but the boy had refused. He said he wanted to be as independent as possible. So when he got out of the hospital, he came home to a new apartment that the Scoobies had found for him. It was on the second floor of the building, because Willow knew that Xander loved to be up high, but there was an elevator and a ramp, so it was easy to navigate in a wheelchair. The doorways were extra wide, and the bathroom was equipped with handrails and a lowered sink. Xander didn't ask about how the rent was being paid, and nobody else brought it up.

Spike moved in, too. He had been living with Xander before the accident, and he was willing and able to help out. Since he and Xander had been getting along in front of the Scoobies - not that they had told anyone about the fumbling and the kissing yet - the objections were outweighed by the benefits. Besides, the apartment came with two bedrooms, and Xander needed a lot of care. Spike it was.

Buffy, Willow, Giles, Tara, and Riley visited frequently, and Spike could see Xander making an effort for them. He cracked the occasional joke, made sure to laugh at theirs, and acted totally unbothered by his situation. Sure, he told horror stories about physical therapy, but he didn't tell them how his sessions left him so tired that he could barely move afterwards. He grinned and flexed when Buffy playfully swooned over his ever-larger biceps, but he didn't mention that he had to replace all of his pants because the old size no longer fit his atrophying body. He wanted them to see the old Xander and not to pity their friend in the wheelchair.

Around Spike, he didn't put on the act. Spike wasn't sure if it was because he mattered too much or too little to the boy, but he suspected that it was too little; their whatever-they-had had only been a couple of months old before the accident, and they had never discussed anything like feelings or the future. It was probably good, Spike reflected, because the future was so different from whatever they could have planned.

When they were alone, Xander never complained. He never wallowed in misery. He never argued when Spike fussed over him. He accepted Spike's help and did everything he needed to do. But he also never laughed. He never smiled. He never ate unless food was put in front of him. He rarely talked unless asked a question. He just existed. Compared with the light-hearted, foolishly brave, and unquestionably passionate man he had been, it was like he wasn't there at all.

Spike tried to draw him out, of course. He picked fights with him, dunked everything from chicken fingers to ice cream sandwiches in his blood, peppered him with endless questions, but he got next to no response. He tried sweetness next, renting Xander's favorite movies, bringing him chocolate, teasing his skin with kisses, but the one time that things had gotten heated enough that he slipped his hand into Xander's lap there was nothing but limp flesh and bitterness. Despite the doctor's assurances that Xander wasn't physically impotent, Spike's sexual advances only created tension between them. He quickly stopped.

It seemed that all he could do was wait and hope for a change.

Around his therapy and the rigors of his daily routine, Xander slept a lot. Spike knew that some of it was exhaustion but that the rest of it was depression and despair. He remembered those feelings well. But, between Xander's appointments and his escape from his life, Spike was left alone a lot. Much to his surprise, he wasn't happy about it. He had gotten used to having someone to talk to; even when they were sniping at each other back in that musty basement he had never been lonely. Now he was.

There was only so much television he could watch before he could feel his brain begin to ooze out of his ears - thankfully not literally; you never could tell in Sunnydale - so he began to do things around the apartment. The girls had gotten Xander's clothes in the closet and his few pieces of furniture arranged to their liking, but there were dozens of boxes of accumulated stuff that they hadn't unpacked. Spike took the task upon himself.

He spent one afternoon reading through all of Xander's comics before he put them back in order and found a place for them on the empty bookcase in the living room. He sorted through old photos, saving the ones of Giles in some sort of sombrero for blackmail material, alphabetized CDs, and stowed away an impressive collection of pornographic magazines in Xander's nightstand. He hoped for Xander's sake that Giles had been the one to pack them.

Then, late one afternoon when Xander was sleeping off his latest grueling round of therapy, he found the skateboard. It was battered and obviously well-used, and Spike clutched it in his hands as he knelt on the floor and desperately tried to swallow the lump in his throat.

There it was. That was it. There was the proof that Xander's life could never be the same. He would never hop out of bed, throw on one of those god-awful Hawaiian shirts, grab his board, and skate down the street. He would never fling himself around the dance floor like a fool. He would never strut across the room and grind Spike into the wall until they were both breathless and aching.

For all Spike knew, Xander might never even smile - really, honestly, joyfully smile - again.

Spike's hands trembled and his vision blurred, and he took a deep breath.

None of that. Big bad vampire here, Spike reminded himself sharply. He blinked against the traitorous tears flooding his eyes and rose to his feet.

After carefully tucking the skateboard up on the high shelf of the closet where Xander would never find it and reprimanding himself for his dismay at his sudden realization that Xander would never again loom over him while they stood side-by-side, he walked into Xander's bedroom and flicked on the overhead light.

"Go away. I'm sleeping," Xander muttered, pulling the pillow over his head.

Spike threw off the sheets and grabbed the pillow.

"What the hell are you doing?" Xander asked. "I was sleeping!"

"You can sleep tonight. It's time to get up."

"Don't want to." He turned onto his side and pressed his face into the mattress.

Spike slid his arms under Xander's shoulders and knees and lifted him off of the bed.

"This isn't about what you want. It's about what you need," Spike said and deposited him in his wheelchair.

"Have you been watching Oprah again?"

Spike pushed the chair out into the living room and grabbed the backpack that Xander used when he went out. He grabbed two bottles of water from the refrigerator and threw them into the bag.

"I'm tired. I'm going back to bed," Xander said and spun the chair around. Before he could push forward Spike grabbed the handles and pointed him toward the door.

"We're going out."

"I was already out."

"I wasn't," Spike said. He slung the bag over the back of the chair and slid his keys into his pocket.

"Then go. You don't need to be here."

Spike didn't answer and just steered them both out of the apartment.

It was close enough after sunset that Spike's skin tingled in the amber light, but he didn't pause as he pushed Xander out onto the sidewalk. Their building was situated on a hill overlooking the town, and he turned them up the road so that they could get even higher. This new Xander didn't speak a word, just sat with his eyes fixed forward and focused on nothing as Spike did all the work.

Spike brought them to the top of the hill to the expensive new development that was being built. When they reached the summit, he turned them around and looked out over the town and the long, empty stretch of road before them.

"Do you trust me, pet?" he asked. When Xander didn't reply Spike set the brake and crouched down in front of the boy. "Xander? Do you trust me?"

Xander gave a half-shrug and nodded.

"You pull me out of the bath when I'm all wet and wrinkled and massage moisturizer into my feet," Xander said flatly. "I think that shows some level of trust."

"Good. You know I'm a vampire, right?"

"Kinda can't miss that one."

"So you know I'm fast and have bloody good reflexes?"

"Yeah. Comes with the fangs."

"Right then." Spike stood up, released the brake, and gave the wheelchair a hard shove.

"Spiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiike!" Xander yelled as he hurtled down the hill, winking in and out of the bright yellow circles cast by the streetlights and gaining momentum with every second. Running just behind him, Spike could hear Xander swearing like a sailor as he fumbled ineffectually for the brake, but the vampire spun him to a careful halt before they could reach streets with traffic.

"What the fuck was that?" Xander asked, his face and voice as animated as Spike had seen since the accident. Of course, he was angry, but... "Are you trying to kill me? There are fucking easier ways!"

"It was supposed to be fun, like a rollercoaster only without the lines." Or skateboarding, he didn't say.

"Fun?! Fuck, Spike! That was fucking dangerous!"

"No, it wasn't. I was right there, and I could have had you out of that chair and in my arms before you could even tell there was a problem. You know I could."

"You should have at least warned me!"

"And have you miss that adrenalin rush?"

Xander scowled and stared out over the town for a minute before Spike spoke.

"So, want to go again?" he asked.

There was a count of three, and then...

"Hell, yeah."

Spike grinned and took hold of the chair.

For the better part of an hour, Spike ran Xander up the hill and followed him down, sometimes trying for speed and sometimes spinning him in dizzy circles until they were both roaring with laughter.

"Last time, pet," Spike said finally. "Fast?"

"As fast as you can. And you should come down with me," Xander said breathlessly.

Spike took one look at Xander's wide smile and knew that he'd do anything the boy asked to keep it there. So after he gave the wheelchair a shove he sprang over the back and landed in Xander's lap. Arms stronger than he remembered clutched him tightly, and the breeze snatched away their laughter as they hurtled down the hill.

It took some careful maneuvering to get them to stop without both of them flying out of the chair, but Spike managed. They skidded to a halt on the expanse of grass outside of the development's gates.

Xander whooped against Spike's back, and the vampire allowed himself a brief moment of peace before he tried to stand up. Xander's arms tightened around Spike's waist and held him there.

"Thank you," the boy murmured against Spike's shoulder blade.

"You're welcome." He patted Xander's arm and shifted slightly on his lap.

"No, I mean it," Xander said more firmly. He tugged Spike so that he was seated across his legs and looked into his eyes.

"So do I, pet."

Xander watched him for a long moment and then leaned forward to press a brief kiss on Spike's lips.

"It's nice to have you around," he said. "I didn't think you'd stay, and you don't have to, but it's nice."

"Not stay?" Spike asked. "Are you mad? I haven't even taught you how to do wheelies yet."

"Yeah? What other tricks do you know?" Xander asked, kissing him again.

"Oh, one or two." Spike smirked and nibbled at Xander's lips before getting to his feet.

Some laughter and a few kisses and I'm as hard as a rock, Spike grumbled to himself. I deserve a bloody medal for not throwing him on the ground right now.

"Ready for dinner, pet?"

"Yeah. I'm starving."

It might only be a temporary reprieve; Spike could wake up tomorrow and find Xander as miserable as yesterday, and he'd have to try something else to break the boy out of his shell. But, as he wheeled Xander back home, Spike couldn't help but smile. Not only had Xander laughed and joked and even kissed him, but Spike had felt something no longer entirely limp as he had sat on Xander's lap. Not hard but not... not.

"Can you really teach me to do wheelies?" Xander asked.

"That and more."

Xander might never be able to walk again, but Spike knew that there were many more kinds of healing than just physical. Tonight had been a start on some of them.

~end~