Part 2

** X ** There is no thought now in Xander's mind except for warning Spike. He has forgotten about escape - as if that were a possibility - and has become fixated on his sole purpose.

To his side, he vaguely hears Riley and Graham laughing and joking just as if they're at a party. He supposes that this is a party for them; a grand celebration. Give the vampire's nancy boy a good humiliating and give the vampire a grand dusting.

They don't matter anymore, except that they're irritating his ears. He doesn't care about his own life. Just saving Spike's.

He twists his hands inside the ropes that bind him. He turns his wrists this way and that, ignoring the harsh bite of the raw hemp that chafes him; ignores the blood that wells up first in blots, then in rivulets. The rope turns rusty-red, but he doesn't notice. He doesn't care about his own pain. Just about saving Spike.

He stretches and strains his wrists.

He bites at the gag until his teeth ache with white-hot fierceness.

No luck.

None.

The rifle is still just within his reach, just close enough to touch, too far away to do anything with. Within his mind there had sprung up wild ideas of breaking his ropes, snatching the rifle, and putting a bullet through each one of the soldiers. He was possessed by a military man once, and underneath this stress he can feel that part of himself fighting its way to the surface. He would know how to aim, how to fire, just exactly right.

But he can't reach it.

Hours crawl by like years. Riley and Graham stop laughing and joking and start getting irritated that the vampire is taking so long. Two hours... three... four... and still Xander struggles. Why don't they notice? He realizes after a while that they are so confident in their own success that he's beneath their recognition now. You don't worry about the worm wriggling on the hook; he's not going to slip off and wiggle home.

Xander's hands are slick now with blood. It's almost midnight. He keeps struggling against the pain, against the crimson soaking the rope, against the thought that he won't be able to do anything, that Riley will win after all and that his beloved will be dust.

Finally...

Finally...

Just as he hears the clock strike midnight...

He touches it -

Just the tip -

But it's enough -

Just the tip of the trigger -

The rifle's trigger -

And a thought enters his mind -


** XI **

Xander stops his struggle with the cold metal of the trigger under his fingertip.

Oh, gods.

But it's the only way. The knots are too good for him to aim the rifle - anywhere else -

And he doesn't matter in his mind. Just Spike. Saving Spike's life is worth...

He won't do this like a coward. He stands up as straight and tall as he can with their bindings weighing him down. Riley glances his way, just a little suspiciously, but he can't see well in the darkness and, satisfied that Xander is still bound, looks back away toward the window. Towards the road that Spike will drive.

He stands still as he can. He won't risk drawing their attention again now that victory is so close at hand. Instead, he closes his eyes for just a moment and allows himself to think back, to remember other places and times...

Angel's offering him to Spike as a snack; the first time they met. Even then, the fear he felt was laced with a frisson of want, and he hadn't fought hard as he usually would. There was something about the blond
vampire that...

Lying to himself so successfully that he convinced himself he hated Spike. For years. Years on years. Until the vampire was forced to move into Xander's own living quarters, until he stayed so close every night that the human first became familiar with Spike's scent - and found himself missing it when it wasn't there, yearning for it instead of Anya's sweetly floral perfumes and body lotions, thinking of it when he came inside her soft, newly human body. Knowing he didn't want soft anymore; he wanted hard...

Hating himself so much after Dracula. Bug-eating wasn't the only thing that bastard had him do. Hating him until Spike came to him and showed him that he didn't have to; more important, that he didn't have to hate himself... that he still had a heart to love with... and a blond vampire with pleading blue eyes to absorb all the love that he had to give...

Their first night together, unplanned, unexpected - before then he would have said unwanted - but so perfect in its own way. There was doubt and fear and a little pain, but so much love that it washed the badness away on a tidal wave of healing when their bodies met as one.

The first time he had felt what it was like to have another man's full erection touch his own, leaking drops of clear, salty pre-come...

The first time he had taken that member into his mouth and found for himself that it was salty, salty and sweet and so good...

The first time he had slid into Spike and heard his hoarse yells and groans as a reward, and known that this, this was where he belonged, for as long as the both of them lived...

He straightens. It has been a good life he's had in the past few months, and an even better love. He won't betray that by being a coward. Anything that he can do to warn Spike - he will do.

He will not count the cost to himself.

All he has to do now is wait.

Wait until -


** XII **

He hears it.

He hears it.

The sound of Spike's car.

So far in the distance.

It could be just any car. But it's not. Xander knows every knock and groan of that ancient engine.

He steals a glance at Riley and Graham. They look bored. Can it be that they don't hear it? How can they not hear it?

The car draws closer. Spike is inside, he knows, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel as he drives with one hand, the other one busy holding and lighting another smoke. If he were a human he'd be cancer-riddled, but vampire healing must keep his lungs pink and pure regardless, Xander finds himself thinking absurdly, with strange clarity.

The car draws closer. Now, now Graham and Riley hear it. Xander senses the sudden tension in their muscles as much as he sees them exchange a quick glance and stand, one to face the door, one to open the window and face the parking lot. Both have rifles in one hand and a stake in the other. It will soon be over for Spike, Xander thinks, unless he has the courage of his own convictions.

He closes his eyes for a moment and takes in a lusty breath.

He can do this.

For Spike... he can do this.

And he will.

And he --



** XIII **

For Spike he can do this.

He can.

And he does.

He leans against the spare rifle so dangerously close to his side. Riley's at the window with a gun, Graham's at the door with a stake. Either way. It's over.

Over.

Now -

The rifle's angled just right. One bullet. That's all he'll need.

Over.

Now -

His finger's on the trigger. One bullet. It'll be quick.

Over.

Now -

Because he hears the groan-squeak of Spike's car door opening.

He shuts his eyes.

Mouthes the words, *I love you*.

Over.

Now -

He yells wordlessly with all the strength he has left. Hopes he'll be heard outside. Hopes that Riley and Graham can't react fast enough. Yells to Spike a wordless warning.

Then it's all over.

Now -

And the sound of the rifle going off shatters the night.

** XIV **

And so Spike runs. Common sense tells him to stay, so on a level he doesn't know why he runs. 'Cept maybe because he heard Xander's yell, and sensed the warning in it. They've been up against things before that took more than he and the human to defeat, and it seems clear to him that this must be one of them.

His mind spins fast as his car's tires as he drives frantically. Xander has a gun, left-over from Anya's time. He must have shot at the - whatever - and stopped it for long enough to warn Spike not to come in.

He knows not to doubt his lover. There are things out there bad enough that a vampire shouldn't face them. It took Xander many stern lectures, often ending in laughter and sex, to teach Spike that even he had his limits. Sunshine lamps. Fire. Even stakes, if he's not aware. And around Xander, his head clouds; he's near soppy as the poet he used to be.

He heads for the dormitories, for Glinda and Red, because they're the closest to his Xander's apartment building. Not the Slayer. They're not on terms for that. Xander's working on their reconciliation, but it's just not happened yet.

He doesn't phone, doesn't think to. All he can think of is bringing out the cavalry fast as he can.

But when he gets there...

From outside he can see the bursts of magickal light and the explosions as they hit - something. But whatever it is, there aren't any shouts warning him away.

So he's out of the car like the bat from Hell that he is and up the Stevenson stairs - almost laughing at himself - off to the rescue. Because. Because they're his Xander's friends, and thus he owes them fealty. Or some such shite.

He doesn't expect what he finds.

Red is tearing around the room on a rampage. Her eyes have gone dark with the magick she's using in some fit of grief and rage, and they're swollen with tears that keep on coming, sliding down her cheeks in a salt torrent. The room stinks of unripe strawberries, the scent of Red's power, almost choking even him who doesn't have to breathe.

That's bad enough. What's worse is that Glinda's crying too, in her weary, quiet way, making ineffectual grabs at Red as she flings wild, impotent handfuls of magick fire that should make the world explode but - don't.

Red sees him and screams, a shriek from the heart that almost turns him into dust where he stands. "You," she seems to be saying amidst her sobs, "Should've been you! You they wanted. You, you, you-"

She pulls back her arm, ready to hurl something at Spike, but gentle Glinda jumps between them. "No, sweetie, don't, don't," she soothes, wrestling Red's hands down. Red bursts into fresh tears and collapses on the other witch's shoulder. "Don't. Xander wouldn't have wanted this. Please, for me, calm down."

That's the words that set ice to churning in him. "Xander," he says, voice dangerous. "What's gone wrong with Xander?"

Glinda looks up - hesitates - then sags against her sobbing lover. Her lover that's intact in her arms.

And she tells him.


** XV **

He's destroying his car as he tears up the miles between the university and Xander's apartment. He doesn't care. Losing Cecily wasn't like this. Losing Dru wasn't anything like this.

Least he knew they were still alive.

But now -

It's all over, now.

He leans out the car window, shrieking curses at the sky, at the night, at the Initiative, at what he thinks right now is an unseeing, unforgiving, unloving god who took his Xander away from him. He turned his back on that god in trade for his own unlife, and now he rages against him for not protecting one that was still his own.

Daft bastard! He pounds the steering wheel as fresh gouts of tears catch him off guard, near to shredding his chest with choking on them. Daft bastard... why'd you have to... should have been me! Why?

He's there before he knows it, and he crashes his car deliberately into the front of the building. Wakes up the neighbors, them that haven't been roused by the ambulance sirens or the frantic superintendent, or the reporters and cops already gathering like flies. Snickering or looking sick, depends on how jaded they are.

He knows who must have been behind this, and he hopes they've got the Initiative assholes cuffed away in the back of one of those Black Marias.

No, he hopes they don't. He wants his own revenge.

He soars from the car, a dark angel, fallen and falling, ready to exact that revenge -

- and then -

- the sound of a string twanging, a crossbow string -

- there's a soft _shush_ through the air -

- only one second of pain -



** XVI **


They can't rent that apartment any more. Haunted, the tenants say, usually on their hurried way out, hauling suitcases and half-done packing boxes behind them. One of the spirits is gentle and doesn't seem to mind them being there, so much, but they can't bear the sounds of his panicked breathing as midnight draws close. And if they stay beyond that, the second spirit begins to curse at some. Some have seen things fly across the room, then, as if he's in a jealous rage at their presence in the room.

And then there are the times when you hear the two voices together, murmuring, moaning, gasping, as if they're making love. Prudes and homophobes can only hear that they are two men's voices, not the love therein, and they leave too.

Eventually Willow takes the apartment, and Tara moves in with her, natural as breathing. The voices calm with the presence of the familiar, although they don't stop their routine altogether, and it gives both women an odd sense of comfort to listen to them as they work via e-mail and satellite with Angel to bring the Initiative down once and for all.

One day, they'll succeed.

But often, until then, Willow goes outside and stands on the balcony. If she closes her eyes, she can see a car powering its way up the drive, and smell the cigarette smoke. The voices swirl about her head, loving and true.

Spike's voice. Xander's voice.

She'll get vengeance for them.

Some day. Soon.

And until then, she listens to the highwayman and his own true love, meeting yet. She listens to true love, and hopes that they will find peace.

She thinks they will.

Some day.

Soon.


~ Finis ~