Fic update: How The Light Gets In
Feb. 20th, 2005 08:49 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
shadowscastAnd now, back to our regularly scheduled fanfic.
Now that I've finally admitted I'm posting this as a WIP (someday I should post about why I'm so neurotic about that), I've made a memories page to keep track of the chapters. I've also gone and merged the first two posts into one, so the new part I'm posting now counts as chapter 3.
Previous parts listed here.
How The Light Gets In, Chapter 3
"I know an afterhours place nearby," Spike said as he locked up the porn store. "Hunted vamps there a couple times last year."
"Oh, that makes it sound really appealing and safe."
Spike gave him a sideways look. "Used to hang out at the Bronze, didn't you?"
Xander shrugged and pushed away from the wall. "It was Sunnydale. There was nowhere else."
It was a warm night. Xander was comfortable in a t-shirt and khakis. Spike was a bit overdressed for the temperature in a battered jean jacket, and Xander guessed he was hiding the bandages on his arm. "What did you tell your boss about last night?" he asked.
"Said a drunk customer banged into the glass. Georgie's being nice and only taking the half of it out of my salary," Spike said with a kind of weary resignation that made Xander think of the Year of the Basement. "Couldn't tell him anything else—he'd've wanted me to talk to the police so he could claim the insurance."
It seemed like maybe Spike made just as bad an ordinary guy as Xander did. Xander felt stirrings of empathy, which prompted him to say in a cheering-up kind of voice, "I could probably get you a green card so you wouldn't have to worry about that anymore. Magic plus computers equals unbeatable fake I.D., y'know?"
"That'd be a bit of all right," Spike said. "Couldn't pay much for it, though."
"Pay?" Xander repeated. "Hell, Spike, I wouldn't charge you, you're—" He stopped, not sure how to finish it. A friend? They'd fought side-by-side for a few years, sure, but they'd kept their distance. And Xander wasn't forgetting the many very good reasons he hated Spike—but he'd travelled a long road since Sunnydale. "—one of us," he finished lamely after too long a pause.
Spike gave a bit of a shrug, and turned to go down a flight of steps to an oversized metal door just below street level. "This is it," he said, yanking the door open.
The bouncer just inside nodded them in without asking for I.D. Just past the foyer they hit a wall of techno-pop loud enough to make Xander's bones vibrate; strobe lighting gave a stop-motion surreality to the packed dance floor. Not the kind of place Xander would've expected Spike to choose, but he guessed their options were limited at this time of night.
Spike shouted something but Xander couldn't hear what; he held up his hands in the universal 'what are you talking about?' signal. Spike grimaced, grabbed Xander by the hand, and pulled him around the edge of the floor to the bar.
They ordered drinks by pointing, then Spike took Xander's hand again and led him down a staircase. The lower floor was smaller and quieter, and there were tables to sit at. Spike led the way around the edge to an unoccupied one.
Xander sat down and shoved the empties on the table to one side to make room for his own drink. "Okay," he said. "Tell me."
Spike didn't need to ask what Xander was talking about. "They're dead," he said without preamble, and took a long drink.
It hit him hard; sound and sight got distant suddenly, and his chest felt tight. He'd suspected this ever since Spike had evaded the question in the afternoon, and he'd thought he was ready to hear it, but it was different when the words made it real.
Spike was watching him with a solemn, patient expression.
"How?" Xander asked.
"Wes got his a couple months back, fighting a demon sorcerer."
"And Cordy?" Xander's voice came out low, almost steady.
"I guess she went down fighting, too. No one ever told me the details. She was already in a coma when I came along, and she died sometime in the winter."
"Shit," Xander said softly. It wasn't enough. Nothing he said could possibly be enough. "She was my first girlfriend."
Spike's eyebrows raised slightly. "I didn't know that. Christ, I'm sorry, mate."
"You should be," Xander said. "You're the reason we broke up." At Spike's startled look Xander shrugged, brushed that grudge away. It was too stale to be really bitter. "It was a high school thing. I hadn't even talked to her since she moved to L.A. Weird how in the end it was Willow who kept in touch with her." Xander stopped, thinking about that. "I guess Willow doesn't know, either. She would've told me." He blinked, and felt a tear building up in his good eye. "God," he muttered, brushing it away, "Angel should've said something."
"He's a complete wanker," Spike agreed.
Xander took a drink of his beer, but he couldn't taste it. "God," he said again, softly. "Two ex-girlfriends killed fighting evil. Think I should stop dating?"
It was gallows humor, and he didn't expect Spike to smile or anything, but he was surprised at the other man's look of shock. "Anya's dead?"
"She never made it out of the high school." Xander spread his hand on the tabletop and stared at his fingers, because watching Spike absorb the news made the loss seem fresh again and Xander wasn't sure how much longer he could hold out without weeping like a girl. "I thought you knew."
"Bloody hell," Spike whispered, his voice suddenly thick like he was on the verge of tears himself. "Andrew never said. Thought I'd look her up once I got it a bit more together, like, compare notes on turning human."
A woman at the next table broke into loud peals of laughter. It was too much. Xander stood up abruptly, nearly knocking his chair over. "Let's get the hell out of here."
***
They ended up at Spike's kitchen table, sharing a bottle of tequila without the benefit of lemons or salt and talking about the past. Illyria was in the living room playing video games when they arrived, but she left not long after muttering something about the stink of grief.
Spike, for all his rough punk masculinity, didn't seem embarassed at the tears welling in his eyes as he clinked his mismatched glass against Xander's and said "To all our dead heroes."
"To Anya and Cordelia," Xander replied, and drank it down. It tasted like lighter fluid smelled, and it would have made a good excuse for the tears that were streaming from his own eye but he realized now that here, with Spike, he didn't need an excuse.
"And Wesley," Spike reminded him, and took another drink. "Fred, too," he added after a moment. "And Charlie boy."
"Tara," Xander added. He didn't know who Charlie was, but for now it was the naming that was important. "Miss Calendar."
"Cheers," Spike said, rough and low, and tipped up his glass to the toast.
It could have been painfully maudlin, but a few shots in they were laughing through their tears.
"What was it with the bunnies?"
"I never did figure it out."
....
"Remember her funny-shaped pancakes?"
...
"...made me hot chocolate with mashmallows in it..."
...
They got really fucking drunk, and by the end of it they were both on the floor and Spike was resting his head against Xander's shoulder and Xander was patting his hair and telling him he was sorry for getting mad at him for having sex with Anya.
"She was a hell of a woman," Spike mumbled against Xander's neck.
"Yeah," Xander agreed sleepily, "She sure was."
Now that I've finally admitted I'm posting this as a WIP (someday I should post about why I'm so neurotic about that), I've made a memories page to keep track of the chapters. I've also gone and merged the first two posts into one, so the new part I'm posting now counts as chapter 3.
Previous parts listed here.
How The Light Gets In, Chapter 3
"I know an afterhours place nearby," Spike said as he locked up the porn store. "Hunted vamps there a couple times last year."
"Oh, that makes it sound really appealing and safe."
Spike gave him a sideways look. "Used to hang out at the Bronze, didn't you?"
Xander shrugged and pushed away from the wall. "It was Sunnydale. There was nowhere else."
It was a warm night. Xander was comfortable in a t-shirt and khakis. Spike was a bit overdressed for the temperature in a battered jean jacket, and Xander guessed he was hiding the bandages on his arm. "What did you tell your boss about last night?" he asked.
"Said a drunk customer banged into the glass. Georgie's being nice and only taking the half of it out of my salary," Spike said with a kind of weary resignation that made Xander think of the Year of the Basement. "Couldn't tell him anything else—he'd've wanted me to talk to the police so he could claim the insurance."
It seemed like maybe Spike made just as bad an ordinary guy as Xander did. Xander felt stirrings of empathy, which prompted him to say in a cheering-up kind of voice, "I could probably get you a green card so you wouldn't have to worry about that anymore. Magic plus computers equals unbeatable fake I.D., y'know?"
"That'd be a bit of all right," Spike said. "Couldn't pay much for it, though."
"Pay?" Xander repeated. "Hell, Spike, I wouldn't charge you, you're—" He stopped, not sure how to finish it. A friend? They'd fought side-by-side for a few years, sure, but they'd kept their distance. And Xander wasn't forgetting the many very good reasons he hated Spike—but he'd travelled a long road since Sunnydale. "—one of us," he finished lamely after too long a pause.
Spike gave a bit of a shrug, and turned to go down a flight of steps to an oversized metal door just below street level. "This is it," he said, yanking the door open.
The bouncer just inside nodded them in without asking for I.D. Just past the foyer they hit a wall of techno-pop loud enough to make Xander's bones vibrate; strobe lighting gave a stop-motion surreality to the packed dance floor. Not the kind of place Xander would've expected Spike to choose, but he guessed their options were limited at this time of night.
Spike shouted something but Xander couldn't hear what; he held up his hands in the universal 'what are you talking about?' signal. Spike grimaced, grabbed Xander by the hand, and pulled him around the edge of the floor to the bar.
They ordered drinks by pointing, then Spike took Xander's hand again and led him down a staircase. The lower floor was smaller and quieter, and there were tables to sit at. Spike led the way around the edge to an unoccupied one.
Xander sat down and shoved the empties on the table to one side to make room for his own drink. "Okay," he said. "Tell me."
Spike didn't need to ask what Xander was talking about. "They're dead," he said without preamble, and took a long drink.
It hit him hard; sound and sight got distant suddenly, and his chest felt tight. He'd suspected this ever since Spike had evaded the question in the afternoon, and he'd thought he was ready to hear it, but it was different when the words made it real.
Spike was watching him with a solemn, patient expression.
"How?" Xander asked.
"Wes got his a couple months back, fighting a demon sorcerer."
"And Cordy?" Xander's voice came out low, almost steady.
"I guess she went down fighting, too. No one ever told me the details. She was already in a coma when I came along, and she died sometime in the winter."
"Shit," Xander said softly. It wasn't enough. Nothing he said could possibly be enough. "She was my first girlfriend."
Spike's eyebrows raised slightly. "I didn't know that. Christ, I'm sorry, mate."
"You should be," Xander said. "You're the reason we broke up." At Spike's startled look Xander shrugged, brushed that grudge away. It was too stale to be really bitter. "It was a high school thing. I hadn't even talked to her since she moved to L.A. Weird how in the end it was Willow who kept in touch with her." Xander stopped, thinking about that. "I guess Willow doesn't know, either. She would've told me." He blinked, and felt a tear building up in his good eye. "God," he muttered, brushing it away, "Angel should've said something."
"He's a complete wanker," Spike agreed.
Xander took a drink of his beer, but he couldn't taste it. "God," he said again, softly. "Two ex-girlfriends killed fighting evil. Think I should stop dating?"
It was gallows humor, and he didn't expect Spike to smile or anything, but he was surprised at the other man's look of shock. "Anya's dead?"
"She never made it out of the high school." Xander spread his hand on the tabletop and stared at his fingers, because watching Spike absorb the news made the loss seem fresh again and Xander wasn't sure how much longer he could hold out without weeping like a girl. "I thought you knew."
"Bloody hell," Spike whispered, his voice suddenly thick like he was on the verge of tears himself. "Andrew never said. Thought I'd look her up once I got it a bit more together, like, compare notes on turning human."
A woman at the next table broke into loud peals of laughter. It was too much. Xander stood up abruptly, nearly knocking his chair over. "Let's get the hell out of here."
They ended up at Spike's kitchen table, sharing a bottle of tequila without the benefit of lemons or salt and talking about the past. Illyria was in the living room playing video games when they arrived, but she left not long after muttering something about the stink of grief.
Spike, for all his rough punk masculinity, didn't seem embarassed at the tears welling in his eyes as he clinked his mismatched glass against Xander's and said "To all our dead heroes."
"To Anya and Cordelia," Xander replied, and drank it down. It tasted like lighter fluid smelled, and it would have made a good excuse for the tears that were streaming from his own eye but he realized now that here, with Spike, he didn't need an excuse.
"And Wesley," Spike reminded him, and took another drink. "Fred, too," he added after a moment. "And Charlie boy."
"Tara," Xander added. He didn't know who Charlie was, but for now it was the naming that was important. "Miss Calendar."
"Cheers," Spike said, rough and low, and tipped up his glass to the toast.
It could have been painfully maudlin, but a few shots in they were laughing through their tears.
"I never did figure it out."
....
"Remember her funny-shaped pancakes?"
...
"...made me hot chocolate with mashmallows in it..."
...
They got really fucking drunk, and by the end of it they were both on the floor and Spike was resting his head against Xander's shoulder and Xander was patting his hair and telling him he was sorry for getting mad at him for having sex with Anya.
"She was a hell of a woman," Spike mumbled against Xander's neck.
"Yeah," Xander agreed sleepily, "She sure was."
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
Date: 2005-02-21 07:31 pm (UTC)'Course, it'll probably take me all year. :P
Thanks so much for the kind feedback!