Shame the Devil (cont.)  
  

Chapter Four 

**** 

Packing – concentrate on packing. Don’t think about sore knuckles and how they got that way. Don’t think about the all-over soreness that comes from fucking Buffy ten ways to Sunday for weeks on end. Put the clothes in the bag, folding is optional at this point. Don’t feel the tears threatening, there’s no time for that pansy shit now. Besides, monsters don’t fucking cry – they don’t have the right. 

Clothes, shoes, toiletries – all in the bag. The little apartment is almost bare anyway – couldn’t keep any of the stuff after she died. Every piece of furniture, every trinket and useless little bit of glass or wood or cloth had her all over it – smelled like her, felt like her, called her name. It had all gone like magic – hell, with Willow around it could have actually been magic.  

Two days after the tower he’d signed the paperwork and stood by the bed as the machines were turned off and Anya’s mechanical breathing had ceased. The next day they had put Buffy into the ground in the hidden little grove. They’d done it after dark, for discretion and out of respect for Spike. Xander had stood just inside the protective circle the witches had laid to keep them safe from demons and to keep the Slayer’s grave private, and allowed the grievously injured and slowly healing vampire to lean heavily on him, ignoring the pain of his own bruises and stitches.  

Tears had poured silently down both their faces as Giles had haltingly eulogized a girl who saved the world a lot. Willow, Tara and Dawn had formed a small knot of misery that seemed to collapse more upon itself every second. Giles and Xander had filled the grave themselves with the others sitting on the grass, silent in the moonlight, helping Willow light candles and burn herbs to protect Buffy’s rest. 

When the work was finished, they had piled into Xander and Giles’ cars and carried the urn containing Anya’s ashes to the beach, where the others had stood back and watched as Xander waded out knee-deep in the waves to gently sprinkle her remains into the void. No one noticed that he also dropped her engagement ring into the swirling, dark water. He’d stood, tide eddying about his knees, until he felt a cool hand on his shoulder. Spike had stood next to Xander for a long moment, watching the moonlight play on the black surface, then led him haltingly back to the shore. 

Their losses had bonded them over the summer. They’d found support in one another; patrolling, killing demons and vampires, and sitting quietly in Spike’s crypt or Xander’s new, Spartan, Anya-free apartment drinking and watching mindlessly violent movies. As the summer drew to a close, Xander made the decision to keep the plan for Buffy’s resurrection from Spike. Once the ritual had been completed, Xander had taken the brunt of the vampire’s anger, disappointment and fear, and then watched him walk away in tears, warning of the dire consequences of such dark magic. 

Consequences. Well, weeks later, Xander finally understood about consequences. Wasn’t it enough that his fiancée had died? That he’d had to bury one of his best friends? Wasn’t it enough that his other best friend had been required to tap into forces better left alone to try and make it right? Was it worth the overwhelming joy of seeing Buffy again, alive and whole? Was that moment of joy worth the moments of agony he’d felt upon realizing that Spike had really left? When Buffy had told him in confidence that she had been ripped out of Heaven on their selfish whim? That she was frozen and cold and still half-dead, aching to feel anything to make her know she was alive? 

And if that wasn’t enough, was there a word for the feeling that swept over him when Buffy, his fantasy, his crush, the girl of his dreams had turned to him and melted into his arms with a kiss equal parts hope and desperation? Was there a whole dictionary devoted to the study of the words for the feelings that threatened to burst out of him as he had finally, sweetly slipped inside her heat, burning himself on the wave of fire that swept through them? 

What could be the consequences of having this woman fulfill every fantasy he’d ever had, tearing him apart and putting him back together with the furor and fierceness of her love? And, finally, he had learned the truth of it – that she was using him. Worse than that - in the end he wasn’t enough for her. HHe had done everything he knew how to do, and even learned some new things – but it wasn’t enough. Her overwhelming need for more, stronger, faster, harder, more violent emotions had pushed him too far. 

Consequences. The consequences of loving Buffy all boiled down to a sore hand and the peculiar brand of self-loathing that was born in his heart when he realized that a small part of him had enjoyed hitting her. Amidst all the love and pain and sorrow, there was the smallest twinge of satisfaction gleaned from the singular sound of knuckles meeting flesh in anger. That twinge was what had sent him reeling away in horror to run back to the small apartment and pack his few remaining belongings. 

Xander shouldered the bag and walked out to his car. Running away never solved anything, they said. Fuck them. 
  

Comfy barstool, flowing booze and the band wasn’t too loud behind his back. Xander thought he could get to like this place. This place in … New York? New Orleans? New Something. Whatever. He’d been on the road for six months. The half of Anya’s insurance money that he’d allotted himself for fucking off with was running low, and he’d have to settle somewhere soon, at least long enough to work a little and build up his cash reserve. Again, whatever. Yes, nice bartender, I would like another. Thanks. 

Six months of driving, stopping whenever a town looked interesting or he’d needed to do laundry had taken their toll. The clothes he’d brought with him hung on his gaunt frame, and his hair was long and wavy, generally shoved impatiently behind his neck with little thought. Shaving happened occasionally, this morning being the latest occasion. Drinking happened every day, at least a little – enough to get by and not think too much past the next shot or beer. 

He normally didn’t go places that had live music, but this one seemed OK. The band wasn’t overly loud, and the singer didn’t speak between numbers, simply moving from one mid-tempo rock song to the next with a minimum of distraction for the drinkers. A nice bar was Xander’s only requirement – a place where he could be reasonably certain not to get assaulted or mugged, a place where everyone minded their own business – most assuredly not a place where everyone knew his name. Some days he wasn’t even sure what his name was – he’d not heard anyone say it in so long. 

That’s probably why it took a second for his brain to register that the singer behind him had actually said what he thought he’d heard. A low bass line began to roll through the bar, and Xander turned to look at the singer. The singer who was Spike. The singer who had just announced quietly that the next song was for "my old friend, Xander". The vampire simply stood behind the microphone with his hands in the pockets of his duster, swaying slightly to the hypnotic music. He was wearing black jeans, a black tee and his scuffed Docs. His platinum hair was worn a little longer than in Sunnydale, and wasn’t gelled quite so ruthlessly to the planes of his skull as before, allowing some natural curl to show. His crystal blue eyes glittered in the stage light. He cut his eyes to Xander and locked them on the human’s face as he began to sing in a low growl. 

Everybody knows that the dice are loaded 
Everybody rolls with their fingers crossed 
Everybody knows that the war is over 
Everybody knows the good guys lost 
Everybody knows the fight was fixed 
The poor stay poor, the rich get rich 
That's how it goes 
Everybody knows 

Xander felt like Spike was singing directly to him, and felt the blood drain out of his face. During the short pause in the lyrics, the vampire’s hands came up to wrap around the neck of the mic, his eyes never leaving Xander’s. 

Everybody knows that the boat is leaking 
Everybody knows that the captain lied 
Everybody got this broken feeling 
Like their father or their dog just died 

Everybody talking to their pockets 
Everybody wants a box of chocolates 
And a long stem rose 
Everybody knows 

Spike shifted the mic from the base and moved the stand to one side. He eased his body down into a tense crouch, elbows resting on spread knees, still looking up at Xander, who felt pinned to his seat. The human raised his drink and drained it, never looking away from the stage. 

Everybody knows that you love me baby 
Everybody knows that you really do 
Everybody knows that you've been faithful 
Ah give or take a night or two 
Everybody knows you've been discreet 
But there were so many people you just had to meet 
Without your clothes 
And everybody knows 

Everybody knows, everybody knows 
That's how it goes 
Everybody knows 

Everybody knows, everybody knows 
That's how it goes 
Everybody knows 

Spike rose gracefully to his feet and placed one hand on the microphone stand, turning his profile to most of the audience for the final verses of the song, eyes still boring into Xander’s. 

And everybody knows that it's now or never 
Everybody knows that it's me or you 
And everybody knows that you live forever 
Ah when you've done a line or two 
Everybody knows the deal is rotten 
Old Black Joe's still pickin' cotton 
For your ribbons and bows 
And everybody knows 

And everybody knows that the Plague is coming 
Everybody knows that it's moving fast 
Everybody knows that the naked man and woman 
Are just a shining artifact of the past 
Everybody knows the scene is dead 
But there's gonna be a meter on your bed 
That will disclose 
What everybody knows 

And everybody knows that you're in trouble 
Everybody knows what you've been through 
From the bloody cross on top of Calvary 
To the beach of Malibu 
Everybody knows it's coming apart 
Take one last look at this Sacred Heart 
Before it blows 
And everybody knows 

Everybody knows, everybody knows 
That's how it goes 
Everybody knows 

Oh everybody knows, everybody knows 
That's how it goes 
Everybody knows* 

The song ended and the stage lights blacked out. The small crowd clapped enthusiastically, until the lure of the next round made them forget the striking spectacle of Spike singing Leonard Cohen. Xander was still sitting half-turned on his barstool when a full glass replaced the empty one in front of him. He turned around and nodded to the bartender. Xander heard the creak of leather as Spike slid onto the barstool next to him and suddenly found the glint of light off of the JD in his glass endlessly fascinating.  

They’d sat in silence and finished off several more drinks before Spike took the stage for his second set. Xander had listened to the songs with his back resolutely toward the stage while drinking a soda and drawing patterns in the condensation on the side of his glass. After the second set, Spike had appeared again at his side. 

"You got somewhere to stay?" he asked, lighting a cigarette. 

"Nope. Just got into town today." Xander drained the dregs of his soda and crunched the last piece of ice between even, white teeth. 

"I’ve got a friend’s place while he’s out of town. Wanna crash?" Spike looked supremely indifferent as to Xander’s response. 

"OK, thanks. It’s early yet – what do you do in this town for fun?" 

"Come on. I’ll show you." 

Just before dawn, they stumbled into Spike’s friend’s apartment. It turned out to be a nice two-bedroom in a decent building. Every window in the place was securely covered, so Xander assumed Spike’s friend was also of the vampire persuasion. He didn’t really care, as long as he got to lie down. The struggle to remain upright on the precariously tilting planet was becoming a strain. As soon as he was ushered to a nicely appointed guest room, he wasted no time in passing out face-down on the bed. 

The next day, the two men had picked up their friendship as if they’d never fallen out. Xander got Spike to tell him all about his burgeoning singing career, and the vampire was pleasantly shocked to find that the human had some good ideas for maximizing his potential. 

Over the next several weeks Spike found that having an associate who could get around in the daylight was useful, and Xander found that he enjoyed wrangling with club owners to get gigs for Spike. They fell into an easy working relationship. When the apartment’s owner returned home, Spike and Xander set out for Los Angeles to see if they could capitalize on the vampire’s growing following in the music world. Sunnydale rarely came up in conversation. Spike never asked why Xander had left, and Xander never offered any information. 

*Everybody Knows Leonard Cohen 

***** 
  

Chapter Five 

***** 

As usual, the backstage area was a madhouse. Xander strode through the tangle of technicians, musicians, dancers, starstruck fans and assorted other bodies with the finesse of an experienced waiter navigating the lunch rush, deftly dodging and weaving. The young woman following him matched him step for step and their conversation never faltered. An outsider would think them siblings; the woman shared his height and dark coloring, with wavy chestnut hair that fell to her shoulders in an expensive tousle. Her snapping brown eyes were covered with a pair of fashionable glasses, and her lips were a bold slash of red. Her jeans and tour tee shirt clung to a curvy figure, and she carried a clipboard, occasionally making a note as she walked. 

"Make sure the pyro techs have the updated set list, and point out that the last three songs have been re-ordered – we don’t need another Milwaukee," Xander said, sharing a grimace with the girl as they both recalled a near-disaster in which Spike had come uncomfortably close to being barbecued. The techs responsible had been fired after receiving the most scathing bitching out from Spike that Xander could ever remember – and that was saying something. 

"Anything else, Xan?" she asked, looking at him as they stopped outside Spike’s dressing room. 

He shrugged. "Nope, Annie, I think that’s it. What are you going to do with your two weeks off?" 

"Aruba!" she exclaimed, grinning. "I’m going to spend it in the sun – I don’t get to work on my tan much when I travel with you guys." 

Xander grinned at her. "You’re not wrong about that." He sighed. "I guess I’ll go see what the disaster of the day is." He turned the doorknob and took a deep breath before entering the room. Annie wisely turned and hurried off down the corridor. 

"Hey, Xan," Spike said. The vampire was sitting on the sofa reading a book. As the door opened, he marked his place with a finger and looked up to greet his friend. 

"Hey," Xander answered, looking around in a confused manner. "What’s up?" 

"Not much. Just hanging out." He turned back to his book, marking his page with a slip of paper and tossing it onto the side table. "Everything ready?" 

"Yeah," Xander said slowly, looking around. He took a couple of hesitant steps into the room, and then looked around again. "Are you possessed?" he asked, plaintively. 

"Not that I know of," Spike replied. "Why do you ask?" 

"Well," Xander said. "You aren’t stomping around in a diva snit, there aren’t a dozen groupies in here sighing over your every twitch, and nothing is on fire or broken. It’s just not normal."  

Spike gestured to the sofa cushion beside him. "Sit." Xander sat. He jumped a little when Spike’s cool hand came to rest on the middle of his back. "I know you’re worried about talking to Buffy, and I thought I’d give you a break," the vampire explained. 

Xander dropped his head into his hands. "I knew it. You’re possessed." 

"Wanker." 

"Dork." 

"Blow me." 

"In your dreams, overbite." 

"Only my better ones, pet. Only my better ones." 

Xander was saved from responding by the arrival of the hairdresser, makeup artist and stylist, ushered in by Annie. The brunette girl slid onto the couch next to Xander and watched as Spike was pulled to the center of the room. The stylist, an older man, began efficiently stripping the vampire’s black tee shirt off over his head, replacing it with a red one. Spike snatched the black leather pants out of the man’s hands and turned his back to his audience to switch them with his faded jeans. Every person in the room stared unabashedly at the pale backside that was exposed and then re-covered with the skin-tight trousers. The stylist threaded a belt around Spike’s waist and buckled it, then stepped back.  

"I’m done," he said. "Docs and duster are on the rack. See you tomorrow." 

"Later, Phil," Spike said, as the other man left the room. Then, addressing Xander and Annie, he said, "Why do we pay him all that money, again?" 

"Because he knows the guy who custom makes the pants and dusters. That, and he sometimes gets you to wear really cool stuff. Not today, of course, but sometimes," Annie said. Spike gave her the two-fingered salute and allowed the hairdresser to push him into a chair. A harried-looking man with a headset and a clipboard came to the door and gestured at Annie. She gave Xander a smile and hurried out the door. Xander sat back and watched as Spike’s hair was slicked back with gel and his eyes were heavily outlined with artfully smudged kohl. The vampire stood and struck a pose for Xander, while the hair and makeup artists packed their things and swept out. 

"Am I presentable, pet?" Spike asked. 

"You’ll do," Xander replied, climbing to his feet and running a hand through his own tousled hair, pushing the long fringe off his forehead.  

"You gonna call Buffy after I go on?" Spike asked. 

"Yeah," Xander sighed. "I have to." 

Spike walked over and laid a hand on Xander’s shoulder. "Yeah, you do." Xander couldn’t help noticing for the thousandth time that Spike was considerably shorter without his boots. Spike’s attitude was so large that it obscured the fact that he was slim and rather compact. Xander knew for a fact that Spike’s head fitted exactly into the crook of his neck if the two of them stood in an embrace. Xander looked at the floor, then back at Spike. 

"Yeah, I do," he said. "Get your boots and duster on – it’s almost time." 

Spike mock-sighed, "Another day, another million dollars." 

They shared a "damn we’re lucky" grin and Spike moved on to finish dressing. Xander sat on the couch and fingered his cell phone. Spike was just settling the leather coat around his shoulders when there was a knock on the door. The vampire shot a look at the broody man on the couch before he opened it to find another man with a headset and a clipboard. He turned back into the room. 

"Come over to the stage once you’re done, OK, Xan?" 

Xander nodded, and Spike allowed himself to be led away. 

***** 

"Hello?" 

"Hey, Buffy. It’s Xander." 

"Xander. I’m so happy you called." Buffy’s voice was warm and friendly. 

"Why?" Xander asked, truly dumbfounded. 

"Because you’re my friend and I’ve missed you," she said simply. 

"Oh, shit," he groaned, "It’s worse than I thought. You’re going to be all nice to me, aren’t you? Please don’t, Buffy. I don’t think I can handle nice. I really think I need yelling and cursing and name-calling." 

She giggled. "You’re babbling, Xander." 

"Yes, yes I am," he replied. There was a long pause. "I’m sorry, Buffy," Xander said in a tiny voice. "I’m so damn sorry." 

Her voice was even when she answered. "What are you sorry for, Xan? Bringing me back? Helping me heal? Hitting me? Leaving?" 

"Most of it. All of it. Yes." 

"Can we take them one at a time?" she asked, and then continued without waiting for an answer. "I’m glad you guys brought me back, Xan. I wasn’t at the time, but I am now. Look at all the things I got to do because of what you did. I got to raise Dawn, and see her go to medical school and graduate at the top of her class. I got to be the only Slayer in the history of Slayers to retire. I got to help train a Slayer, though I hate that Faith had to die for me to be able to do it." Her voice broke a little and she stopped to clear her throat. 

"I got to go to college and graduate and get a normal job. I got to see Angel get his reward – he and I got to spend a couple of years in the sun. That alone was worth the price of admission, Xander. So you don’t owe me an apology for giving me another chance to live, OK?" 

Xander felt a lump form in his throat as he thought about Angel. The older vampire had finally achieved his redemption five years previously. Through a mystical process called shanshu, he’d been made human. He and Buffy had been together for almost two years when he was killed. He hadn’t been able to give up the fight against evil, and his human frailty had been his undoing. Spike had attended the funeral in LA, but Xander had been unable to force himself to face his friends.  

"OK, Buffy," Xander said thickly. "I’m not sorry about that, then. Besides, it’s terrible to have to be sad because your best friend isn’t dead. My brain didn’t like it." 

"And the part after I came back, Xan? Don’t be sorry about loving me, please don’t. You were the only thing that kept me going, and I used you and hurt you so much. I’m the one who should be sorry. I was so awful to you." She sounded miserable. Xander wanted to say something, but words wouldn’t come. He felt tears fill his eyes and begin to spill silently down his cheeks. 

"Buffy," he said finally, and he hated the wavery quality of his voice. "I… I hit you." 

"I know," she replied, and her voice held tears also. "I can’t tell you it’s OK, Xander, but I can tell you that I forgave you a long time ago, and I know you’d never, ever do it again." 

Xander felt a flare of anger. "You don’t know that," he gritted out. "I couldn’t control myself with you. I loved you, Buffy – God, I loved you more than anything, and I hit you. If I could do it to you I could do it to anybody. How can you say that you forgive me?" Tears were flowing freely now, and Xander didn’t care that Buffy could hear his distress. 

She made soothing sounds into the phone, wiping her own tears as she listened to his muffled sobs. Once he got control, she began speaking in a calm voice. 

"You’re wrong, Xander. You’d never do it again. People who hurt other people like that don’t feel remorse. They don’t feel like they have to leave everything they know to protect their loved ones. And they don’t torture themselves like this. You have got to forgive yourself. Yes, you hit me. Once." She paused. "Would it help you to know that it didn’t hurt?" 

Xander couldn’t stop the hysterical giggle that welled up in him at her wry tone. His giggle triggered hers, and soon they were both laughing as hard as they could into their respective phones, unable to catch their breath. After a long while, they fell silent. Xander could hear Buffy blow her nose, and he dashed tears away from his eyes with his free hand. 

"I’ve missed you, Buff," Xander said. 

"I’ve missed you, too. Are we OK now?" 

"I think we’re on our way," he said, and was pleasantly surprised to find that he meant it. "Now, tell me more about this party." 

An hour later, Xander wandered over to the stage, with his cell phone still pressed to his ear. Buffy had spent most of the time catching him up on the lives of the Sunnydale crew. Xander had already heard much of the news from Willow, but he was happy to simply listen to Buffy’s excited chatter. He walked to the edge of the back of the stage, where Spike was finishing up a medium tempo ballad. After the deafening cheers faded, the vampire looked over. He noticed Xander and smiled. He pointed at the cell phone and spread his hands in a questioning gesture. Xander smiled and nodded. In a flash, Spike was at his side, taking the cell phone and walking back to center stage.  

"Hello, Slayer," the vampire purred. 

"Hi, Spike," she replied brightly. Spike brought his microphone closer to his mouth. "Buffy, this is everybody; everybody, this is Buffy." He held the phone out to the audience, and 16,000 people roared "Hi, Buffy!". Spike put the phone back to his ear in time to catch her whooping laughter. 

"Anything special you wanna hear, Buffy?" he asked. She thought for a second, and then made her choice. Spike carried the phone back to Xander. 

"Hold this so she can hear, mate," he instructed, turning to strut back to center stage with his coat billowing behind him. "This is for my friend Buffy," he told the audience. He turned to the guitarist and whispered for a second. His instructions were passed to the rest of the band members. A second later the rumbling bass line of one of Spike’s early hits rolled out across the arena, prompting another roar from the crowd. The vampire began singing in a baritone growl. 

Standing in the doorway of my life in this house 
Trying to find a way to get out 
Looking for a sign that I should open the door 
This craziness is getting me down 

But today is the day 
That we break free 
Today is the day 
That we break free 

At the chorus, Spike twirled and stalked across the stage. He sang the next verse standing hip to hip with the guitarist 

Walking down a stairway to the traffic below 
Anything could happen I know 
Hey but I’m sick of everybody telling me what to do 
I hear you, hey, but I already know 

Because today is the day 
That we break free 
Today is the day 
That we break free 

The vampire strutted across the stage, every inch a rock star. Xander could only smile and marvel at how far they had come from the early days. 

It’s clear in my mind after all of this time 
What I feel, my love 
There’s so many times that the sun doesn’t shine 
But I’m here, my love 

And today is the day 

Maybe I should wait just a minute or two 
It’s getting cold now and I feel so insecure 
The future is a mistress that is so hard to please 
And the past is a pebble in my shoe 

But today is the day 
That we break free 
Today is the day 
That we break free 

It’s clear in my mind after all of this time 
What I feel, my love 
There’s so many times that the sun doesn’t shine 
But I’m here, my love 

And today is the day* 

As the last notes of the song died away, the crowd roared its approval. Xander put the phone back to his ear and stepped further into the backstage area. 

"How’d you like that? Performance on demand," he said. 

"Dawn’s going to be so jealous when I tell her," Buffy said. 

They talked for a few more minutes, and then ended the call. Xander slipped the phone into his pocket just as Spike exited the stage for his set break, with two large bodyguards in tow. The vampire grabbed his arm as he swept by and dragged Xander along to the green room, which was inexplicably painted orange. The guards stayed outside. Xander settled on a sofa while Spike stripped off his duster and tee shirt, pulling on a white tank and a sapphire blue overshirt, which he left unbuttoned. He perched next to Xander.  

"My hair OK?" he asked. 

Xander reached out to smooth a couple of errant curls back, unconsciously tracing his fingers down the arch of bone behind Spike’s ear. "You’re good," he said. 

Spike leaned slightly into Xander’s light touch and fought the urge to close his eyes. "You and Buffy on the mend, then?" he said. 

Xander realized where his hand was and slowly drew it back. "Looks like," he said, "though I have no idea why she’s being so nice." 

"Don’t be dumb, pet," Spike explained with a sigh. "She’s the Slayer, or a Slayer; if anyone understands the lure of physical violence, it’s her. She knows that you acted out of pain and frustration, not a desire to hurt." 

"You know it wigs me out when you’re insightful, right?" Xander said. 

"’S why I do it, luv. You coming back to the stage for the second half?" 

"I’ll be over in a while. You wanna go out after?"  

"Nah. Let’s stay in. This town is beat. ‘Sides, I need to eat when we get back to the hotel." 

"I’m hungry, too," Xander said, realizing that in his nervous state he hadn’t eaten all day. "You want food food, too?" 

"Sure," the vampire smiled. There was a knock at the door. Spike stood and pulled his shirt straight. He ran a hand over his hair and headed back to work. 

***** 
*Today Poe  
(Yes, I know, Poe is a woman. However, I’ve used several of her songs for Spike – the vibe is perfect – you just have to use your imagination on the voice.) 

***** 

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