Anchors and Holds

by
Yindagger

Part One

*****

Xander’s fingers were twisted tightly into the white-blond hair of the man kneeling in front of him. He threw his own long, dark curls out of his face as he slammed forward, burying himself brutally into his partner. He lunged forward, mouth open, zeroing in on the spot where neck and shoulder met.

"Spike!" he groaned, as his orgasm thundered through him. Just before his teeth could connect with tanned skin, the blond man spoke.

"Christ, Xander – no biting – I have a shirtless scene tomorrow!" Xander rolled to his side, still unable to speak through the loud panting of his release. He stripped the used condom off of his softening erection and flung it toward the trashcan. It missed.

The blond rolled in the opposite direction and reached onto the bedside table for a bottle of water. He looked at the dark man appraisingly.

"I know we’re just fuck buddies and all, Xan, but if you aren’t going to call me by the right name, could you just fall back on the generic "Baby" or something? You’re gonna give me a complex." Xander reached up to resettle his slightly askew eye patch, and then tucked both hands under his head. He looked into the other man’s green eyes, which were shining with suppressed mirth.

"Jason," he said patiently. "You are an actor – I’m not gonna take responsibility for you having a complex of any kind." Jason pouted for a moment, then smiled and relaxed onto the bed. He reached out and tousled Xander’s hair.

"Who’s Spike?" he asked kindly. At the question, Xander sat up and propped himself against the headboard. He rubbed one hand across his face.

"He was … my friend, my lover. He died." Jason reached out again and squeezed Xander’s shoulder.

"Oh, man. I’m sorry. How long …" Xander cut him off with a short laugh.

"We knew each other for five years or so. We were more or less friends for a year or two. We were lovers for six days."

"Is that his name or something?" Jason asked, gesturing to the small tattoo on the back of Xander’s right wrist. It was a Chinese character, located where the face of Xander’s wristwatch would cover it. Jason had noticed that Xander always rubbed it after they had sex, but this was the first time he’d asked about it. This was also the first time Xander had called out a name during sex. Xander looked down at his own fingers as they traced the strokes of the mark. He smiled.

"It says ‘six days’, actually," he said in a low voice, "so I don’t forget." Jason nodded.

"How long has he been gone?" Xander took a deep breath and released it slowly.

"A hundred and forty-one days today," he said. The blond man considered that for a minute.

"Oh – did he die in the earthquake?"



The earthquake. Xander snorted to himself as he stepped into the hotel room’s shower after kicking Jason out. That’s how the rest of the world had categorized the closing of the Hellmouth and the destruction of the entire town of Sunnydale. Earthquake. Biiiiiig earthquake. He giggled helplessly for a moment, and then got a grip on himself before the giggles could turn to sobs. Nudging the handle to make the water just a little bit cooler, he grabbed the bottle of body wash and scrubbed himself clean.

The body wash was an expensive designer scent for which he paid entirely too much. Xander didn’t care. One benefit of the whole earthquake ruse was that Sunnydale had been declared a state and federal disaster area. Both FEMA and the State of California had flitted around, handing out checks to any "Sunnydale Survivors" they could find. Xander had collected one of each happily, and then had been shocked to receive several more – he had been listed as Anya’s beneficiary. He’d gotten not only her disaster relief checks, but also her fairly large life insurance policy and her very impressive investment portfolio.

Buffy, Dawn, Willow, Robin, Giles, Andrew and those of the new slayers who had established residency in Sunnydale had also received checks. The money had gone a long way to ease the transitions they were all going through. Buffy and Dawn had settled in at the hotel with Angel. Buffy and Angel were trying to get to know one another as friends, while the girls were trying to reconcile with their father. They were both in school. Buffy had started at UCLA, and Giles had found a private school that catered to a diverse student body – Dawn was taking both college prep and ancient and demonic language courses.

Giles had taken Willow, Kennedy and Andrew with him to England to help rebuild the Watcher’s Council. Willow was to be Kennedy’s Watcher, while also teaching magic at the Watcher’s Academy. Andrew, who had become much more serious and subdued after the final battle, was working as the Council’s librarian. Faith and Wood had struck up an odd but solid romantic bond, and had taken a group of slayers to Cleveland, to patrol what was now the main Hellmouth. Some of the other girls had returned to their parents, some had gone to England, and a few had stayed in LA to work with Buffy.

It had seemed to Xander at the time that everyone except for him had a place. Angel and his crew were busy running their formerly evil law firm (a concept Xander still couldn’t get his head around); the slayers and proto-Watchers all had things to do; everyone had a life to lead. Except him. Xander found himself, for the first time ever, with the freedom and resources to do pretty much whatever he wanted. As it turned out, the first thing he wanted was to drink himself into an exquisite state of numbness every single night for three weeks.

After the twentieth night in a row that Angel or Wes or Gunn or Buffy had pulled Xander’s limp form out of the bushes and into the hotel in the early morning hours, his friends had staged an intervention of sorts. Their main argument had been that "Anya wouldn’t have wanted him to be like this". He couldn’t argue there – she probably wouldn’t have. Not that he cared. He told his friends what they wanted to hear, then went up to the roof with a gallon of water and a bottle of Advil and stayed there until he was completely sober. It took a while.

During that long day, he had forced himself to sit in a lounge chair on the roof of the hotel and let the feelings come. He had cried until his shirt was soaked, then laughed until he cried again, remembering every single detail of the six days that he and Spike were lovers. Then he went back and tried to remember every snide remark, insult or joke the arrogant vampire had ever tossed his way. Finally spent, he had closed his eyes and slept. When he awoke, the sun was rising. He looked into the first rays of the sun and admitted to himself that he loved Spike. He whispered the words onto the soft breeze that heralded the sunrise, then gathered up his things and walked downstairs to start his new life.

That afternoon, he had gone scouting for a new apartment, settling on an overpriced one-bedroom three blocks from the beach in Santa Monica. He had called around to some other "Sunnydale Survivor" contacts and had found a job as a construction foreman for a television production company. He had done the LA thing – going to IKEA and blowing $6000 on quirky Scandinavian furniture and accessories. He had then blown twice that much on electronics, simply because he was male and had the money and he could.

Upon moving in to his new place, he had finally completely unpacked the duffle bag that had accompanied him out of Sunnydale. The moment his fingers had closed on Spike’s Zippo, he’d lost it, folding himself onto the floor and sobbing like a brokenhearted child. The digital camera had sat untouched for days, because he knew what it held. In a moment of disgust with himself for being such a pansy (ponce – he had thought to himself, giving the word a special Spike inflection) he had downloaded the pictures to his brand new, state-of-the-art computer and printed them on his brand new photo printer. He had tucked the two of himself into a drawer. He had spent a good hour staring at the two of Spike.

The one of the just-kissed vampire drew him strongly, but the other – the one of Spike’s typical sardonic, too-cool-for-the-room countenance had torn him apart. He couldn’t stop the tears. Xander had sat on the edge of his bed and let them flow, mourning his lost love. When the storm of emotions had passed, he had gone out and purchased wood and tools, then spent the next two days making a pair of beautiful frames for the photos, placing them on his bedside table with the lighter.

His new job was fun – building sets for one of the weekly shows produced by his company, a military drama. Xander made friends with a few other crewmembers, and a couple of the actors, one of whom was Jason, the male lead of the series. Jason was openly bisexual, vain, and flighty, and Xander found him easy to be around. Jason rarely asked Xander to reveal anything personal; he was much more interested in detailing the wild and crazy life of a successful young star to his quietly amused friend.

Xander counted the days. On the fiftieth day after Spike’s death, Xander had gotten the tattoo. On the one hundredth day, he had gotten completely drunk with Jason and several other friends, and had woken up with a massive hangover, accompanied by the particular brand of soreness and lethargy that indicated that he’d gotten royally laid the previous night. He had called Jason in a blind panic. The actor had assured his friend that they had been safe, that their friendship was unaffected and that Xander had been a tiger in the sack. Xander had hung up the phone and stumbled to the bathroom to throw up until there was nothing left inside him.

After a weekend of self-recriminations, Xander had dragged himself to work, where the crew hounded him about his alcohol consumption and Jason acted like absolutely nothing had changed. Xander spent two days studiously avoiding his friend until Jason cornered him and demanded to know what the problem was, laughing away the awkwardness and explaining to Xander that sometimes you just needed a fuck buddy in this weird world – it didn’t have to mean anything if they didn’t want it to. They’d slept together four or five more times, never in Xander’s bed, and the arrangement suited them both.

This most recent encounter happened while the show was shooting location work in upstate New York, where Jason complained endlessly about the lack of nightlife and excitement until Xander finally invited him into his hotel room with an offer of "something to put in your mouth so you’ll shut the fuck up." Jason happily accepted. They had four more days to go on the location shoot, and Xander found himself missing his new home acutely.

Once out of the shower, Xander slipped into workout clothes and pulled his wet hair back into a short ponytail. He smiled as he did so, remembering his vow to kill Dawn if she referred to it as "My Pretty Ponytail" one more time. She had laughed and threatened to find a baldness curse for him if he tried. He grabbed his keys and cell phone, dropping the instrument on the floor when it rang as soon as he picked it up.

"Harris," he barked into the tiny phone.

"Xan, it’s Buffy." Xander smiled, happy to hear from his friend.

"What’s shakin’, Buff?" he asked.

"Um, when are you coming home?" Her tone was uncertain.

"About mid-day on Friday," he replied. "Why, you need me for something?" She hesitated.

"There’s something here that you need to see," she said.

"Gosh, Buff – evasive much?" he replied. She sighed, but didn’t say anything. He waited, and then spoke, "Is this Hellmouth-y stuff?" She sighed again.

"You could say that." He nodded sharply, forgetting that she couldn’t see him.

"OK. I’m there. I can probably get a flight out tomorrow afternoon. I’ll call you when I get into town." Her relief was almost palpable.

"Thanks, Xan," she said. He smiled into the phone.

"I’ll be there as soon as I can. Love you," he said.

"Love you, too," she replied, and disconnected the call.

Xander closed the phone and placed it back on the dresser. He smiled as he thought of Buffy’s parting words. Since the "earthquake", all of the Scoobies had gotten much more demonstrative – exchanging kisses and hugs hello and goodbye, and always telling each other "love you" when they parted. Even Giles had gotten in on the overflowing Scooby-affection, though in typically British fashion. He was more likely to give Xander the "One-armed Hug of Uptight Manliness" and he signed off his telephone conversations with either "take care" or "be well", but it was progress.

The LA gang had been completely freaked out about it at first, but Cordelia and Fred had jumped right into the spirit of things quickly. Angel, Wes and, to a lesser extent, Gunn were still terribly uncomfortable with the casual affection and bore the occasional spontaneous hug from the women with good grace and pained expressions. Dawn in particular loved to torment Angel, making a point of hugging him at least once a day, which made her the coolest person alive in Gunn’s eyes. The two had formed an odd sort of friendship and often spent hours on the Playstation in the hotel lobby. Dawn seemed to help take the edge off Gunn’s standoffishness, and Xander often thought that she helped ease the dark man’s pain over the loss of his sister.

Xander picked up his phone again and called his boss in LA. He explained that he had a "family problem" to take care of and received permission to leave the set and take the rest of the week off. He then called his lead carpenter and gave instructions for the rest of the work to be done, as well as the dismantling of the sets and their shipment back to California. Several phone calls later, and he was hurriedly packing for a late flight that would get him to LAX in the early hours of the next morning.

After the plane landed, Xander stumbled through the airport along with the other late-night travel zombies and decided that he’d call Buffy as soon as he got up later in the day. He fell asleep during the cab ride home, over-tipped the driver, and then dragged himself to bed. Waking at about ten-thirty, he was happy to see the early fall sunshine of his home state – much appreciated after the overcast dreariness of New York.

He showered, shaved and dressed in a pair of impeccably fitted khaki shorts, a blue, silk tee shirt and expensive leather sandals. The girls had insisted that part of his newfound wealth be spent on a decent wardrobe, and Xander had to admit that the clothes did indeed help to make the man – he looked good and he felt good. He left his hair unbound, knowing it would dry into loose waves that had been artfully cut to frame his face and partially cover the eye patch.

Xander exited his building and stopped at the Starbucks on the corner, grabbing a complicated coffee drink and a huge muffin before retrieving his car from the underground parking. In light of the beauty of the day, he put the top down and cranked the stereo up to top volume. He ejected the CD that was in the player, a mix of Patsy Cline, Blue Rodeo and Leonard Cohen that Buffy called the "Disc of Despair", and replaced it with the latest effort from Fatboy Slim – a gift from Dawn. Halfway to the Hyperion, he realized he had forgotten his phone. Oh, well, he thought, somebody’s bound to be up and about.

Twenty minutes later he was ready to offer a ritual sacrifice to the gods of parking when a space opened up only a block from the hotel. He pulled in, put the top up and levered himself out of the car, brushing muffin crumbs out of his lap. He walked to the hotel and let himself in through the ornate double doors.

"Hello? Anybody around?" he called. Buffy came bounding into the lobby and flung herself at her friend. He lifted her off the ground and swung her in a circle, kissing her lightly on the lips before setting her on her feet. She was wearing a halter top and shorts, her hair was clipped messily on top of her head, and she was barefoot.

"You made it!" she exclaimed, "And so fast – you’re like Superman." Xander gave her a look of mock offense.

"I’ll have you know I wear my underwear under my pants, thank you very much." He took her hand and they started walking through the lobby. "So, what’s the big what that made me get on a plane in the dead of night?" Her hand tightened on his convulsively for a moment and she gave him a nervous smile.

"There’s something you need to see, Xan. In the courtyard," she said. Xander followed obediently, not really noticing her nervousness. They approached the doors to the courtyard, and Buffy released his hand. She turned so that they were face-to-face, and she looked at him very seriously.

"There’s nothing I can say to prepare you for this, Xander, so I’m not going to try. Go out there – there’s someone waiting for you." He tilted his head and opened his mouth to ask a question, but she cut him off.

"Just go." She started pushing him forward. As he opened the door he glanced back at her.

"Love you, Xan," she said, and turned and walked down the hall. He stepped out into the bright sunshine and saw a person standing in the center of the courtyard with his back to the doors. Xander took in the man’s bleached blond hair and black jeans and tee before his legs buckled and he sank to his knees on the ground with the words "Love you" still falling from his lips.

Warm hands caught Xander’s upper arms, and glittering blue eyes peered into his face. Xander’s mouth fell open, but no words came. Spike smiled and dropped to his knees, still holding Xander up.

"I missed you, love," he said quietly. Xander raised his right hand and placed it in the center of Spike’s chest. He stared open-mouthed while Spike’s heart thudded strongly beneath it.

"Are – are you real?" Xander asked, staring up into his lover’s eyes. Spike gently enfolded the shaking man in his arms.

"I’m real, and I’m alive, and I’m back, Xander. I’m here with you." Xander wrapped his arms around Spike and crushed the slighter man to his chest.

"I love you," he whispered. "I love you, Spike. I love you."

*****

Next