rngrdead (rngrdead) wrote in bloodclaim,

Never Time Enough # 17

Title: Never Time Enough
Author: Part 1 50ftqueenie… then rngrdead – Ch 2 and beyond
Pairing: Spike/Xander
Warnings/Squicks: M/M relations
Rating: NC-17 (or MA 15+ or R?) There is violence and sex and vampires, and boys.
Summary: Xander comes back from the past with a secret.
Note From 50ftqueenie: This can stand on its own as a ficlet, but honestly I know there's more to this story. Eventually I might revisit and do my own version….
previous parts

Part 17

And so it was. Two days after the joyous ride Xander was in a darkened room that smelt of incense and prickled with magic.

Tara, Willow and three other senior wiccans were chanting Spike was pacing and Giles simply absented himself until proceedings began, after which he would touch Tara to add his own magical ability to the mix.

Xander was lying in the middle of a circle of salt that had been consecrated and formed the centre of a pentagram with a candle and chanting witch at each corner. He tried to relax but it was almost an impossibility, given the circumstance and the company!

After the chanting began Spike was eventually encouraged to lie down at the peak of the pentagram prostrate, touching Willow’s feet.

Tara chanted and reached out touching Xander on the arm and melding with his aura.

For both Xander and Tara, the images were vivid and compelling, the emotions equally so. As a consequence all felt it. Giles drew breath as the depth of care and adoration flowed between Vampire and Mate, the hurt of their separation peaked its full force flawing all present, and the magical energy likewise pushed every creature in the near vicinity sensitive to the pulse to the point of pain.

But through it all came images and a very clear message. It had been Drusilla who chanted the spell that opened the rift – that was true – but it was Darla who was behind the push.

Images of the family in the last days permeated all the chanting witches’ minds and they saw clearly that the Grand Dame Darla was jealous of Angelus’ favour for his grandchilde and her ‘Boy’s’ tolerance of the human Mate/Consort. The terrifyingly brutal Angelus was ‘mellowing’.

The witches all felt the affection Angelus had for his Grand Childe, the appreciation of his company and the relief he felt when the Consort occupied Dru by braiding her hair and playing tea parties on the estate while Angelus and William shared the hunt. It drove Darla to distraction. The instant she returned to London she could see it, feel it… taste it - his preference for sharing the slaughter with another male, even joining in the seductive art of skimming or simply dividing the plunder, not with her, with… *William*! Returning from her magnificent Master, she had seen ‘the look’ clearly, her Sire had warned of it. It was time to take back control, and William was the key.

Images of the Master enjoying her attentions then listening to her plight were blurred but apparent, but the result of the counsel was crystal clear. On her third evening back, she called for Drusilla – claiming they had been invited to an evening of cards and frivolity by a minor royal. She even allowed Xander to dress Dru’s and her hair then smiled enigmatically as the two women departed their London abode.

Xander was becoming increasingly distressed within the circle of salt and two of the withches were crying openly caught in the myriad of memories and images channeled via their subject.

Spike could feel his partner intensely and began to shake violently, finally collapsing to the floor, arms over his head, keening and rocking as wave after wave of distress and horrendous memories came, both his and Xander’s.

Giles looked across but dared not take his hand from Tara’s back for fear that the magical boost might be lost, despite the fact that Xander was now writhing in distress.

The five wiccans all saw the lead up, and the moment. The boys were about to embark on a joyous evening of parties, plump women delighting in the attentions handsome men, ‘likely lads’ fancying themselves as gentry and deserving of seduction, followed by a celebratory carriage ride to finish the night.

Angelus took to the carriage first, William kissed his Mate and squeezed his arm promising “Games are afoot mate… c’mon! This is me warm up… Will love ya into the floor afore the night’s over!”

Those observing the circle saw Xander begin to cry.

As the Consort meant to alight their transport for the night, something happened. His feet were as though bolted to the ground. He tried to reach for the carriage but his arms were… disintegrating. He became aware of a bright light surrounding him and pain. He kept sending love to his Mate kept sending but he no longer had control. He watched in horror as his legs disintegrated then were sucked into the swirl… he reached out… just… if he could just?! And then it was… nothingness. He could feel his Mate at the outer edges of his… essence. He felt the extremes – the extreme grief, the physical pain, the… desperation and devastation.

But there was no real sense of time… it was as though ‘two parts removed’ from the fact.

The Mistress called the session as soon as the ‘return’ was visited.

It had been close to four hours of meditation and draining energies. But the most profound and sustained affect was the forced abduction of Xander and his essence and the affect on the bereft vampire.

They all say it, William’s desperation, his anger, tirades, vicious attacks on any who crossed his path; his self destructive inclinations and willingness to create ‘trouble’. Nothing stood in his way, no-one was safe - Darla rejoiced, Angelus tried to control him for a time, then simply kept the family safe, and Drusilla was as oblivious as ever.

‘Spike’ became a way of finding his anger manifest.

*They* had taken him – possibly humans! Darla fed the thoughts by suggesting it was the humans who had plotted against the Aurelians, claimed back their own, dragged Willaim’s dearest from the realm because of his own weakness and yet??

William’s dedication to family? Was that the reason for the catastrophe? Angelus had been drained by his Sire, Drusilla was wailing inconsolable and William??? In the ensuing months, William played the game according to the She Bitch Darla but not because of her. He was desperately vicious, acutely violent, and splattered the name of William the Bloody, aka Spike the Aurelian, across Europe. Angelus was with him blow for blow, soulless though no the less affected by his boy’s distress. And more than that, his ‘Dark Plum’ was removed from his grasp as Darla claimed her boy exclusively once more.

Xanda was adrift… a nothing… a thought or soft pass of a breeze. He tried constantly to push his essence into William’s realm but was denied again and again.

Xander remembered floating in and out of contact, sometimes so close it was… just … not… tangible! And remembered crying in frustration, grief, bereft of all that meant anything… so close and yet… He watched William become Spike, tear apart, torture, maim, mark and define himself through violence borne of the deepest distress…

He saw Darla condemn Angelus, deliberately, in a fit of jealous rage after her Childe refused to chastise his Grandchilde for an attack on the local beer house.

Angelus disappeared, William was burdened and blessed with the full time care of Drusilla and Darla tolerated the two for a few more years, but fled the family part way through their China adventure and returned to her Sire. The revisit of Angelus in his souled form sickened her, more that she could not bring herself to stake him than his ‘beaten puppy’ persona.

And Xander had been forced to watch… Watch his dear heart struggle to survive, his lover take others out of spite or simply to forget… Every dark haired boy, every pretty pair of brown eyes, every… he kept looking… but it was never *him*.

At the edge of Xander’s mind he could hear Spike, “Where are you sweetheart? Where were you? Please don’t leave me… Please!!! Not again I can’t… I can’t…”

It was followed by the sensation of Darla’s “*Never*”; Angelus’ weak “No! Will!”; and Darla’s, “Weeeeee… cakes for tea!”

Xander was immediately awake. The strength of the magical blast bringing him to the present also throwing all the wiccans and Giles back from the pentagram several meters!

Spike watched in horror as the smoke and fire of the blast subsided and all in the room rushed to the assistance of those injured, except for the inert splayed figure of his beloved limbs still smoking in the centre of the room. Spike crawled desperately toward the non breathing figure of his beloved.

He pulled Xander’s unbreathing, still and blackened (in places) body to his chest, tried desperately to brush charred and wizened strands of hair from an ashen face, tore open his wrist with a viciousness that spelt desperation, and tried desperately to force the blood into an unresponsive mouth. He then massage the lax throat just enough as bloodied tears fell, all the while crying, “Why? He’s did nothing! Why!!!???? I love him… I love him… GrandSire! Giles… Mistress… Oh Goddess… I… Love… Xan… If you can’t then take me with you… Then please take me!

In full game face Spike rounded on the wiccans, the former Scoobie still clutched tight to his chest. His Game Face was focused on noone! “Come on! Have at it I’m not bloody doing this again… Finish him and hell… there are plenty of trees around, grab a stake and have at it! I die, he dies… it’s what you wanted isn’t it?... What you all wanted isn’t it?... Bloody hell just *do it*! Don’t take him again... Not like this!!!”

It was only Tara’s calm and Willow’s eye for detail that spotted it. A small garnet and gold ring on a necklet had surrounded Drusilla’s neck during the last vision as the rift was invoked. It was a ‘gift’ from Darla, and one that the rather dotty vampire handed on to her Chaos Demon friend, so consequently destroyed as the two jumped into an Icelandic volcano whilst chanting a love spell – apparently to consummate their love. Resulting in the rather minor ‘show’ of blue and crimson sparks amongst many that manifested with the full lava flow that evening. Darla was dust, as (apparently) were Drusilla and ‘Bfflart’ – and the rift opening pendant went into the fiery abyss along with its rather deranged wearer.

It took some minutes for all to recover but eventually Tara took control. She stood unsteadily, but planted both feet and grasped the hand of the wiccan to her right, and placed her left on the grief stricken figure of Spike. The same was done around the circle, surprisingly even including the Slayer and Giles in the wiccan show of strength, as the blast of energy drove skyward.

Spike passed out with the extraordinary pulse, as did most of the wiccan circle. But Tara, Willow and Giles maintained consciousness. There would be no reversal of Xander’s status. He was in this realm to stay… or at leas the realm of Spike (aka William the Bloody), Willow was not taking any chances!


Two days later a rather shaky Xander sought the counsel of Giles. Little could be done regards the existence or otherwise of the talisman, and the upshot seemed to point to the demise(or otherwise) of Drusilla – or at very least the elimination of the stone that held the power to open the rift.

Everything seemed to indicate its elimination… that was something. In the same conversation Xander eventually (via a rather convoluted route) tried to explain the whereabouts of his essence… ‘there but not there’ eventually being about the best he could come up with… Giles polished his glasses, Xander apologized and the two reassured each other. There were no real guarantees but it did seem, at least judging by the portents and the visions, that he and Spike would… be.

That night, in private, Spike and Xander made love as though it was their first and last time. Both were exhausted, both unconvinced it would be anything but their last joining. Any but the most bold would have turned away or at least had cause to blush. Passion gave the two strength for a time but their final act was one of abject hope… hope that this was all there was… hope that this was who they were… hope for love… that was truly… forever.

Late that night Spike rang Angel again. This time he had a quiet hand holding his right as he spoke candidly to his Sire. The conversation threw Angel for a loop. It was William on the other end of the line. Something had shifted. The Mate was returned he knew that, but…

William was back. But it was a quietly spoken, measured, mature, William who was holding his consort’s hand whilst asking for his Grandsire’s approval to ‘attend the Aurelian Court’ and asking that they might ‘wipe the slate clean’ regards some altercations of late.

Angel was about to hang up, assuming the blonde menace was drunk, when he heard a quiet tenor voice ask “Request Grandsire that he might come riding… In Surrey… in three days’ time. He knows the address of the coven, and I am sure we can find somewhere for him to stay.”

“You heard the boy…”

Angel closed his eyes for a moment – unsure whether to be angry or thrilled. In the end he settled for resigned, “Yes… alright – but only a week to ten days… I have a business…”

He was cut off by a short, “Good then get the girl Friday to send us yer details and we’ll arrange a pickup.” Followed by a click.

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