rngrdead (rngrdead) wrote in bloodclaim,

Swan Lake Ch 2

Title: Swan Lake
Author: josie_h@yahoo.com
Archived at:
Pairing: Xander/Spike
Rating: Mature Audiences – for content and themes
Summary: Xander has PTSD after rescuing one too many slayers. Spike is recovering (sort of) after the battle with W&H. Fate may have it they eventually find each other - she's funny that way.
Spoilers: Sometime in early season five – or possibly late six BtVS.
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.

Part 2

Connor cradled the badly broken Spike to his chest, amazed that he was apparently not dust, given his body was in direct sunlight.

The young Aurelian had felt his father’s passing, as had Spike, but also registered a familial tug that demanded he return to the blast location that was previously Wolfram and Hart L.A. Branch.

On arrival in the alley, he saw little beyond an enormous pile of rubble, a number of obviously dead individuals, puddles of ooze and a decent covering of dust across the vista. Then, just as he was about to retreat, he heard a faint, “Oh God.”

Pushing aside large chunks of concrete and twisted metal stays, he eventually found his vampire ‘brother’. Not dust, despite the sun falling on exposed legs and part of his back.

Connor felt for a pulse, having been versed with the Shanshu prophecy from birth.

There was none, which was odd. But then everything about his life was odd.

So, shrugging off obvious questions, he swallowed hard, shoved aside the detritus and lifted the limp and broken body of his only (un)living relative, then continued back to the main road where he hailed a cab. En route to the Good Samaritan he rang his temporary ‘house mate’, Matthias, the brother of one of his fellow Stanford buddies who agreed to put him up for a week or two after Connor made mention of some family crisis in L.A.

The instructions to the cab driver were brisk and urgent, the good natured cab driver assuming Connor to be a do-gooder university friend simply collecting a mate after a too heavy night on the booze.

With some juggling of the inert vampire’s form he managed to let himself in to his shared apartment just off the main road near the Good Samaritan and contacted Matthias again, this time the young resident doctor answered, who was just finishing up his shift at Mount Saini Hospital.

“Hey man, can you um… I’ve kind of got a situation here… It’s kind of urgent.”

Matthias had heard about some of Connor’s ‘situations’ from his brother, and sighed audibly before answering, “OK, who is she and do I have to…”

Connor settled Spike on the rather lumpy couch in the front room whilst juggling the phone and cut Matthias off, “Just listen. I need a few bags of human blood. I’m happy to pay.”

“Jeez Connor! What’s…”

“I’ll pay for it! And before you ask? No, it’s not for me! It’s a… well… It’s for my… half brother I guess. He’s been badly hurt and I…”

“So call 911 man! Or do you want me to?” Matthias was beyond tired after a shift of eleven hours and really didn’t feel ‘the love’.

“I can’t. You’ll understand when you get home… Can you do it? The blood? Like I said.. I’ll pay!”

Matthias gave a heavy sigh. He was used to dealing with some pretty odd requests but this was well and truly outside ‘the box’.

In the two weeks Connor had been staying he had been utterly focused on his studies, and spoke lovingly of his sisters and parents, though recently had opened up that he had discovered he was adopted and made contact with his birth father here in L.A. If this was indeed a birth brother in need of blood then there must be something seriously wrong.

“Fine. No problem. As long as you’re sure? F@#k Connor? Why don’t you just bring him in here?”

“Trust me Matt, you’ll understand when you get here… Just?”

“I’ll be out of here in ten. And you owe me OK?”

The quiet response was all he needed to confirm that Connor was serious.

Matthias divested himself of his ‘scrubs’ twenty minutes later, having ordered up three bags of ‘O-pos’ at the end of his shift (feeling like the most ungainly felon). No-one called him on it as he hailed a taxi and took the quickest way home.


Xander was aware he was heading home, handed over his passport, answered all the questions asked of him at the border check and customs, and sat in his seat dispassionately as the plane took off.

It was as always. He had collected tens of… hundreds of girls… slayers… in the past just like this… it was no different this time… collect deliver and then back out to find another. But this was different… this was the end of a too long journey. Something within him had broken, he knew that, and yet could not feel … that was the kicker, he couldn’t feel… there was nothing left to feel…

Like a robot, going through a program, he was answering questions then directed to collect his bags and push through the line on the green direction, “Nothing to declare.”

There was plenty to ‘declare’, like “Oh by the way I’ve just watched twenty three individuals die”, or “Do you know what a dying individual smells like?”, or “How do you kill a Groxlar beast after it has just killed the young slayer you were charged with counseling?”

None seemed appropriate, so Xander stayed silent.

Giles, true to his word, collected Farah and Xander as they exited the ‘Green Line’ at Heathrow.

The drive back to the Watchers’ Council buildings was disturbingly silent, Farah unwilling to make commentary or ask questions.

Matthias arrived home with the promised bounty of blood.

He had expected, well he wasn’t sure what… but the physician quickly took over.

Connor was more pragmatic.

“Matti… Oh! Thank the Gods you’re home!”

Matthias was almost jetlagged due to the starting time and length of his shift, but immediately snapped out of his stupor as he took in the broken figure on their shared couch.

“F@#k!!! Connor!!! We should be…”



“Matt, just trust me on this one. O.K.? Feel for a pulse and then I’ll… Well I’ll kind of, try to explain.”

Some hour and a half later Matt had managed to reset Spike’s various broken bones, feed him the purchased blood (with difficulty) and witnessed Connor opening his own wrist to feed the individual that was currently mending on their couch.

Matthias had finally given in to sleep, not really believing anything he had witnessed, rather putting it down to sleep depravation, and would no doubt sort itself out in the morning.

Spike was in a haze.

He was aware his body had been lifted and moved. He knew that technically he should be dust. He knew, on a visceral level, that Angel had dusted. He *thought* he had felt the sun on his legs and back. He had felt himself lfted, then travel then the agony of bones being pulled straight and realigned. He knew he’d been fed, recently, and human, which made no sense!

And there were just too many… there was too much ‘blessed black’

Spike struggled to consciousness in a sunlit lounge room.

Several things were immediately apparent. He was alive (well ‘undead’). His breaks and wounds had been treated. He had been fed... obviously, and he was lying in a direct sunlight with someone staring down at him.

Injuries notwithstanding he made an effort to at least thank someone before he was dust.

“Hmmph… Guess this is.. whatever… hmmph jus… thanks Pet… thanks.”

Connor held on to the broken figure and whispered rather brokenly, “He pretty much said goodbye to me.”

With a voice scratchy due to injury, Spike ground out, “ I felt him pass too… I’m sorr… n’ thank y…”

Unable to finish before the darkness took him, in his last conscious moments Spike hoped Connor understood.

Connor laid Spike on his own bed, initially lending his own heat to the inert figure, and woke to a sobbing, muttering Spike.

“Kill me too… Just… Sire is dead… Kill me too please… I should be dead! Everyone is dead… Me too… just take me… I can’t… no more… I just…”

Connor did the only thing he could think of, he grabbed a blade from his desk and sliced his wrist diagonally, shoved his arm against the form of the thrashing lips of the only living vampire family he had left, and hoped…

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