Rating: M for Mature language and m/m sex
Also warning for violence.
Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters
or products named in this story
Spike is a Homicide detective trying
to stop a serial killer before he strikes
again. Xander is a psychic who offers
to help him.
Banner by BmblBee
Spike came to slowly. First aware of the smell, he knew from
the rich heady fragrance of wood and polish he was still in the
furniture factory. The memory of why he was there remained
He could tell that he was lying on a well worn sofa in a dim quiet
office and had a small pillow tucked under his head. He couldn't
remember the last time he felt this comfortable. He felt as though
he could finally drift off and sleep. He had been tired for so long.
Fighting the pull of slumber, Spike squinted and eased his eyes open,
waiting while the focus cleared. He had never passed out before
and refused to believe he had done so this time. It was just too girly.
With the memory of their earlier conversation hazy and dreamlike in his
mind, and still feeling a bit light headed, Spike looked up and his
breath caught in his lungs.
Gazing down on him was the face of an angel.
Surrounded by a halo of light, the heavenly creature smiled, gently,
compassionately, knowingly, a look of loving concern in his eyes.
With all the talk of death, ghosts and grandda floating vaguely
through his mind, Spike wondered if he had died and moved over
that aforementioned threshold.
He raised his hand and shakingly touched the warm glowing cheek,
pulling back quickly when he realized it was a real, living person.
"Hey. Are you feeling better? When you started to go down I grabbed
you before you could hit the floor. I brought you here, in Patrick's office,
to lay down for a bit. I'm sorry if I upset you. I never had anyone faint
Xander smiled but Spike had no feeling that he was being laughed at.
Blinking, Spike sat up quickly as the full memory of everything that
had happened rushed back to him. He realized that the angel was Xander
and the halo merely the goose neck lamp on the boss's desk behind him.
"I'm fine.' Spike rubbed the back of his neck and looked away, embarrassed.
"I didn't faint. I never faint. Just haven't eaten yet today, that's all.
Look, I gotta go. I'll, uh, I'll call you."
Spike jumped to his feet and immediately began to sway as the blood
rushed back into his brain. Reaching out, Xander threw his arms
around Spike's waist and pulled him flush against his body.
Spike felt an overwhelming urge to clutch and hold on to the large
man who held him so safely and securely in his strong, muscular arms.
The warmth of his body and the natural smell of wood and sweat
that surrounded him flooded Spikes senses and pooled in his crotch.
Fearful of discovery, Spike pushed back and found, gratefully, he
was now steadier, more balanced and able to stand on his own two feet.
Spike felt claustrophobic. He couldn't breath and the walls were closing
in. He wasn't sure how much of what had happened earlier could be
believed but he knew one thing for sure. He needed out. He needed fresh
air to clear his head and fill his lungs.
Chemicals. That was it. Woodworkers used chemicals and in an
enclosed areas such as this it could cause confusion. It was the only
explanation for the difficulty he was having breathing, thinking.
The professional side of him considered notifying the Health Dept.
Xander held his hands out as if trying to calm a spooked animal.
"Wait. Don't rush off like this. I'll tell you what, you said you hadn't
eaten yet. Why don't we go have a sandwich. Talk this over somewhere
public where you won't be so wierded out."
Spike stepped back. He never let a interview go so far down the drain
as this one had. He hated feeling like he had lost the upper hand but
had to admit that when it came to Xander, he very possibly never had it.
Quick to agree to anything that got him out of the claustrophobic enclosed
space and back out into the hustle and bustle of the sunshine world
Spike nodded his agreement.
Xander's beaming smile returned and he opened the office door allowing
Spike to lead the way back out into the small furniture factory.
"Great! Why don't you go on out to the parking lot? You look like
you could use a cigarette. I need to tell Patrick I'm going to lunch then
I'll join you. Can we take your car? I don't drive."
Spike was shook, flustered and more than a little impressed.
"How did you know I smoked? Did the spirits tell you?"
"No Spike. No one told me. I can smell it on you and you have a half
a pack in your pocket that got pretty well crushed when you collapsed,
Spike scrambled in his pocket and fished out the flattened pack of Newports.
He looked up in time to see the strange young man disappear around the corner
into what was presumably the owner's cubicle. Spike took great pride in the
fact that he could read people like a book. He could glance at the middle
chapters and instinctively know how the story started and probably what
would happen in the final pages.
This boy was different. Spike could find no deceit, no tell that would give
away the ugly secrets of his life. Everybody had them, didn't they?
Yet the boy seemed so open, so honest, so......so.....good?
Was that possible? Was it a very successful act?
How much of what happened earlier could be believed?
Spike's common sense wanted to tell him that none of it was real.
A magic trick. Smoke and mirrors. Card tricks and snake oil.
Spike knew the boy was right about one thing.
He sure the fuck needed a cigarette.
Stepping out into the blinding light, Spike shielded his eyes and
rushed quickly to his car, shaking a flattened coffin nail from it's
crumpled pack as he went.
Lighting his fag, Spike sucked in deeply and felt the relaxation fill
his body as the smoke permeated his lungs. He slumped against the
car and blew out with an "Aaahhhhh."
He stared back at the plain brick factory building and mumbled to
"Wasn't all this a Twilight Zone episode? Maybe Outer Fuckin' Limits?"
Just as he was considering jumping into the Corvette, slapping the
twirling light on the roof, flipping on the siren, and getting the fuck out
of there, the front door opened and Xander stepped out into the
Spike's stomach jumped, his heart pounded and he had the sinking feeling
he was lost. He both cursed and thanked the God's that he hadn't
made his get away when he had the chance. Now it was too late.
Walking comfortably around to the passenger side, Xander dropped
down into the plush leather seat like he belonged there.
"Come on, I only have an hour. Hey, I know where we can go. There
is a great diner down the street a ways called Momma Mabel's.
Why don't we eat there."
Spike snorted and dropped his half smoked cigarette to the ground, crushing
it soundly with the toe of his Doc Martin, shoes that Faith had told him
more than once were not a good match with his dark suit.
"Of course. Why should that fuckin' surprise me?"
Spike jerked the driver's door open and, just before climbing in, froze
crouched down and pointed accusingly in Xander's face.
"HEY! How the hell did you know my name was Spike?!?"