Paring: What else? S/X of course.
Rating: Adult for language and M/M activity.
Disclaimer: None of the characters in this story belong to the Bee.
and she makes no money off them, or anything else. The Bee is broke.
Summary: The Rosebud Murders took an emotional toll on
everyone involved. Is love enough for a happily ever after or does
it take a hell of a lot of work and compromise to build a life together?
Spike and Xander struggle to find out.
Spike felt like a fifth grader sent to the principals office for
being naughty in recess..
He had been shown to a small metal chair that sat in the hallway
outside the psychologists office and was told the good doctor would
be with him shortly.
Spike wasn't stupid, He knew this was a psychological tactic designed
to put him off guard and put the shrink in a position of power over him.
Wait and worry. Fret and fume. Spike felt his paranoia and temper
grow by the minute. He counted the green tile on the institutional floor
and he picked at a loose corner on the padded arm of his chair.
He stared at the ceiling neon light panels and wondered who he should
call to report that one of the bulbs was burned out.
Finally, just as he had had enough and decided to toss a general "fuck you"
in the direction of the good doctors door, he heard a voice in a thick
German accent, boom.
"Detective Pratt! Villiam Pratt. Comen see here."
Despite himself, Spike scrambled to comply. He leaped to his feet and hustled
into the psych's inner office. At the last second he caught himself and immediately
regained his composure. He was a grown man. He would not be intimidated.
Taking his time to close the door behind him, he casually approached the short
squat, grey haired man behind the desk, extending his hand.
"Yes, I'm Detective Pratt. I'm here for a 9 am appointment. You are...?"
The fat doctor's thick fuzzy eyebrows raised slightly then quickly dropped back down.
"I am Doctor Heinrich H. Hiney. You shall address me as Doctor Hiney. You
shall sit. Ve shall begin."
The doctor pointed to the chair by his desk and Spike, fighting the urge to
snap his heels together, throw his hand in the air and shout "Heil Hiney!"
did as he was told. He had already made up his mind to simply agree
with whatever the doctor said. He wasn't about to add any logs to the fire.
He would nod and smile. Then when the psych Gestapo had deemed him
cured or fit or whatever the fuck they wanted, he could go back to work
and get on with his life. Spike knew he had been tense and irritable and he
knew he was probably taking it out on Xander. He vowed to do better.
He wondered if maybe they had moved in too quickly together. Maybe they
should have just dated for a while first. Maybe he shouldn't have let the lease
on his old apartment..........
Spike jumped a foot out of his chair. He hadn't realized he had allowed his mind
to wander till Doctor Hiney had slapped his hand down on the desk directly in
front of Spike's face.
"You Vill pay attention! You vill not play zee games wit me. Do you understand?"
Spike straightened up quickly. His plan to cooperate cheerfully was not
off to a good start.
"Where are we going?"
Xander sat on the passengers side of the worn bench seat as the old Ford pickup
bounced along. Xander grabbed for the dash board and wondered if Patrick
had ever heard of shock absorbers.
They had been driving about 15 minutes since leaving the Divine Creation
Wood shop and none of Patrick's enthusiasm had wavered a bit.
His fat red cheeks glowed and giggled as the truck took each pot hole at
Patrick just shook his finger an inch under Xander nose and laughed.
"Wouldn't you like to know. You just wait and see. Old Patrick is gonna
solve all you problems."
Xander just sat back and smiled. Wherever they were going, by the looks of
Patrick's fuel gauge, they weren't going far.
Sure enough, within another five minutes, they slowed,turning down a narrow street.
Xander looked around knew they were on the outskirts of town. An older
section that, one hundred years ago, was the rich area. Hobs nob, snobs
hill. The upper crust. Now it was full of rundown mansions. Some had been
fully restored to their previous magnificence, some were on the verge of being
torn down by the city.
It was an eclectic mix that Xander found intriguing and very appealing.
Watching, fascinated, out his window, Xander could see the effort some
of the residents had put into their restorations. Not only were the houses
returned to their turn of the century opulence, but the gardens, the landscaping,
it was all just incredible.
Reaching the end of the street, Patrick slowed even more and turning,
pulled the old pick up truck into the driveway of one of the more neglected,
The driveway led along the side of the house to a building in the rear.
It looked somewhat like a garage, but not. Xander frowned, a word trying
to find it's way to his tongue, struggled. Suddenly, there it was.
"A carriage house. It's a carriage house. Oh my God! Look at it."
The minute the car stopped, Xander jumped out and hurried over.
He walked over to the front of the small houselike building and, closing his
eyes, could just feel the spirit of the people who had happily driven their
horses and carriages up this path. He could hear, in his mind, the sound
of the horses hooves as they clip clopped up the old stone road.
His psychic ability hummed.
The emotions he was receiving was almost overwhelming. They whispered
in his ears, indistinguishable words and songs. They coaxed and welcomed
His head snapped around as they called him to the house.
Patrick stood back and watched as the expressions filled and formed
across Xander's face. He knew he had been right to bring him here.
Rummaging through the glove box, he pulled out an older set of keys and
climbed from the cab of the truck.
"Whose place is this? Can we go in?"
Xander was already rushing toward the front porch. He agilly leaped
over the second step avoiding the broken, rotted wood, although he could
not have know it was so.
Patrick, too, stepped over it and joined the boy on the porch, smiling as
he watched Xander bounce in the balls of his feet, waiting impatiently for
the rusty deadbolt to turn and release.
Standing back, Patrick waved his hand and Xander rushed in. The air in
the room was stuffy, slightly smelly from being closed up, unlived in.
It was the smell of fabric, carpet and furniture, covered with dust and time.
Just inside the door was an entry way, an old fashioned foyer. Directly
ahead, a huge, sweeping staircase. Off to the right a sitting room, to the left,
a formal dining room.
Xander stood, unmoving, his head tipped back, eyes closed and a smile
gracing his lips.
Patrick waited. He wondered what impressions the boy was receiving.
He wondered how many of his own memories Xander was seeing.
Xander was overwhelmed. The feeling of home, love, acceptance, and
destiny wrapped around him like a mother's embrace. The images that
flitted behind his eyes like picture postcards were one of happy times,
holidays, honesty, and the emotions pure.
Finally he turned, his smile beeming.
"This was your home. Your family for generations back filled this home with
love and happiness. It is all still here. It is all still a part of you. Oh Patrick,
it's amazing. Why don't you live here?"
Patrick just shrugged. He busied himself by pulling the dusty sheet off a small
round enty table and shaking it into a cloud of dust mites that sparkled in the sunlight.
"I don't know. I am the last of the family and the house just needs so much work.
My Sarah and I never could have children of our own and the house was just
too much for her to take care of. Besides, I guess part of it is guilt. I wasn't here
when my Mother passed and I always felt so guilty. I let her down when she needed
me most. Coming here was just to painful. So, anyway, I stop by once a month
or so to make sure everything is all right. I should put it on the market, but, well,
Xander gazed off to the side, his pupils dialiating, and he took a deep breath.
"Is her name Alice?'
Patrick froze then nodded.
"Shes very proud of you, Patrick. She loves you very much and wants
you to know you did nothing to be ashamed of. She is with you every
day and still holds your hand each night when you say your prayers."
Patrick burst into tears. Xander wrapped his arms around the man and held
him close as the spirits in the house sighed.