RATING: Adult entertainment due to m/m sexual activity
DISCLAIMER: This story is fiction. Conceived in the warped
hive of the BmblBee. She owns none of the
characters or products named and makes no money
from their use.
WARNINGS: Character death. Boys playing with boys.
Vampire/ human contact.
SUMMARY: Xander Harris is dead. Drained by a vampire in
the Longview Cemetery. When his body is discovered
his friends realize that no one has seen or heard from him
in the last five days. Willow comes up with a spell to send
someone back in time to find out how he ended up there
and possibly save his life. Spike is reluctantly recruited.
Thanks to Petxnd for the wonderful banner and patient preread.
3:55 am Saturday morning.
Xander Harris has been dead nearly 5 hours.
Buffy had gently pulled the bedroom door closed, more out
of respect than necessity. The fact was, she could have slammed it
or even ripped it off it's hinges, and the man passed out on the
bed would never have roused.
Slowly and sadly she descended down the steps toward the small
Her thoughts kept forming one odd realization.
'Giles was human.'
Of course she knew it. She had always known it. She had seen
him bleed, she had seen him laugh and cry. She had even seen
him on the hood of a police car with her Mother in a cookie-spell
induced incident that she thought she had been able to mentally banish
from the corner of her brain.
She knew he had quirks and annoying habits and she knew he had
a past. She just didn't care enough about it to ever ask. If it didn't
directly relate to her, why should she?
Her Mother had told her once that people who eavesdrop never hear
good about themselves. 'Well' She thought. 'I guess that also can be
twisted around to say that people who snoop never like what they find.'
Reaching the bottom , she wandered over to the sofa. She had spent
so much time here. Snacking, studying, researching, yet now in the dim
moonlit room of this stranger, it was foreign.
She ran her hand over the raised back.
Had it always felt this soft and worn?
Wasn't it green? She didn't remember it being midnight blue.
Folded over the arm, was a grey, knit throw, one she had, more
than once tossed over her legs on a cool evening. Dropping
down heavily on the end of the couch, Buffy picked up the throw and
held it to her face, inhaling deeply.
It smelled of Giles, her Watcher, her friend, the man who had been her
Father for the past five years. The man she apparently didn't know at all.
Buffy rolled the warm throw up in her arms and thought about taking
it back down stairs.
Back down where her other friends were. The other two people in her
life that she really knew nothing about. Who were they before she came
to town and ripped their lives apart? What were their hopes and dreams?
A single tear ran down her face when she remembered Xander had
no more hopes and dreams. Thanks to her dragging him into her
world of demons, vampires, blood and death, he now had nothing.
Buffy curled up on the couch. She pulled her knees up to her chest
and covered herself in the comforting smell of Giles after shave.
She just couldn't do it. She couldn't make herself go back down there
and look into the face of recrimination. The silent, dead face of an
innocent boy. A boy she had killed as surly as if she had plunged a
knife into his heart.
She was so tired. So bone deep, hair aching, toe limp tired.
Maybe if she just laid down for a few minutes. She still had time
before Spike returned.
Buffy sighed and within minutes, feel asleep.
The air in the cellar whomped with the percussion and ear splitting
boom of a low flying jet breaking the sound barrier.
The expensive bottles of wine on the shelves clanked and clattered
as the energy vibration rippled through the air startling Willow
Her eyes popped open and focused on the movement at the top
of the stairs. The dark shadow this time didn't fall or stumble.
He swept slowly and purposefully down, gliding so gracefully
she wondered if he wasn't floating just inches above the ground.
Some little voice inside her told her to hold still. It whispered
"Shhh" In her ear and she waited and watched.
He made no sound. No breathing, his heavy boots left no
impression in the dust of the floor.
Silently, Spike moved past her. He disregarded her presence as
irrelevant. She was nothing more than the wine that lined the
walls or the wooden bucket she sat on.
He moved directly to the still, vacant shell that was, just moments
ago his friend. If circumstances had been different, his term for
Xander would have been considerably more.
All that and the one thing Spike had craved his entire existence.
He stood by the side of the body and just stared down on him.
He had seen this boy on the fringes for the last five years and
never once really looked at him.
He had been held in disdain, mocked, and worst, ignored.
If only he had known.
Spike ran his hand over Xander's face and cringed at the cold, hard
waxy skin. How was it possible? Just minutes ago he has kissed those
soft, warm lips. He had held the body against him, listed to the heart
slamming against his ribcage, smelled the fresh, sweet blood as it flooded
the veins and arteries.
Spike ran his hand down Xander's chest, brushing over the permanently
limp cock that he had held in his hand earlier in the evening.
Spike tipped his head to the side. Death was an everyday occurrence.
An easy slipping from one world to another. Sometimes back again.
It was so complicatingly simple, yet this time, so confusing.
How can Xander be the very definition of life one minute and then
dead as a door nail the next. It was a yo yo trick that could put
walking the dog to shame.
Where did Xander's spark go as Spike bounced back and forth through
the little window of time? There must be some way? Some way to drag
the live Xander from earlier forward and sent the dead one back.
Spike scratched his head and let his thought pattern follow it's path.
He circled the table and the motionless body and tried to rationalize
how that would work. If he sent the dead Xander back to Thursday,
wouldn't he still be dead on Saturday? Would he just be hastening
the boy's demise by two days?
'Fuck!' Spike was afraid his brain would blow a fuse from the
energy drain the extreme thinking was causing.
Willow never took her eyes off the shadow of the man in the room.
The thought that, out of the three of them, she was the only one alive
struck her as odd but not overly so. It was the normalcy of her life.
She blinked. She had never seen Spike this intently focused on anyone
other than himself. Not even Buffy, who he had professed his intense
urges for. No one took him seriously. Not Buffy, and in Willow's mind,
not even Spike.
It was pretty much accepted that Spike felt it was expected of him to
want to bed Buffy. She was the nearest thing to his equal.
He made leering faces, suggestive comments, and unlimited R rated
offers, requests and sometimes even threats.
The day really wouldn't be complete without them.
But this was different. This was an unwavering inspection.
This was a long lost friend that shows up at your funeral and stares
into the coffin, unable to connect the thing in the box with the living,
breathing, person they used to know.
Willow wondered what the hell was happening back there.
Spike gazed at the slack face . It was pale as the blood, no longer
circulating, was now gone, removed from the body. He brushed
the backs of his fingers over the unmoving cheeks and noticed the
stubble of a two day growth.
Two days. Time was running out and Xander had two days left unless
Spike could stop it, and as of now, he hadn't a clue.
Maybe it would be better if he didn't go back at all.
Maybe nothing could be changed and he was just torturing himself
and offering the girls a false hope..
Still......there was one thing that was still to confusing to ignore.
Spike leaned down and sniffed the ugly, deep wounds on the side
of Xander's neck. He held his breath and touched them with his
tongue, gasping when the taste reached him
It was the one part of the puzzle he couldn't go through life without
having the answer to and for that he would have to go back.
If he couldn't stop it, he had to at least understand how it happened.
Willow quietly unfolded her legs and let her feet lightly touch the floor.
She turned her body toward the center of the room and slowly
"What's happening Spike? What is Xander doing back there?"
Spike's voice was low, quiet, and respectful. The raw, cockney street
accent faded away and the dignified tone of a young William revealed
his true self.
"He's living, Pet. He's living."