******

Part 4

When one is contented, there is no more to be desired; and when there is no more to be desired, there is an end of it. --Miguel de Cervantes Don Quixote
 

Part 4a. In which the hellmouth opens, and things get bad.
 

Spike didn't see a great deal of Xander that week. He spent most of his free time wearing the ring, with Dawn or Buffy and Angel, who was staying for a couple of weeks, over the holidays.

At first, he didn't even really notice. It wasn't that Xander was avoiding him; on the contrary, he was almost always there with a grin and a sarcastic comment when Spike went looking for him. But after a few days, he was forced to admit that something about the man was different. And when he actually put his mind to it, it wasn't hard to figure out what had been bothering him. Xander had been supportive, obviously thrilled for him, and whether they were alone or in company, treated him like a friend. But never anything more than that. Really, his behavior hadn't changed at all, and there was only one difference Spike could actually point to. Xander had stopped touching him; reaching out to take his hand when they spoke, leaning in when they sat together so Spike could feel him breathe. He never pushed him away if Spike initiated it, but he also never made the first move.

Spike couldn't understand what it meant, if it even meant anything, other than Xander wanting to give him some space to become reacquainted with his family.

So it hadn't really made an impression to start with. Someone was always by his side these days anyway. But he missed his friend, the man who had brought him back from the brink of insanity, changed what had promised to be a lonely, loveless eternity, made him remember what it was like to feel, to be human. It felt like something was slipping away from him, and Spike didn't understand why, or how to stop it.

He knew that once upon a time, he would have simply gotten in the man's face and demanded to know what was going on. But then, once upon a time, he would have made his interest known a long time ago, fuck consideration and consequences. He just didn't have that possessive, violent instinct any longer. Alive, he had always been the archetypal gentle soul, selfless, uncertain, and while one hundred and fifty years as a demon had changed him almost beyond recognition, that much of his nature had survived to reassert itself.

Still, after a few days, he was seriously considering bringing the subject up, no matter how stupid it might make him look.

But that never happened, because on December thirtieth, Xander had a vision. And on the last day of the year the hellmouth under Cleveland opened.

Xander had wanted to go, but Buffy had vetoed that, and secretly Spike had been immensely relieved. She and Angel had taken Willow, Wesley, Gunn and the three slayers still living in the house over the holidays and raced to Cleveland to meet with Faith, Robin Wood, and the other two slayers stationed over the hellmouth. Xander had insisted that the other nearby slayers be called, but Spike knew they would never be able to make it in time to help.

Spike had not left the Slayer Headquarters immediately, partly because he knew he could simply appear in Cleveland when he was needed, but mostly because of Xander. He had rarely seen the other man like this, and never in the few months since he had learned to phase. There was a weight of guilt and despair in the seer's eyes that spoke volumes about what he had seen. He didn't say anything, but Spike could tell he didn't expect everyone to survive. Occasionally, his eyes would defocus, his face would go blank, and Spike knew he was reliving the images. And every time he did so, the pain was shoved ruthlessly aside, the fear and the anger channeled into research, meetings, phone calls, anything to help, to keep his mind occupied.

Spike had read the report, knew what to expect, and as daunting as it sounded, he would have said they had done everything they could to prepare for what was coming, that they had a good chance of winning, were it not for that look in Xander's eyes. If he hadn't known the man so well, he might not have even noticed that there was anything wrong. He put on a good show, somber, concerned, but always encouraging optimism in the people around him. Spike supposed he'd had a lot of practice. Which wasn't so much encouraging as it was indicative of just how much he had had to endure over the last ten years.

Dawn saw it was well, and when Spike finally decided it was time for him to get going, she pulled him into a tight embrace, demanding that he take care of them, and pleading with her eyes that he look after her sister. He looked her in the eye and swore it. About to remove his ring, he paused and turned back to her. 'Look after him, Dawn. For me.' He didn't elaborate, but her blue eyes widened and she nodded once.

It was nothing like the last time. The portal was still in the very center of town, but this one was out in the open, part of a system of caves that opened into a popular picnic spot. Xander had seen it happening at sunset. They would have cleared out the park, formed a defensive circle around the hellmouth, but the enemy was already there.

As they made their way through the snow, shivering in the cold, Spike counted twelve bodies, slashed open to lie spread-eagled, like an offering, blood painting the pristine snow perversely beautiful colors. Marina gasped as they passed this, and Rachel breathed one shocked and angry, 'Shit,' but no one else said anything.

The atmosphere, though, charged. Spike could see the change in Buffy and Willow particularly. Now they were angry. Now, it was personal.

Spike thought of Xander. Had he seen these deaths? Were these more people he would never get to know, but never be able to let go of?

There was a roar, and the group fanned out. Spike wasn't really part of the plan. They couldn't see him to direct him, and besides, he had his own purpose. He was the tool of the Powers, there to protect them. The roar was followed by another, then another, and suddenly, they burst into a clearing to discover the hellmouth, surrounded by at least one hundred demons, all carrying weapons and arrayed in battle formation.

They had seven slayers, five civilians, one witch and himself, with Angel standing in reserve. He began to understand the look in Xander's eyes.

They had known what to expect, and had armed themselves accordingly, but there was no way they would be able to get through all those demons in time to prevent the sorceress at their center opening the hellmouth. The sun was setting even as the first rank charged.

Then his mind shut down, and instinct took over. His senses were screaming at him, tugging him in different directions as slayer after slayer found herself in mortal danger. Again and again, he plunged his hand into demon's chests, squeezing his fist around the bright light that signified the center of their life force, allowing his own soul, his own light, to burn brighter until it consumed the other completely. The process was tiring, but he couldn't rest.

He had his fist in his tenth demon when he lost his first chosen. He felt the sharp tug, but the demon was bearing down on Rachel, and she was moments from decorating the end of a sword herself. So he didn't move, and a moment later he felt the tug dissipate, become something else, even as the demon before him dropped dead with Rachel's axe perforating its chest.

Sparing her barely a glance, he appeared beside Marianne, one of the resident Cleveland slayers. She was looking around in confusion, and Spike reached out to place a hand on her arm. Her eyes widened as one of the demons passed harmlessly through them, but he ignored it. This was the other part of his job, and at the moment, it was more important than the fighting going on around him. She looked up and met his eyes, one corner of her mouth lifting in a wry, sad smile. 'You must be Spike.'

He couldn't help a slightly surprised smile at that. They never used to know who he was. It was... maybe not nice, but gratifying perhaps. 'That's me, luv. I'm here to say thank you.'

She crinkled her forehead for a moment, then smirked. 'I bet you say that to all the girls.' He laughed softly, ducking his head.

'Well, yeah, but I mean it every time,' he replied gently.

The smile faded as her face became sad. 'Tell my husband and my daughter that I love them. And that this is the way it should be.'

'Will do, luv.' He squeezed her arm and let go.

She was already fading when her mouth quirked again. 'Xan always says everything happens for a reason.'

Spike didn't know what to say to that, but she was almost gone, so he just smiled and nodded, knowing that in this case, at least, that was true. That Powers had called her home. He knew that if he couldn't protect them, they weren't meant to be saved. He might not always like it, but that was the way it worked.

As hard as he tried, she wasn't the last one who died. Every one of them threw themselves into the battle, but it wasn't enough to stop the hellmouth opening. Dozens of demons escaped before Buffy finally waded in and furiously hacked at the sorceress, spraying her blood over the portal, closing it. He could not have done it himself. He killed without blood, and only the living blood of the one who opened it could have closed it. But he was at her side, just as he had always been, and she didn't die.

With the portal closed, the demons scattered, and they came upon more innocent victims as they tracked down each and every thing that had come though the gate.

There had been worse battles, but this was bad enough.

Hours later, the survivors gathered at Faith's house. They would drive back tomorrow, but for now, Spike knew there was nothing he could do there. He needed to go back to Marion. Buffy had called, but he would be able to tell them exactly what had happened. Besides, he wanted to get away from the sight of all that carnage. He wanted to see Xander.

With no way to let them know what he was doing, Spike simply disappeared, appearing a moment later beside Xander. He was sitting in the conference room with Dawn and a young woman he identified as Fiona. They all looked tired, drawn. Dawn looked like she hadn't slept in days, and she had pulled her chair over to the young woman's, who she had in a gentle embrace. Fiona had dried tear tracks running down her face, and Spike realized that this was Rachel's sister. Rachel had been wounded in the fight, but wasn't in any danger at the moment.

Xander was hunched over the table, his pen moving unhesitatingly over a piece of paper. Spike thought for a moment that he was ok, but when Xander turned his head, he could see the vacant look in his eyes, the blank expression on his face. It was obvious Xander's hand was moving independently of his thoughts, and Spike's heart broke a little as he watched this man relive the death and the pain of too many innocent people.

The box containing his ring was sitting on the table. They all looked up when it opened and he picked up the ring. There was a momentary prick as he placed it on his finger, then a flash of light and they were looking at him directly. He immediately turned to Xander, almost automatically picking up his hand as it lay on the table. He quashed the disappointment he felt when the other man didn't respond.

Xander had turned his gaze on Spike, but his face was still blank. Spike glanced at Dawn, sitting opposite, and she gave him a very small, bleak smile, a twitch of lips that was gone almost before it appeared. He turned back to Xander.

'How many?' the man asked quietly.

'Marianne and Jason,' he named one of the Cleveland watchers. 'Marina, Rachel and Robin were the worst injuries, but they'll be alright. Everyone else is just banged up.'

Xander was watching him steadily, giving nothing away. 'How many others?'

Spike hesitated before replying, but he was going to know sooner or later. 'Forty-eight, by my count,' he eventually answered quietly. Xander nodded, and for a moment, his eyes reflected all the guilt and the grief he was holding inside. Then the shields were back up, and he lowered his head, one hand coming up to run over his eyes.

'Not as bad as it might have been,' he murmured distantly.

'Xander, it's not your fault, you know that.' Spike was worried. This was a Xander he saw only rarely, and had little experience with. Most of the time, he could almost forget that this man was fifteen years older than the one he had known. This isolated, wounded individual was the product of those years, and while he had seen him, usually it was only because Xander allowed it. This was different, and Spike began to understand what Xander must have been like when he first received the visions. Although even now, there was still strength. He wasn't letting himself drown, but he was closer than Spike had ever seen him.

But Xander took a deep breath, closed his eyes for a moment, and when he opened them he was at least present. Spike relaxed a little when Xander smiled sadly at him. 'Sure, I know. It's just... hard, you know.' Spike nodded, looking at him searchingly, but easier at heart. 'We should call Buffy, let her know where you are.' He looked over at Dawn and Fiona, who were wilting in their chairs now the adrenalin was wearing off, and smiled softly. 'Why don't you guy's get some sleep? They won't be back 'till tomorrow. There's not much we can do 'till then. I'll call you if anything happens.' Even Spike could hardly see through the reassuring tone. Fiona nodded gratefully, giving Dawn a final hug before heading out. Dawn stood as well, but headed around the table to stand before Xander. She pulled him into her arms, and he laid his head on her own where it tucked into his shoulder, threading his arms about her.

'I'm sorry we couldn't save them all, Xander,' she whispered tiredly.

Xander let out a little puff of sad laughter. 'Me too, Dawnie. But it really could have been worse. We saved a lot lives tonight. More than they need to know about,' he added, almost to himself, and Spike wondered again exactly what he had seen.

Dawn shuddered. 'Yes,' she agreed fervently. Her arms tightened for a moment before she stepped away from him.

Xander smiled down at her, and then turned to Spike. He opened his mouth, but didn't seem to know what to say. For a moment he looked so lost, and all Spike wanted was to hold him in his arms and take all the pain away. But he didn't know how Xander would react to that, and the past week he had been so strange, that all he could do was hold out his hand. It almost brought tears to his eyes when Xander reached out and took it, squeezing gently as they looked into each other's eyes. 'Spike, I...' His voice was full of an emotion Spike couldn't identify, but it caused something to tighten in his gut. He thought maybe it was hope. But Xander was pulling away from him again. 'I'll talk to you later, Spike. Thank you for everything you did tonight. I know it would have been worse without you.'

He smiled one last time, before turning and walking out of the room. Spike was left standing, one arm reaching out to the man who had once again turned away from him. 'Xander... damn it,' he whispered.

He started when Dawn touched his shoulder. He'd forgotten she was even there. 'He'll be alright. Just give him a bit of time. He's always done this, pushes things away until he's ready to feel them. It was actually pretty useful back in Sunnydale.' Spike sighed and nodded.

'I just want to help,' he said.

She smiled. 'You will, you do. He'll need you when this all comes crashing down.'

Spike smiled ruefully. 'He doesn't need me, bit. I just wish I could say the same about him.'

Her eyes darted over to him. He winced. He hadn't meant to say that out loud. But she didn't look surprised. 'That man has a hard time admitting he needs anything. We don't let it stand in our way.' She grinned faintly, turning him to face her. She looked into his eyes seriously. 'I'm going to tell you something, Spike, 'cause I'm not sure it'll ever work itself out on his own. Xan may not admit it, but he does need you, just as much as he needs us, to be his friend, to be his family. But he also wants you, more than he thinks he should, in his words. And it's pretty obvious you want him, too. Don't give up on him, Spike,' she said quietly. 'He's been happier the past few months than we've seen him in years. You make him happy. If it's anything like the same for you... That's worth fighting for.'

Spike narrowed his eyes in confusion. Xander wanted him? 'He told you that?'

Dawn smirked. 'That he wanted you? Yeah, we got him to admit it. But it's pretty obvious.'

'Well, then...' What had this last week been all about? Spike had to admit, he'd been fairly sure of Xander's interest previously. Enough to want to take a chance, anyway. But ever since Willow had given him that ring for Christmas, since he'd been able to interact with everyone again... Spike rolled his eyes as everything clicked into place. Xander leaving him alone to be with Buffy and Dawn, treating him like a friend, not going out of his way to touch him. 'The bleedin' nitwit,' he muttered. 'He thinks I don't want him now I've got this thing.' He waved his hand around.

Dawn chuckled. 'That sounds about right. He could barely bring himself to believe it when we told him you didn't hate him back when you were a vampire.'

Spike heaved an exasperated sigh, his mouth quirking a little. 'Always puttin' himself down, ain't he? He probably thought I'd want to go back to Buffy.'

She stared at him searchingly for a moment. 'I guess you'll just have to convince him otherwise.'

He glanced at her, reading clearly the question she was asking. He smirked self-deprecatingly, trying to reassure her with his eyes. 'Damn straight.'

Dawn relaxed, nodding firmly. 'Good. Now, back to the battle. First of all, thank you for protecting them, all of them, especially Buffy.'

'Always, bit.' He smiled. 'You know that.'

'Was it bad?'

He sighed. 'Yeah, pretty bad. Messy.' He shuddered, remembering.

Dawn reached out to run a hand down his arm, rubbing gently. 'You alright?' she asked, peering at him carefully.

'Tired, is all.' Having to kill that many demons with his energy was always a little draining.

She nodded sympathetically. 'Right there with you. Why don't you crash in Buffy's room? We can go over everything tomorrow.' He nodded gratefully, and they made their way upstairs. He paused as they passed Xander's room, but Dawn drew him past with a quiet, 'Not yet,' so he kept walking. He was about to open the door to Buffy's room when Dawn turned back to him with an exclamation. 'Spike! I completely forgot. It's after midnight.' She grinned.

He frowned at her, confused. 'Yeah, so?'

'So,' she rolled her eyes, 'Happy New Year.'

His eyes widened. 'Huh, well, look at that. So it is. Happy New Year to you, too.' He leaned over and gave her a light kiss on the lips. 'Now, go to bed. 'M tried.'

She chuckled and shook her head. 'No sense of occasion. Night, Spike, sleep well.'

She turned and walked away. He smiled at her back. 'You, too, Dawn.'

******

Part 4b. In which Xander falls apart, and Spike puts him back together.

Over the next couple of days, Spike didn't see Xander because this time the man actually was avoiding him. Not that he could really take it personally. He avoided all of them, withdrew into his own little world. The girls would look at him sympathetically, say that he did this occasionally, when a vision had gone badly, just give him a little space, but Spike was starting to get impatient. For someone who professed to understand that what had happened was not his fault, Xander sure seemed to be swimming in guilt. Of course, thinking things like that only served to make him feel bad. If anyone was able to understand what Xander was going through, it should be Spike. But at least he had actually been there for his memories.

He managed to contain himself for four days, vacillating between irritation and understanding, before deciding he had to say something.

Everyone had gone to bed early on Thursday, and Spike had used the early evening to check up on all the slayers around the world, answering one call to protect a slayer in India, but mostly just picking up his usual rounds, which had been somewhat disturbed the past couple of weeks. When he reappeared the house was dark, quiet, the only lights in Xander's suite and the one that was always on in the kitchen.

Spike made his way up the stairs to Xander's office automatically, pausing only when he came to the closed door. He stared at it for a long moment. Dawn had told him to wait, but she had also said that he had to fight for what he, and possibly Xander, wanted. And every time Spike went near the other man, he could feel him drawing further away. If it went on for too much longer, Spike was afraid Xander would have talked himself out of any feelings he may have ever had for him. That was something he just couldn't risk, no matter how much space he was supposed to give him. He would help Xander get past this, just as Xander had helped him, and hope that their relationship wasn't already fucked up beyond repair, that there was still a chance it could be something more.

With a deep breath, he steeled himself and walked through the door.

It took him a moment to realize that Xander wasn't there, and he felt an unwarranted flicker of irritation. He was getting just a little sick of this.

He narrowed his eyes and appeared a moment later in the gym, out behind the main house.

Xander was alone. There was only one light on, casting most of the place into shadow. Xander was standing in the middle of the open practice area, as far away from the light as he could get without actually losing himself in the shadows. He had out his broadsword, and was slashing it through the air, smoothly moving from one position to the next, never pausing, tension radiating from his shoulders.

It was almost exactly as Spike had imagined it, but he found he wasn't able to appreciate the picture. Xander's movements were violent, focused, and he attacked the empty air in front of him as though his very life depended on it. One look at his face, however, and all Spike's frustration just seemed to bleed away. Xander had his eyes closed, and while his expression was blank, Spike could see the strain around his mouth. And he could see the tears that crept down Xander's face, falling past long, damp lashes to dry unnoticed on pale cheeks, occasionally making it far enough to drip off his chin and become lost in the sweat that soaked his shirt.

He was close enough that the sword passed though his chest, but Spike barely noticed. Xander turned, following the movement of his swing, and Spike reached out a hand to the muscled back, wanting more than anything to touch it, to rest his fingers on the warm flesh, not just have them pass, invisible, through the glowing light that was the human's soul.

But Xander didn't know he was there, and Spike knew he wouldn't until his next vision forced him to phase.

So he was surprised when Xander suddenly swung around, his eyes open and confused, the point of the sword falling to the floor. 'Hello?' he called out, looking around carefully. Not knowing what, exactly, he had done, Spike reached out to pass his hand through Xander again, jerking back in shock when the man frowned. When he still didn't see anything, Spike thought he was going to go back to his exercises, but suddenly Xander was solid, looking at him curiously.

'Spike, hey, I thought I felt something. What are you doing here?' It was said mildly enough, but Spike couldn't help taking exception to the question.

However, he carefully regulated his tone when he answered, 'Haven't seen much of you lately, came to see how you're doing.'

Xander smiled tightly at him. 'I'm fine.'

''S that so? 'Cause, you know, you look like shit. Haven't been eating, doesn't look like you've been getting much sleep either.' He examined the circles under Xander's eyes critically, smirking inwardly at the irritation that flashed over the other man's face.

'I'm fine,' he repeated, finality in his tone.

Spike just raised an eyebrow. 'Uh, huh. So you haven't been hiding yourself away from us, from me, for the past four days. Haven't been blaming yourself for all those people we couldn't save. Aren't, in fact, here, now, taking out your guilt on some invisible enemy. And those aren't tears on your face, you just got something in your eye, right?' He had started out calmly enough, but he was glaring at the man by the end of his tirade.

Xander took one step backwards and narrowed his eyes, his whole body tensing up. 'This is none of your business, Spike,' he bit out angrily. Spike actually felt a little better at this show of emotion. It didn't stop him pushing though.

'I'm making it my business, Harris. Believe it or not, I actually care about you, and so do all the people up in that house. It's true, they have no concept of what the visions are like, what you feel when you get them. But I get the guilt, Xander. I also know that you know that you aren't responsible for the deaths of those people. You weren't the only one there. Hell, you weren't even there at all. You think we don't all regret that we couldn't do more? But we did everything we could. You did everything you could. It's not your fault.'

Xander regarded him for a moment from beneath lowered lashes. Eventually he heaved a sigh, some of the tension draining from his limbs. He smirked half-heartedly as he looked up. 'Do you know how weird it is to be getting a pep talk from you, Spike?' Before he could respond, Xander sighed again, running a hand through his hair. 'It's not guilt, Spike,' he said softly. Spike couldn't contain a snort of disbelief, and Xander shot him an amused smirk. 'Well, not entirely guilt, then. I know it's not my fault. It's... grief, I suppose. I told you how my visions work...' He turned around suddenly and strode over to the weapons rack. Spike followed slowly as he just stood there, staring vacantly at the rows of swords. He started when Spike appeared beside him, flashing a small smile as he hung up his broadsword.

Tentatively, Spike wound a hand around his wrist, pleased, and relieved, when for the first time in days Xander didn't draw away. He tugged Xander over to one of the benches lining the walls, and they sat down. Xander leaned back and closed his eyes, his face telegraphing pain and exhaustion. Spike sighed, turning to face him. 'Mate, what's going on?'

Spike was a little disturbed by the bleak smile that this produced. 'You know, Spike, sometimes I really hate this shit.'

'Oh, that's real nice, Harris. I'll have you know I only wanted to help.'

'Not you, Spike,' he sighed. 'This,' he gestured to his head, ''gift' of mine.'

He sat up abruptly. 'All this crap in my head... You wanna know why this time was different? Why it's taking me so long to process it? What you saw, Spike, those people who died? That was only the beginning. You stopped my vision from coming true. That was good. Just think for a moment what bad would have been like. That's what I saw. I felt the death of hundreds of innocents, and I have to go through every one of them, sort out those we did save from those we didn't. I have to. I have to know, have to say goodbye. It's the only way to make the screaming stop...'

Spike just stared at him for a moment, wordless. There were a thousand thoughts running through his head, but he didn't know how to say anything without it sounding like pity.

But there was one thing he had to know. 'Why do you do it? The visions I mean. I realize you've had a lot of practice and all that, but it's been ten years, mate. Red said you didn't have to keep them. That night you died, she said she could heal you, and pass the visions on. You're nothing special. Good mind, strong body, stubborn to a fault, but so are a lot of other people, or demons if you will. Why do you keep doing this to yourself?'

Xander was smirking at him. 'Geez, Spike, was that supposed to be a compliment, 'cause I think it got lost in all those insults.' Spike just narrowed his eyes and glared. Xander eyed him mutinously, but eventually he sighed and dropped his head. 'I do it because I want to help, want to be more than just the backup. I do it because I swore to the Powers that I would, because there are thousands of innocent people out there who don't deserve to live like we do. And yes, because I'm good at it. But mostly, Spike, I do it because I can.' He paused for a moment, turning to eye him seriously. 'How many seers have you met, Spike?'

'A few,' he answered warily. 'I lived with one going on one hundred years. Granted Dru wasn't quite like you, but she was still a seer. Met one in Poland once, 'nother in Japan. Both seemed a bit touched in the head, if you ask me. Cordelia, though before she got them. Yesrah. Why?'

Xander shrugged. 'You know how Yesrah died?' Spike did, but Xander didn't wait for an answer. 'He was thirty-one. He'd had the visions for eight years. He was part human, part fucking Schofas demon. And they drove him insane. He couldn't deal with them. Yeah, he was injured in battle, but he didn't even try to step out of the way of that axe... You just admitted the three seers you've known have also been crazy. For whatever reason, I'm not. Maybe I'm just too stubborn to give up. It doesn't matter. The point is, I can deal with them. All opinions to the contrary, I'm not insane. Not likely to go that way either, far as I can tell. Who's to say the next sucker is gonna be so lucky?'

Spike grimaced. He wanted to say he didn't give a flying fuck about the next seer. Problem was, he couldn't even really say it convincingly to himself. It was so much easier when you were a demon and didn't have to care about people. 'Yeah.' They sat next to each other for a few moments, both staring off into space, lost in their thoughts. Spike laced his hands over his stomach and looked sideways at Xander. 'So, the question is, is it worth it?' he eventually asked blandly.

Xander flicked him a look. 'Maybe, yeah, I think so. You?'

'Yeah. Even after everything. Right now... Yeah.' Xander looked at him curiously for a moment, before settling back against the wall, stretching his feet out in front of him. After a minute, he lent over so their shoulders were touching, and Spike allowed a tiny smile to appear on his face.

They stayed that way for a while, both soaking up the comfortable silence. Spike spoke without thinking. 'We are two seriously fucked up individuals, mate.'

Thankfully, Xander just chuckled softly, glancing at him out of the corner of one eye. 'Amen to that, Spike.' He looked away and said ruefully, 'You know, I didn't mean to make you think I was avoiding you.'

'Yeah, well,' Spike cleared his throat. 'Got used to having you around, didn't I?'

'What about the others?' Spike thought he heard a slight tension in Xander's voice, but that could have been wishful thinking.

'What about them? They're not you.'

Spike caught the confusion on Xander's face and mentally rolled his eyes. Subtlety was obviously not going to work in this case.

But apparently now wasn't the time to practice candor either. As he watched, Xander's face clouded, his mouth tensing as weary resignation flashed in his eyes. Eyes that went blank a moment later, as the vision claimed him.

As always, it was over in less than a minute. It was only because they were sitting so close that Spike noticed the faint trembling in the man beside him. Almost unconsciously, Spike picked up one tightly clenched fist, but Xander didn't seem to notice. When his eyes cleared, Xander lowered his head, but not before Spike saw the tears that gathered in his eyes, the hopelessness that momentarily flashed across his face.

Not looking at him, Xander stood and went over to his bag to collect pen and paper. Spike stayed where he was, still caught by the despair he had seen in the other man's eyes.

However, he jumped up when he heard the pen Xander had been holding clatter to the ground. He rushed over, but was once again brought up short. Xander was looking blankly down at the ground, his hand shaking uncontrollably. His eyes seemed to focus on the pen that had rolled over to rest near Spike's boot.

Slowly, mechanically, he knelt, never taking his eyes off it. Spike was a little disgusted with himself for the thrill he felt at seeing Xander in this position. However, all thought flew from his head a moment later, when Xander's trembling, outstretched hand stopped halfway to the ground, and a single fat tear rolled down his face to splash on the floor between them.

Spike was appalled. He honestly didn't know what to do. He'd had plenty of experience with distraught females, but this was Xander. Xander never cried. He never had, and Spike had been through enough heart-wrenching disasters with him to know that. He became angry, or withdrawn, but he didn't cry, and certainly not when there was anyone else to witness it.

He hadn't known... All this time, he had thought he was beginning to understand Xander - that he knew the pain the other man endured. That Xander had let him in, lowered his shields, allowed him to see into his heart.

And maybe he had, to a certain extent. But like all the rest of them, Spike had seen the light, the love the other man was prepared to offer, and had assumed that meant the darkness wasn't so bad. He had known it was there. He even had a feeling he had been allowed to see more of Xander than even Buffy and Dawn.

But he hadn't really understood. He had been too wrapped up in his own affairs, and Xander had kept his problems out of the limelight, partly because he wasn't the type to share, but mostly because that was the sort of friend he was. Maybe he wasn't going insane, but the visions were sucking the life out of this man. A person couldn't live without hope. He knew that Xander would fight, would pull himself out of this funk, but it was only a matter of time before it happened again, and Spike was suddenly terrified that a day would come when Xander didn't have the strength or the will to bring himself back.

He had thought that he would leave Xander one day, and had been ok with that. But it had never occurred to him that Xander might be the one to go. The very thought made him feel ill. It couldn't happen. He wouldn't let it happen. Xander maintained that Spike deserved to be redeemed, to be happy. That he had given his life in the service of a higher power, for a greater good, and that because of that his past sins had been forgiven. Yet Xander had fought for the Powers far longer than he had, had never wavered, had given up his future because of his desire to protect the innocent, to keep them that way.

He had wanted Xander because he had thought the man would make him happy. But all of a sudden, his own happiness seemed irrelevant. He would not let Xander lose himself to the darkness. Xander had saved him, pulled him out of a downward spiral he hadn't even been aware he was on, given him something to hope for, something to come back to. He could do nothing less. Whatever it took, whatever the cost, if had to defy the Powers themselves, he would see this man happy.
 

Xander refused to allow himself to cry. He knew that if he started, he wouldn't be able to stop. He could picture himself drowning, as wave after wave of his tears washed over him. He could hear them, rushing in his ears, coming for him. And all the dead people who lived in his mind would wrap their hands around his ankles and hold him under, their blood tingeing his tears red, as he struggled to find the surface.

He didn't want to drown. He knew this, but the image was so real, so captivating... In some lucid part of his brain, he supposed that his tears probably wouldn't kill him, that the people in his head didn't hate him, but with that vision running through his mind he was paralyzed, too afraid to take the chance.

So he willed them away. He would cry later, he promised himself. They would scream at him, he would cry for them, and maybe, just maybe, they would forgive him. He only wanted them to stop dying. Was that so much to ask? He didn't want to kill them anymore. Every time he went to sleep he killed them again, only to wake up sweating or screaming. Every time he closed his eyes they cried for someone to save them...

But he was stronger than that. It was incredibly difficult to have to grieve for so many at once, but he had done it before, and he had no doubt he would have to do it again before the end. But it was true what he had told Spike, he could do it. He would grieve for them, and he would never forget them, but he would not let them drag him down. He had too much still to do. They didn't even really blame him. He knew that, too. They didn't even know he existed, for the most part. He had been given a chance to save them, nothing more than that. And as long as there was still a chance he could save anyone else, he refused to give up.

Which brought his mind back to the vision he had just had. It hadn't been particularly horrific, but it had caught him unawares. Spike had taken his mind off things for a moment, turned his attention away from all his carefully erected emotional barriers. So the image of that one young woman being gutted by the Inferni demon had hit him harder than usual, bringing back the memories of the hellmouth opening only a few days before.

He realized dimly that he was kneeling on the floor. His pen was resting next to a large black boot. One look at his hands told him how it must have gotten there. He was holding himself so tightly his whole arm was shaking.

The boots were suddenly replaced by a pair of black-clad knees. He followed with his eyes as the pen rolled across the floor, dislodged by a thoughtless foot, distantly wondering how he would save them now, if he could never tell anyone what was going to happen. When it came to rest against the wall, Xander lifted his head carefully to find Spike watching him warily. His eyes were bright, and Xander cocked his head as he wondered what was wrong. He almost wanted to smile at the thought, except it wasn't funny. It was all wrong, always wrong. Spike had just as many dead people living in his head as Xander did. Of course there was something wrong. He felt a tear run down his face and his heart sped up, the rushing in his ears getting louder.

He heard Spike say something, but he couldn't focus past the noise, couldn't see past the faces, so many faces.

He felt two hands on his face, pulling his head up, and he latched onto the sensation. All the others, the screams, the pain, they weren't real. He wasn't dying, being carved open, stabbed, broken, beaten and cast aside. It wasn't happening. Not happening. Not this time. Not to him.

He wrenched his eyes open desperately, and then he could see something else. He could see Spike and it was like water to a dying man, or a hand to a drowning one.

'...have to breathe.' The words came from too far away, but he understood them. He fixed his eyes on the top button of Spike's shirt. 'Xander, love, come back. Come on, don't do this to yourself. It's not you. Not your fault. They don't blame you.' Spike. He could feel hands running over his face, frantic.

He needed to get away, needed to think of something else, say something, not to worry, he was fine, not to worry, not to worry. 'Shhh, love. I know.'

'They're dead. I don't want them to be dead,' he whispered wretchedly to Spike's neck.

Hands running through his hair, coming to rest at the back of his neck. And it felt nice, not wrong. 'Oh, love... You can't change what happened, but they're all right. We both know that. I wanted you to know... I was with Marianne after she died. And you know what the very last thing she said was? She said, Xan always says everything happens for a reason. I'm starting to believe that's true, love. It'll be alright.'

He knew that the words were true, and it helped to hear them, a little. But there was something in Spike's voice that cut through all the emotion, all the noise, and lodged painfully in his heart. His eyes found Spike's. They were crying. Crying for all the innocents, for their families, but most of all for him. He reached one shaking hand up, catching a drop on the end of a finger as it hovered on the edge of his chin. Averting his eyes, he slumped against Spike, leaning into the curve of his neck, winding arms about his waist. Spike felt so alive, so real. So right.

Spike whispered, just loud enough for him to hear, even as close as they were. 'Not gonna let go of you, love. Never let go.' It was a promise, and with it the sound receded. He buried his face as his tears started to fall, silently washing away guilt and grief.

All the while Spike held him, and he didn't drown.
 

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