Nexus Chapter 21
Sunnydale, 2002
“Oh, my God.” Buffy moaned softly, pressing her hands over her eyes. “He was so mad at me; wouldn´t look me in the eyes for the longest time. I thought it was all because I left, or because I didn´t kill Angelus soon enough, or because I took so long to save him.”
Spike watched her face wistfully. He wasn´t especially keen on being the one to unload so much unpleasant news, and there was more to come. Not right away, though. She needed time to get her head around this bit.
“I kind of resented him holding it against me, but now I wonder how he ever forgave me.” She shook her head sadly. “All these years of slayage, and this is the first time I´ve ever felt like a killer.” She looked at Spike with pain–filled eyes. “I killed his lover AND his friend/father–figure. And he felt like he couldn´t tell anyone. He must have felt so lost, so alone.” One tear overflowed and trailed forlornly down her pale cheek as she added softly, “And I acted like he owed me for it.”
Spike rose from his chair and made his way around the table to drop to his knees beside her, catching the tear on his fingertip, which he then put in his mouth––wasn´t blood, but still, it was her. Buffy smiled a little, too distracted to worry about the fact that she had somehow begun to see his vampiric behaviors as “cute.”
“Buck up, pet.” His voice was soft, coaxing. “´S a shame about Chip, but I´ll make y´ a deal; you forgive yerself fer stakin´ ´im, an´ I´ll forgive myself fer bitin´ him. What say?”
She gave him a watery smile and squeezed his hand briefly. “You were just following your nature.”
He raised a brow at her. “An´ you weren´t, luv?”
“Well, you´ve got a point there.”
“Yeah, and it just so ´appens, that it seems t´be the Whelp´s nature to forgive.” He patted her leg lightly then stood and returned to his own seat.
Buffy watched him quizzically for a moment. “You know, you ended up spending time with Xander. A lot, when you think about it, what with you staying with him in the basement of doom, and all. Did you, y´know, talk about any of this?”
Spike was shaking his head, emphatically. “One or two references, mebbe, but that´s it. No in–depth hashin´ out. Mostly, I think, he didn´t want to be reminded of Angelus,” he chuckled dryly, “any more than I wanted t´ be reminded that Droopyboy is, for all intents an´ purposes, my stepmother.”
Surprised, Buffy laughed, a sudden short burst of sound. “Boy, I bet.” Sobering, she took a deep breath and squared her shoulders. “So, that´s the whole story, then?”
“Near ´bout.” He met her eyes, blue to hazel. “Are y´ sorry I told y´ this much, pet?” He hesitated. “I know it´s been painful to hear.”
She smiled and managed a reassuring smile. “Nah. Well, maybe a little.” She sobered. “But you´ve got it right; we don´t know how all of this is gonna work out, so it´s best I know everything.”
“Right, then.” He straightened in his chair. This was another one of those awkward bits. “Well, luv, the thing is, when all that business with Acathla went on, Dru and Peaches both just ´appened t´ be a little put out wit´ me! ”
“Imagine that.” Buffy snarked, sotto voce.
Distracted, he narrowed his eyes and wagged his finger at her. “You´re not too old to spank, Missy.”
“In your dreams, Blondie.”
“Shall I go on with this terribly important narrative, or is it goin´ t´ be a lot more abuse first?”
“And again I say, ´in your dreams!´” She laughed out loud at his exaggerated pout, then prodded his leg with her big toe. “All right, go on with your story, you big baby.”
“Ta ever so.” His tone was acidic, but there was a smile playing around his shapely mouth. “So, neither one of them was botherin´ to tell me what´n th´ell was goin´ on, so, far as I knew, what I told y´ about Acathla, and what the Watcher confirmed, was perfectly accurate.”
He definitely had her full attention now, he thought wryly. “After Dru ´n´ I had been down South America for a while, she finally got ´round t´ telling me that she´d been mojoin´ that thing and puttin´ wards around the house and grounds so that when the hell portal opened up, it would only suck in our place, and the locals there wouldn´t be able to pass the wards, so the house wouldn´t a been affected by it bein´ in a hell. So, basically, we all woulda been stuck in that house forever, except when Angelus saw fit to let us move about, o´ course. Him doin´ the wakin´ of Acathla was s´posed to be so that he could travel between the dimensions ´n take others through. So, he could let everyone up here to hunt, and I reckon keep his boy in pizza ´n´ twinkies ´n´ comic books. Bein´ the control freak that th´ old man is, that musta suited ´im right down t´ the ground.
She was staring at him dumbfounded. “So,” he clarified, “Y´never would have been able to get t´ Xander again. And, presumably, he an´ Peaches woulda had centuries together, since time works different there.”
“Well.” She drew a shuddering breath. “That does clear up some things. Like why, if Angelus loved Xander so much, he would drag him into hell.” She shook her head. “I thought I killed Angel to save the world.”
“So instead, y´ did it to save Xander. Would that change things?” He watched her keenly.
She returned his gaze for a time, then shrugged. “No point in playing that game after all this time, is there?”
“I should think not, luv.”
She sat quietly for a time, then glanced at the kitchen window. A faint pink glow could be seen around the edges of the blinds. “Getting light out.” She stood, stretched, and started gathering up dirty mugs and empty beer bottles.
“´Ere, leave that.” He took them out of her hands and gestured with his head toward the hallway. “I´ll clear this lot. You best call th´ Watcher and wake Red. Then both of us best get a bit o´ sleep, if we´re gonna pay a call on me sire and his consort this evenin´.”
She nodded in agreement then left to make her arrangements. Half an hour later, both were preparing to retire to their beds to sleep for a while when the phone rang.
“Hello, Summers house.” Buffy´s eyes shot to Spike´s as soon as she heard the voice on the other end of the line. “Hey Xan. What´s up?” Spike stood, watching silently. “Oh. All clear then? No sign of him? Uhuh. Okay. Well, this is good. So maybe he´s staying in L.A. Yeah, let´s hope. ´Bye.”
She set the phone down gently and stared at Spike with wide, disbelieving eyes. “He just lied, I mean, like a rug on the floor! Xander! Xander doesn´t lie!”
Spike nodded knowingly. “How´s that sayin´ go, pet? Love makes y´ do the wacky.”
“Wow. I guess so.” She sighed, then yawned suddenly. “Naptime. Definitely naptime. Tonight´s gonna be interesting.”
“Looks like, luv. Shall I wake y´ if yer still asleep near dusk?”
“Guess so.” She yawned again. “Could happen, tired as I am right now.
“No problem. So,” his voice grew sly. “What kind of wake–up would y´ like, pet?”
Buffy turned at the foot of the stairs and gave Spike a look that plainly said ´dream on.´ “A knock on the door would do just fine.”
He shrugged, grinning at her, head cocked winningly. “Can´t blame a bloke fer tryin´.”
Buffy started up the stairs, shaking her head, smiling in spite of herself. Three steps up, she stopped and turned. Spike still stood watching her, his expression unguarded. After a moment, she skipped back down the stairs and kissed him quickly on the cheek. “Thanks.”
He stared, startled, as she hurried up the steps to her room.
5 Years Earlier
Reality was a concrete ceiling that was about to give way, collapsing on Xander, crushing the breath out of him. Dust and fine rubble drifted down. The exhausted boy was convinced that only his own careful vigilance was keeping the structure in place. One false move, one wrong thought!
He lay in his childhood bed, still as a statue, trying to keep the dangers at bay through will power alone. His thoughts darted wildly from one off–limits subject to another, and he slammed the doors on one after another until, finally, he found one relatively safe place in his mind, and he began to catalogue the fresh cuts and contusions on his body.
He´d seen it coming, of course. After he refused to spend the night at Giles´, which had followed his refusal to check himself into the hospital, the Watcher had insisted on driving him home; Xander had asked him not to accompany him inside.
His parents, not surprisingly, had just assumed he´d run away from home and had made no effort to locate him. Xander had been forced to ask if he could stay. His mother had nodded tiredly, and his father had grudgingly agreed, although he´d called Xander a worthless little bastard and, in time–honored tradition, beat the shit out of him.
They´d been through this particular ritual countless times over the years, and each time before, Xander had suffered the pain while wondering wretchedly why it was happening, why he wasn´t worthy even of the love of his parents.
This time, though, things were different. Physically, Tony Harris´ drunken worst was nothing compared to Angelus´ harshest attentions, and Xander endured it patiently with mild contempt. The accompanying verbal abuse had always been the worst of it before––Stupid, filthy, worthless, shoulda never been born––all those things that had burned like acid before rolled harmlessly off the back of the beloved mate of Angelus of Aurelius, but Xander was oblivious to that small victory.
Truthfully, Xander welcomed the distraction. Since the moment he had opened the door of the bedroom on Crawford Street (their bedroom––the one he and Angelus shared, what with them being in love, and the sex and everything, and the cuddling when they slept, but never mind that) to find Buffy standing there telling him some totally incomprehensible shit about Angelus being dead, well still undead, but in hell, he had been fighting as hard as he could to avoid dealing with the current reality. And what a lot of reality there was! Way too much to take in at one go. Okay, a bit at a time then. One thing at a time. He took a deep breath, which hurt, what with the bruised ribs and all, and started a mental list.
1. Everything hurt. No problem. Been there, done that. Move on.
2. His best friends just conspired to kill the love of his life. Accident. Purely an accident. Not in the sense that Buffy unintentionally stuck Angelus with a sword––Here Xander´s mind skittered away from the mental image, ´cause if he let that image in, let himself visualize for one second his Angelus bleeding and hurting with no one to help him in some dimension of eternal damnation! shit, too late, it was there in his mind, and that ceiling gave way just a little bit more. What had he been thinking of? His friends. And their accident. Gonna just have to think of it that way. They had an accident. They were doing their best. How could they have possibly known? His life had just gone absolutely to shit, and they did it, but at least he still had them. If, that is, if he could get past the deep, deep desire to never set eyes on any of them ever again. Next item.
3. Chip was gone. Chip who happily devoted his time to guarding Xander just because he wanted to. Chip who said he´d make a fine son. Chip who´d risked his life again and again to save him. Who was smart enough to read Greek and love Angelus, and who loved Xander, whether that was smart or not.
Foolishly, Xander allowed himself to remember that last night, him coming out of the shower to find Angelus and Chip standing nose to nose, Angelus´ hand cupped protectively on the back of Chip´s neck. Angelus had been whispering softly to his childe, like he had to Xander a hundred times. And Xander hadn´t felt a bit jealous; he now realized that it was because, for the first time in his life, he had really and truly felt secure and loved. He had trusted completely in the love both men! okay, vampires, but who cared! had for him, Xander. Those last days, adored by Chip, doted on by Angelus, Xander had completely forgotten how to feel bad about himself (although it was apparently like riding a bike; it comes right back to you).
He had been happy; they had been happy. It really kind of was starting to feel like family, or at least what Xander always thought family should feel like, as though he could be himself, and no one would love him less for it. What did they call that? Unconditional love. That was it. And this for a guy who figured any love he might get would come with a list of conditions the length of War and Peace, and very possibly a hefty down payment.
4. Angelus! No! Can´t think of that yet.
5. He was back home. He had his old life back. His parents hated him. Plus, if he didn´t want to be held back, he´d have to go to summer school. Just one more crappy thread in the crappy tapestry that was Xanderlife. Move on. Think of something else.
6.! .No. Not that. Not yet.
7.! .No.
8.! .Hell, no.
9.! .No. I mean it, no! Shit. Too late. Angelus. My Angelus; my everything. Well, there it was, the whole ceiling of reality, falling down and crushing the air out of his lungs. Angelus was dead; well, deader. He was in a hell dimension, and Xander would join him there in a blue minute, if he was sure that his death would accomplish that. But Giles had mentioned, in passing––like it didn´t matter, for fuck´s sake––that there were a hundred hell dimensions. So Xander was stuck here, trying to get over the fact that the only being that mattered––Angelus, my mate––was lost to him, and in pain, and lost and in pain entirely because of his, Xander´s, own doing. If he had told, if he had admitted what was happening, Angelus and Chip might still be alive. So, it was probably his fault. His fault that he didn´t have Angelus anymore, his fault that Chip wasn´t there, his fault that Buffy was off somewhere! His fault, that Angelus was suffering eternal torment in hell.
10. I. Want. To. Be. Dead.
2002, Crawford Street.
“Honey, no. Don´t, honey.” Xander stroked his lover desperately, trying to calm him. Angelus was quivering like a bowstring, growling wildly, in full gameface. “I´m right here, and I´m okay.” Xander stroked the demon´s ridged countenance lovingly.
With an obvious effort, Angelus brought himself back for Xander´s sake, his eyes drilling into the young man´s. “I left ye. I never meant to leave ye. Y´were! are! mine to protect, and I left ye to yer father´s abuse, after I swore that he´d never hurt ye again! ”
“Shhh. Shhhh. He didn´t hurt me for long.”
5 Years Earlier
Forty–eight hours since Buffy´s “rescue,” and Xander dragged himself around like a dead thing, wishing for extinction. Life made no kind of sense that he could see. Why didn´t he end it? He wasn´t sure, except that he had no reason to believe that death would take him to Angelus, so, what was the point? At the edges of his mind, he thought about how much it would hurt Willow if he took that way out, and it made him! reluctant. It was always an option, though.
He had talked to Willow on the phone earlier. No word from Buffy. Giles seemed not to want any company. When asked if he was okay, if he needed to talk, Xander had called on a lifetime´s worth of practice at avoidance.
“Nah, good here, Wills. Just gonna have an early night and reacquaint myself with my country and western collection.”
Xander´s hand tightened around the phone until his knuckles turned white. “Seriously, I´m okay. All is well in Xanderland. Like I told you, for whatever reason, it wasn´t that bad. And now I´m back, safe and sound.”
She wouldn´t let it go, and Xander scrunched his eyes closed, reminding himself that it was because she loved him. “C´mon, Willow. I don´t want to talk about it, okay? He´s! ” Xander hunched over, his stomach suddenly on fire. “He´s gone, and we don´t have to think about it any more. Can we just not talk about it? Good, thanks. Nothing really happened, and I´d rather just put it behind me.” Fat chance.
“Love you too, Wills. G´night.”
Now Xander lay once more on his bed, staring up at the ceiling, newly battered at his father´s hands. He had to do something; he welcomed the fresh physical pain, but it was plainly not going to get him through the night. He listened as his parents settled into their troubled sleep, then dressed himself and headed out into the darkness.
The mansion on Crawford street was deserted. Inside the front door, the husk of Acathla stood in mute testimony. At its feet lay a puddle of congealed blood, and Xander caught his breath on a sob at the sight of it. A short detour through the great room, with all of its history, and out into the garden, and Xander wavered as the memories assailed him.
“My very own, my treasure. Th´ one I can´t be without.” Here, Angelus had claimed his as his mate. Xander shuddered with the pain of his loss, and turned sorrowfully to make his way back through the house and up the stairs. At the end of the long hallway, Xander knelt, tears rolling down his face, and picked up the book lying there, then very carefully gathered the fine dust outside the bedroom door and put it in a jar he had brought with him.
That task done, he drew a deep breath and entered the bedroom. Stripping off his clothing, he crawled into the big bed, clutching Angelus´ pillow close, breathing deeply of the scent that still clung to it. Exhausted, he tried to cry himself to sleep, but sleep wouldn´t come. Finally, he sat up and surveyed the shadowy room, memories flooding back. For the first time, he deliberately recalled the awful time of the Fyarlian brandy, telling himself that he had felt just as hopeless then, and that had turned out okay. But it didn´t work. It only made him remember afresh how tender Angelus had been with him afterward, and that Angelus was irretrievably gone.
Looking around, he found one of Angelus´ silk shirts that had fallen onto the floor on the other side of the bed and he buried his face in it, breathing Angelus´ scent in, sobbing. Curling up on Angelus´ side of the bed, he lay trying to get control of himself. The drawer of the bedside table was ajar, and, in search of distraction, he opened it and peered inside. Not much there; a lock of dark hair––his own, he realized––tied with a bit of scarlet ribbon. Stuffed clear into the back of the drawer, the remains of the gag, ripped into fragments. Xander sucked in a gasping breath at the sight of it, then felt one more item and drew it forth. A stack of one dollar bills, tucked carefully away. Xander laughed through his tears, remembering.
“Wow. That was just! I mean, what can I say but, wow.” Limp from a rare blow job from his dominant lover, he fought to regain his breath.
Angelus leaned on his elbow, smiling down at his boy. “Don´t you think that was worth something?” He waggled his eyebrows at Xander.
With a put–upon sigh and an eye roll, Xander wriggled toward his side of the bed with a groan and reached for the pile of dollar bills on his bedside table, plucking one up and handing it to the vampire. “Greedy, much?” He let the now–familiar banter mask his gratitude for this, the way Angelus had turned the most hurtful memory from that horrible time into an affectionate love game.
“Greedy for you, sweetling.” Angelus grabbed the hand that held the bill and kissed the knuckles softly before taking the money and adding it carefully to the growing pile on his side of the bed.
“So, when you´ve gotten your hands on my whole stash, what are you going to do with it?” he asked, teasing gently.
Angelus had rolled back to draw Xander into his arms, pressing soft kisses all over his face. “Going to buy something for my sweet boy, of course.”
The game forgotten, Xander drew the vampire´s head down, seeking more kisses.
Wiping away tears, Xander reverently placed the neat bundle of money back into the drawer and rolled across the bed to rummage in the drawer on his own side, finding that Angelus had come pretty close to reclaiming the whole amount. Only a scant four bills remained. Xander stood and picked up his abandoned jeans, finding his wallet and tucking the little stash into a hidden pocket. It was pretty dumb, he knew, but he wanted to hold onto it, in the fruitless wish that someday, somehow, he would have a chance to ransom them back to his vampire.
Straightening, his eyes swept the room and stopped on the big armchair before the fireplace. With a bittersweet stab, he remembered all the time he had spent there, securely enthroned in Angelus´ lap. With a sigh, he retrieved Angelus´ shirt and Chip´s book and curled up in the chair, snugging the shirt against his face and opening the book at random. The page he opened to said “Sonnets from the Portuguese,” by Elizabeth Barrett Browning. Didn´t sound like a Portuguese name, he thought idly. He read.
“Go from me. Yet I feel that I shall stand
Henceforward in thy shadow. Nevermore
Alone upon the threshold of my door
Of individual life, I shall command
The uses of my soul, nor lift my hand
Serenely in the sunshine as before,
Without the sense of that which I forbore––
Thy touch upon the palm. The widest land
Doom takes to part us, leaves thy heart in mine
With pulses that beat double. What I do
And what I dream include thee, as the wine
Must taste of its own grapes. And when I sue
God for myself, He hears that name of thine,
And sees within my eyes the tears of two.”
Xander read, and cried again, and, finally, slept.
The next day, he made his way to the Sunnydale Public Library and searched the public records. An hour later, he found what he sought on a sunny slope in one of the town´s many cemeteries. Settling down beside the modest headstone, he withdrew the jar of ashes and the leather bound book of poetry that Chip at been reading before his final death. Opening the volume, he read haltingly, stumbling over an unfamiliar word or two.
“Serene and beautiful and very wise,
Most erudite in curious Grecian lore,
You lay and read your learned books, and bore
A weight of unshed tears and silent sighs.
The song within your heart could never rise
Until love bade it spread its wings and soar.
Nor could you look on Beauty's face before
A poet's burning mouth had touched your eyes.”
Fresh tears starting in his tired eyes, Xander opened the jar and scattered the ashes slowly over the empty grave of Dr. Thomas A. Fleming. His task done, the teen drew up his legs and wrapped his arms around them. Resting his forehead on his knees, he sat and rocked for a long time, feeling very, very alone.
But! much later, when his bedroom door flew open, and his father stumbled toward him with his fist upraised, he was still thinking of Chip, and of Angelus. It struck him suddenly that, alone or not, he was still the beloved mate of the Master of Aurelius, and, for the first time, he met his father´s attack proudly, with outrage in his eyes.
Crawford Street, 2002
“! and after I stood up to him that one time, he never tried to hit me again.”
“My brave boy.” Angelus held Xander close, remembering, after all the years, how hard it was to stand up to a father. “I still want to kill him.”
“Don´t bother. He doesn´t matter any more.” Sprawled half on the great room´s stone floor, and half on his vampire, Xander nuzzled the cool bare skin. “Besides, I want you here with me for as long as I can have you.” Drawing a deep breath, he raised his face and looked into the vampire´s dark eyes. “How long will it be before they get your soul back?”
Angelus ruffled the dark waves and answered carefully. “I don´t know, sweetling. A few days, I think.”
Xander sighed and laid his cheek down on Angelus´ satiny torso, his eyes still fixed on his love´s face. He thought for a few moments, then spoke softly. “Honey, I don´t want to go through it again. Before the time comes, would you please! ” He stopped, swallowing heavily.
“What?” The vampire asked, watching his boy closely.
“I don´t want to go through it again.” Xander repeated quietly. “This time, before you! go, I want! I want you to drain me.”
A flash of pain on the vampire´s face before his face rippled into his demon guise. “No!” He hissed. “Absolutely not.”
Xander closed his eyes on his sudden grief. “You´re right, I guess. Angel would never get over it, and I don´t want to hurt him, even though! ” he swallowed hard. “! even though he doesn´t care about me at all.”
Angelus tightened his arms about his boy. “First of all, m´dearling, if I thought it was the best thing for ye, I´d do it and the soul be damned. But, I´ve got to tell ye, I lied to ye, those years ago. I do care about ye, with or without the soul.”
Xander´s head jerked up, and he stared wide–eyed at his lover. Angelus stroked his boy´s soft hair and took an unnecessary breath. “I know. This is the first time I´ve spoken of me and him bein´ the same. But we are.”
Angelus continued to stroke his boy lovingly. “After all this time, ye taught me that, Acushla. Without ye, I never would have confessed that there was any connection between us. But, without the memories of the soul, I couldna been what I was with ye. Couldna understood how to be with ye, how to make ye happy. An´ I wanted to, sweetling. Wanted to make ye happy. Without the influence of the soul, it would´ve been enough just to possess ye, whether ye were happy or no´.”
He continued carefully as Xander stared at him, frozen, all big eyes. “Aye, I´ve taken ye by surprise. It´s all surprisin´ to me, as well. But, in the last five years, I´ve had my time t´ think o´ things. And I know this: what I feel fer ye, it´s not all me. The soul yearns fer ye, dearling.”
Smiling sadly, the vampire tapped softly on Xander´s cheek to bring him out of the stunned and open–mouth silence that had overtaken the boy. “Speak, sweet, so I´ll know I´ve not shocked ye into permanent silence.”
Xander gathered his thoughts with difficulty. “That can´t be right. When he! you! came back, you didn´t want anything to do with me.”
“Not true.” Angelus gazed into the warm brown eyes and wondered how much he should tell about his eternity in hell, when, soul in place, he had been subjected again and again and again to replays of his torment of Xander, how he´d been tortured with visions of his boy, soft eyes helpless and uncomprehending as he suffered, until he himself, monster that he was, was fully convinced that his boy´s feigned affection for him was nothing but a bid for survival.
“Tell me, sweetling.” He shuddered, not really wanting to hear, but needing to have it all out. “Tell me about how ye felt, after he! I! came back.”
Xander dropped his eyes. “I was a total asshole. After I saw Angel, I mean, you and Buffy. Here. Kissing. Finding out that you were back.” He stroked nervous fingers restlessly over the vampire´s smooth skin. “I went on and on about how wrong it was that she kept it a secret, and you were a killer and all! ” he stopped his idle stroking and looked miserably up at his lover´s face, then dropped his eyes guiltily. “I was so hurt that you didn´t! you know! ”
“Shhh. I know.” Angelus buried his face in Xander´s dark hair. “I understand. Go on.”
“I was hurt, and confused, but, you´ve got to know! ” Xander met Angelus´ eyes pleadingly, “! I was really, really glad that you were okay, that you weren´t, y´know, THERE anymore. ´Cause I really, really hated thinking about you there, hurting.” His voice died away to almost nothing. “I didn´t want you to be hurting.”
“I know, sweet.” Angelus whispered softly in his boy´s ear. “I know. It´s alright.”
“But, you didn´t want me. And it hurt, and I got a little crazy.” Xander burrowed his face into the vampire´s neck. “I´m sorry. I´m so sorry.”
“Hush, Acushla. Hush.” Angelus noticed that his boy was shivering, and that the hard stone floor had left bruises on Xander´s skin. “Let´s take this discussion upstairs.” He stood, lifting Xander easily into his arms.
Xander squeaked at the sudden motion, then wrapped his arms around the vampire´s neck. “But! ”
“Shhh.” The vampire soothed. “Later. Later, my own.” Xander sighed, then snugged his face into Angelus´ throat.
At the top of the stairs, Angelus carried his boy into the bedchamber and threw back the covers on the big bed, scenting Xander in the bedclothes. “You were here! ”
“Yeah.” Xander breathed. “I came here a lot, before you came back. Then again, when you left. You left.” He whispered.
“Of course I left.” The vampire´s voice was almost rough. “I couldn´t love Buffy. After I came back, I tried to, because I thought that was the right thing to do. After all, she loved me, then she had to kill me, and I thought I owed her for that, and she was salvation for me. And I was trying not to love you; wouldn´t admit it to myself, even. Because I hurt you so much, and it never occurred to me that we could! that you could love me, after all that, with the soul! and even if you did, nothing good could come of it, because of the curse.”
Xander was staring at him, wide–eyed. “Are you telling me that you love me even with the soul?”
Angelus settled his boy into the bedclothes and smiled ruefully. “What d´ ye think I´ve been tryin´ t´tell ye, boy? Think a minute; what do ye´ remember about the time I was back here, after I came out of hell?”
Xander thought for a minute. “I remember the whole Glove of Mihnigon thing, when I almost got you killed.” He bowed his head with regret. “I´m really, really sorry about that. I just felt so betrayed! ”
“I know, precious. It´s okay. What else do you remember?”
“I don´t know, except you saved Willow! Hey! You saved Willow!”
Angelus nodded his head solemnly. “Of course I did, my sweetling. Didn´t I promise?” He kissed his boy´s dark hair. “What else do you remember?”
Xander gazed up at him with troubled dark eyes. “I remember the time you were pretending to be you, I mean, not Angel, y´know, with Faith.” He lowered his head and mumbled. “Couldn´t understand why you would hit me.”
Angelus cuddled him closer. “Think, precious. I wanted ye to know that it wasn´t really me. That´s why I hit ye, so ye would know.” Sorry, he kissed Xander´s jaw, cheek, nose, as though the bruises were still there. “I didn´t want ye to think that I would come back and not come for ye.”
Thrilled by the sound of the accent, Xander smiled up at him. “I knew. I knew you wouldn´t just hit me then ignore me. So it worked, I guess.”
Angelus smiled at him, and stroked his skin lightly. “What else do you remember, sweet?”
“You bit her. Buffy, I mean. Marked her.” He said it quietly.
“To save my life. Not! not the way I marked you.”
Xander frowned and pressed his face into Angelus´ skin. “Yeah. ´Cause you almost died. Again. And wasn´t that a nightmare all over again? Then, you left. That´s what I remember the most. The night we blew up the high school. You stared at Buffy, then you stared at me, and you left.”
Angelus´ whisper was husky, breathed out against his skin. “Before that?”
Xander went still, then rubbed against him. “The prom.”
“Aye. Prom. Remember?”
“God. How could I forget?” Xander´s voice was a whisper. “You looked! Damn, but you looked so incredible in that tux.”
“Ye looked pretty damn fine yersel´, my sweetling.” He rubbed his face languidly in his boy´s dark hair. “Couldna stay away from ye, could I?”
Xander shivered, remembering. He had fled to the men´s room, partly to escape Anya, partly to flee the sight of his beloved dancing with Buffy. While he stood looking despairingly at the face of the loser in the mirror, the door had opened and he had turned tiredly to find HIM standing there, looking so beautiful that it took Xander´s breath.
Angel had closed the distance between them with slow, deliberate steps, cupped Xander´s face in those big, strong hands, and kissed him, deeply and thoroughly. Xander remembered, vividly, the familiar scent, the weakness in his knees, his own soft moans as he reciprocated the kiss, his hands coming up to slide around the familiar broad shoulders!
Then, it had been over, and before Xander could pry open his dazed eyes, the vampire was gone, only the gentle swing of the men´s room door providing evidence that he had been there at all.
They had never, until this day, spoken of it––any of it––between them. Now Xander gazed up into Angelus´ eyes, and admitted. “It hurt. It hurt so bad to see you with her, clinging to her.”
Angelus watched his eyes evenly for a few seconds, then offered the only explanation that Xander would ever get, or ever need. “I was so sure that I owed it to ye to stay away from ye. But! I could smell ye all over her.” His hands threaded restlessly through Xander´s hair. “´Twas the next best thing.”
Kinky, Xander thought hazily, briefly imagining Angel holding Buffy close just to smell him, Xander, on her skin. Before he could explore the scenario thoroughly, though, large cool hands were stroking him everywhere there was to stroke, and Xander was moaning softly, his brain shutting down.
“Precious. My precious.” This last was whispered against Xander´s mouth, and he whimpered with desire, forgetting everything as a thick finger sought and found his vulnerable opening, carefully preparing him for bigger and better things.
Long hours passed while Angelus loved him again and again, not even trying to hide his hunger for his boy. Between times, they talked, the vampire prodding him to tell everything about Faith, and Cordelia, and Anya.
“But no men? In all this time?” Xander smiled at the vampire´s carefully indifferent tone, which would have been a whole lot more convincing if he wasn´t scowling and flashing big scary teeth.
“Nope. No guys for me. Looked a few times! ” Xander hid his pleasure against smooth skin as the predictable growl rumbled through the big body pressed to his. “! but, even though I knew––well, thought I knew––that you weren´t coming back to me, ever! ” he swallowed hard, then raised his eyes to Angelus´, stroking the backs of his fingers softly along the vampire´s cheek “! that part of me was yours, always yours, and I couldn´t! ”
There was kissing then, lots and lots of kissing, and more, and it was a long time before words were even remotely possible. Finally though, they talked again, especially about Chip, who they mourned together, about Wesley, who wasn´t nearly as hopeless as he´d seemed, about Faith, who might be redeemable after all, and about Cordy, who turned out to be as wonderful as Xander had always thought she might be.
Mostly, though, there was lovemaking, for hours and hours and wonderful hours. At some point, after the pinkish light of dawn had crept around the edges of the heavy curtains in the rooms downstairs, Xander fished in the pockets of his abandoned pants until he found his cell phone, then made a call.
Ordinarily, it would have squicked him big time to lie outright to Buffy, but what with Angelus standing behind him, nibbling on the back of his neck and rubbing his amazingly inexhaustible erection against his ass, well, who in the hell could think about fine moral distinctions at a time like that?
So, Xander finished the call as soon as he could, dropped the phone and wriggled around in his vampire´s arms, seeking more kisses, more contact, more of everything. Got it, too, all of it.
Hours passed blissfully, and Xander (happy, happy Xander!) wouldn´t have thought about it, but Angelus––still worried about starving him all those years ago, he supposed––insisted on calling for pizza to feed his boy.
They were lying on the couch, necking like kids, the remains of the pizza forgotten in its box on the coffee table, when Angelus gripped his shoulders suddenly, his head coming up as he listened, scenting the air.
In a split second, he was on his feet, dragging Xander up against him, suddenly inexplicably rough. Xander gasped, the air flying out of his lungs as his back smacked up against the hard wall of Angelus´ body and one powerful arm wound brutally tight around his throat.
Before he could think about panicking, he heard soft words hissed into his ear through jagged fangs. “Trust me.” He did. Of course he did. Xander drew a deep breath and watched calmly as the front door of the mansion flew open.
