rngrdead (rngrdead) wrote in bloodclaim,

White Marble # 8

Working Title: White Marble
Author: josie_h@yahoo.com
Archived at: http://www.livejournal.com/tools/memories.bml?user=rngrdead
Pairing: Xander/Spike
Rating: Mature Audiences – for content and themes.
Summary: Exquisite statue… admirer… magic… and everything changes.
Warnings: M/M – if you don’t like boys together, don’t play here!
Disclaimer: Don’t own the characters nor make any money from stories etc, and bow down to their original creators Joss, et al., plus all the wonderful online writers who continue to give the Buffy/Angel verse characters life.


Xander had told Illias that he intended spending a few days in Rome meeting with friends, and promised Julius he would fix the plinth on the garage ready for the MDF board and the rendering on Monday before he left. What he didn’t expect as he worked solo, was the jolt of electricity as he touched the guttering, the ladder tilting, and the oblivion that followed.

Xander lay unconscious and bleeding as darkness fell. He was lucky to have been thrown free of the live wire but had still fallen some distance and landed on his back.

His right arm was shattered at the shoulder and three ribs were broken, having taken most of the impact. Even so, he had hit his head hard and his heart beat continued arhythically courtesy of the electrical jolt. The hand that had been touching the ‘live’ guttering bore the burns to testify the same.

Noone saw the fall, his friends did not expect him on the boat for at least two nights and the cool of the evening began to chill the unconscious form. A feather in his pocket by his heart called to its true owner as blood began to seep from cut head wound and soaked into the ground.

The agony of feeling his protector in trouble was nearly unbearable for the inanimate Spike.

He had known there was a problem as the sun set and there was no ‘Hi honey…’ or turning him to face the room. And even if forgotten, there was no habitual stoking of the wood fire, Sunday cleaning or answering the phone… and the feathers had been silent since midday but that simply meant he was busy… but now there was a definite signature of … *pain*.

As the night closed in the angel stepped from his place and bowed his head, this time in genuine supplication, *begging* the powers for the right to save his savior – and they acquiesced.

Feeling their agreement, he walked out to the rear of the house and for the first time, dared to use his wings for their actual purpose. Spike had not realized the capability of his new appendages until that moment, and rejoiced as instinct took over.

At full extension there was a twelve foot span of pure white, and the power of the muscles within was extraordinary. In fact he was a little too high after only the fourth beat and ceased the beat in preference to gliding over Gajeta and following the signature of his feather to his dear owner.

He thanked his residual vampire night vision as he spied the collapsed ladder and broken form below. Not even bothering to land properly, he scooped up the human and effortlessly carried him home.

His years as vampire had equipped him with enough knowledge of anatomy and injury to determine that the situation was *not* good.

Crystalline angel tears dripped into blood matted hair as the angel gently settled his unconscious friend onto Xander’s own double bed.

“Oh Xan… what have you done!”

The angel stood back for a moment before deciding the course of action now that his friend was at least home and in his care. The arm and shoulder needed setting – and possible a plate or a pin given the severity of the break. The burns to the hand were almost healed as tears from the angel had touched the wound and apparently… it was enough. But it was the head wound that worried him.

He would tend his love in due course… but for now… he could hear the erratic heartbeat, but could only help temporarily as he called the local doctor. Spike’s wings were not detachable but apparently, under the right circumstances… they were… invisible! Spike could not bear the thought that Xander might be alone in hospital so tucked away his wings under one of Xander’s old coats, donned a pair of oversized sweat pants.

The medico was young, was greeted by the distraught friend and genuine in his concern. The story was related and the injuries assessed. Dr Christos congratulated the blonde friend of the well liked fisherman for his fast action, however the head injury, strange heartbeat, and the badly broken arm left the locum doctor with little choice. He recommended an ambulance and immediate airlift to Roma Centrale Hospital. Spike was allowed to join his injured friend in back of the ambulance as the helicopter took his unconscious friend.

The young ambulance officer was surprised by the blonde’s command of Italian and chatted easily as they flew. Spike relaxed a little and felt the push of wings against his (fortunately too large) jacket, but stemmed their expansion just in time. A single feather sucked into the night as the chopper opened the side door in preparation for arrival.

MRI… CAT scan… X rays… surgery... plates, pins and catheters… intensive care monitors… and when all was quiet… and the appendages were strapped or cast or pinned… the angel rose to join his partner in the room.

The machine that went ‘ping’ was still attached and Spike, dressed in his ‘civvie’s’, sat with his dear friend waiting quietly for him to wake up.

The skull was cracked and there was swelling, but minimal internal bleeding in the brain. The pretty young nurse Liliana explained the situation to Spike. It could be days or minutes before Xander regained consciousness – but it was more likely days. When Spike looked up at her with ocean blue eyes full of concern she leaned forward and took his hand only to gasp a little and release it as a jolt of… something… flowed through her and she felt warm and loved from head to toe. She excused herself and immediately went to call her husband, suddenly compelled to tell him just how much she really did love him and apologize for some unwarranted harsh words earlier that day.

As soon as she departed, Spike pulled the curtains around Xander’s bed then shook off the jacket and stretched his cramped wings a little.

It was his turn to kiss an inert figure before he placed his hand ever so gently on the injured head. He closed his eyes and sent a silent prayer to whoever might be listening to an ex vampire now statue, that his friend would recover, and so missed seeing the warm light coming from his own hand that knitted the injured skull instantly and halted the bleeding.

He sat for a little longer stroking his dear one, but was distracted by anguished sobbing from the bed at the end of their ward. The curtains were also pulled and the plea was for Peter to wake.

Spike quietly entered the space and a tearful man raised his head from the bed, turning to face Spike with reddened eyes and a pained expression. Spike was then rather surprised when the man fell to his knees in wonder and began to recite “the Lord’s Prayer” followed by numerous “Hail Mary’s” in rapid Italian.

But the man was not his priority. Spike could see that the boy on the bed was in trouble. Still unconscious, face stitched, and nose smashed, his left leg was impossibly bruised and now missing a foot, courtesy of the motorbike adventure gone wrong.

Spike’s heart went out to the father as the man continued to pray but surprised even himself as he touched the father on the shoulder only to watch the man immediately still then curl up on the floor and sleep.

He was a little puzzled by the whole kneeling and so on, but then realized. In his concern Spike had forgotten his new form. He now stood bare-chested, perfectly sculpted pale muscles, chiseled features and matching white hair, an ethereal beauty rarely if ever seen on the earthly realm… But most stunning of all… his wings exposed in all their glory. Wings that were now so much a part of him that he had forgotten they were there in his concern for the distressed human.

The father slept (albeit not too comfortably on the floor), so Spike made his way to the boy, feeling somehow compelled to touch the lad on the chest and the side of his head, and ‘wish him well’. The warm glow under his hands conveyed the message and the boy’s eyes flickered a little.

Seconds later Spike heard a slight moan from Xander and returned instantly. He stroked a hand down the beloved face then tore his wrist open on a screw under the bed, an act that as vampire was utterly instinctive, but as no angel was no doubt due to residual memory. He fed his charge until the wound closed, then joined him on the bed. Spike covered them both with body length folded wings, while being careful not to disturb any of the medical items attached to his loved one. Even he noticed the wonderful warmth… feathers and warmth and Xander…

The patient stirred a little then relaxed as Spike fell into a light sleep, his arms around his friend.

Two hours later, the nurse on rounds found the pale man sitting in a chair asleep beside his friend’s bed, his wings invisible, once again tucked neatly under the large coat.

Two days later, Xander was awake, confused, but awake. Five days later, they were in a car on the way back to Gajeta. Six days later Davina was over and Spike was back on his pedestal, once again condemned to his stone existence… Yet he thanked the powers for allowing him to at least rescue his friend.


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