shadowscast

Thanks to a lovely invention called "vacation," I bring you my second update in two days. And this one is longer, too!

A big thank-you hug to everyone who commented on the last bit. It's really fun and interesting seeing what you think as you read along—and I'm completely delighted whenever someone tells me they're enjoying my story.

Previous parts can be found here.

How the Light Gets In: Chapter 7

Xander hung up the phone, lit a cigarette, and thought about the evening ahead.

He didn't have to keep his promise to Andrew. There was bound to be something worth watching on cable, and he still had half a bottle of JD under the bed...

...and the walls were closing in.

His hand was shaking again. Shit. He clenched his fist until it stopped, then punched Spike's number.

"'Lo?"

"Hey, Spike. You said you were off again tonight, right?"

"Yeah, what of it?"

"It's Saturday night. Wanna go out?"

There was a surprised pause on the other end, then Spike said "Out where?"

"There's this DJ Andrew really likes. He made me promise to go to the club where he spins and buy a signed copy of one of his CDs."

Another hesitation; Xander somehow knew Spike was going through the same not really my thing / nothing else to do thought process he'd just gone through himself. "We don't have to stay there long," he added. "We could go somewhere else, play pool or something."

"Yeah, okay," Spike said finally. "Meet at my place?"

***

Illyria opened the door. "Come in," she said warmly—she was playing the brown-eyed girl again. "Spike's doing his hair."

"Um, okay."

Illyria went to the couch, picked up the Playstation controller she'd left lying on the coffee table, and resumed her game. Xander went and sat at the other end of the couch and watched her play for a few minutes. It was one of those martial arts games; he thought he recognized a few of Buffy's favorite moves in the mix.

"So, how've you been?" he asked eventually.

"Oh, same old, same old," she said, squishing an animated ninja's head into the dirt. "I'm older than time, you know."

"Right, yeah." Xander glanced towards the bedroom and bathroom—still no sign of Spike. "Hey, did you think any about my offer?"

"Spike says we're better off here on our own."

"But what do you think?"

She ignored the question, and her avatar kicked a bloody hole through the chest of another ninja.

"Because I'm not so sure he's right," Xander pressed on. "Money's kind of tight for you two, isn't it?"

"I don't worry my pretty blue head about things like that," she said dryly, and Xander was pretty sure she was quoting Spike.

"Does he miss a lot of shifts at work? With the headaches, I mean?"

"It's only happened a couple times."

"What would you do, though, if he lost the job?"

"If I lose that job I'll find another one," Spike said irritably, coming into the room. "What're you trying to worry Illyria for, Harris?"

Xander looked around—and saw why Spike had been taking so long with his hair.

It was freshly bleached, a starker white than he'd ever had it in Sunnydale. It looked like he'd cut it, too, sometime since Xander saw him yesterday; it was short enough now that he could gel it up into little spikes all over his head. He was wearing a tight black T-shirt with a brown outline of a coiled cobra on the front, and the usual black jeans and Docs. He still had a bandage around his left forearm, of course, but he had thick leather bracelets with silver studs around his wrists. He was wearing black nail polish, too—and was that eyeliner?

For the first time since Xander had met him here in LA, he looked like his old self.

"Hey, Spike." Xander stood up. "I thought you said you didn't want anyone to recognize you."

Spike tilted his head, giving Xander a puzzled look. "What's that?"

"The, uh, hair." Xander gestured vaguely at his own head. "Something about the bad guys having an APB out on the bleached blond vampire?"

Spike shrugged. "Not a vampire anymore, am I? Got a stake on you? Then no worries. Where are we going?"

"The Eclectic Ballroom." Xander hesitated—he hadn't planned to tell Spike this ahead of time, but now he realized it was probably dumb not to. "It's kind of a gay club, by the way."

Spike arched an eyebrow. "Really, now? Anything you've been meaning to tell me, Harris?"

"Yeah. Andrew's gay."

"Well, yeah..." Spike trailed off, giving Xander a tell me something I don't know look.

"I mean, he's, um, capital-G Gay. He came out." Spike still didn't seem at all surprised. "Wait, did he already tell you?"

"No, the subject didn't come up." Spike rubbed the back of his neck, looking faintly amused. "So when you say he came out...?"

"Rainbows, pink triangles, obscenely tight T-shirts—the whole deal. And since I'm the only other guy under forty involved with the Council these days, I'm the one he drags out clubbing with him."

"Must be a bit awkward for you, then?" Spike asked, innocently raising his eyebrows. "What do you do when he pulls?"

The question confused Xander for a second, and then the British slang finally clicked. "Oh. Well, then sometimes I pick up, too." Not that any of this had happened since before the Congo, but he didn't feel like going into that.

"Places like Andrew would take you," Spike said, turning an amused smirk on Xander now, "are you sure it was always a woman you left with?"

"Pretty sure it wasn't, actually," Xander replied deadpan, and enjoyed the surprise that flickered over Spike's face.

"You've grown up some, Harris," he said with a slight nod. Xander wondered what he meant by that.

Stupid vampire senses; Spike had probably known Xander was bi back before Xander even did.

Spike moved towards the door. "Right then. Illyria, pet, you're set up all right?"

The music from the video game had been playing in the background all along. Now Xander looked back at the couch and saw that Illyria had gone all blue without moving at all. "May your empty pursuits in the face of imminent doom give you some measure of satisfaction," she said without turning away from the TV screen.

"That's her way of saying 'have a nice time,'" Spike whispered. "Let's go."

***

They were early; DJ Dongo wouldn't be arriving till one in the morning.

"Might as well dance," Spike said. The floor was only half full, with colored spots highlighting one dancer at a time on the beat of the tech trance music.

Xander shook his head. "I'll just get a drink, find a table."

Spike shrugged. "Suit yourself, mate. If you don't dance with me, someone else will." He slid away from Xander, already moving to the beat.

Xander did what he'd said—ordered a double rum and coke, and found a table with view of the dance floor.

True to his word, Spike had already found a partner. The guy was dark-haired, bronze-skinned—Latino, probably. His lanky arms were covered with tattoos, and his ears were studded with silver. His white wife-beater and pale cargo pants made him almost Spike's chromatic opposite.

Xander watched them dance for a while, sipping his drink. Andrew could pick up almost that fast, but never that confidently. He always had a wide-eyed puppy thing going, a kind of innocent amazement that the guy in question might actually be interested in him. Spike, on the other hand, knew he was wanted. It showed in every moment, every glance. Xander wasn't sure if Spike was even into guys—maybe he was just putting on this show for Xander's benefit—but he had absolutely no doubt that Spike had hunted like this, back in the day.

Which was a thought that should have been chilling, but somehow failed to connect. There were too many worse evils in the world than a vampire killing for food. The worst weren't even demonic.

Xander realized he'd lost track of his surroundings and he was gripping the edge of the table way too tight. He shook his shoulders loose, took a deep breath, and found himself patting the cigarette pack in his pocket. Fuck. No smoking in California bars. He took a drink instead and tried to locate Spike again on the dance floor. There he was—electric white hair, dark hands around his waist. He was kissing the Latino guy.

Xander felt himself relaxing. He determinedly kept his attention on the dancers—on Spike and his partner in particular—and didn't let his mind drift again. Spike and the other guy finished kissing and kept dancing, their hands roaming over each others' shoulders, torsos, butts. Xander wondered if he was supposed to be embarrassed and turn away—but what the hell, if they were going to do it in public....

Actually, it was pretty damn hot. The Latino guy wasn't hard on the eyes, and Spike—Christ. He was a cat, he was quicksilver, he was a punk rock angel. Watching him, Xander felt stirrings of arousal, and God that was something he hadn't felt in a long time.

Fucking hell, who'd have thought he could be attracted to Spike?

Spike is strong and mysterious and sort of compact but well-muscled.

Yeah, okay, maybe he'd been attracted to Spike before. But back when Xander was supposed to be straight and Spike was supposed to be evil, it couldn't exactly have gone anywhere. Now...

Now he was entertaining wild fantasies of getting up on the dance floor and pushing between the Latino guy and Spike and saying "Hey, you came with me" and kissing Spike the way the other guy was doing.

Wait a second. They were leaving the dance floor. They were holding hands and Spike was leading the way—not towards Xander but the other way, to where the washrooms were.

Oh God. Spike sure as hell wasn't taking the other guy back there to drink his blood.

Xander decided it was high time for a cigarette.

***

Standing in the alley out back of the club, Xander was almost finished his cigarette when he suddenly got the feeling someone was watching him from the shadows. Someone or something. He hadn't survived an adolescence spent hanging out at the Bronze without learning a couple things about shadows in dark alleys. He pitched the stub of his Camel to the pavement and reached into the side pocket of his cargo pants as though reaching for another cigarette, but actually his fingers closed around a stake.

Keeping his breathing steady—if it was a vampire, it'd hear any change—Xander made a half-casual move to one side and then suddenly kicked a garbage can in the direction of the shadow. A flash of movement, a low-pitched "Hey!" and then Xander had the business end of his stake poking a big, beefy leather-clad chest.

"Xander," gasped Angel. "It's me."

Xander backed off, but he kept the stake in his hand. "Hi, Angel. So you're still big with the lurking, huh? Plus ça change."

"Yeah, well." With a wry look, he rubbed at the dent in his coat where the stake's point had been pressing. "Thanks for not dusting me. Does this mean you've warmed up to me a bit?"

"No, it means I'm curious why you followed me here." Xander tapped the stake against his palm. "Or are you going to tell me it's just a coincidence?"

"It's not a coincidence," Angel admitted readily. "I followed you and Spike here."

"I'm still waiting to hear why." Xander knew perfectly well that now that he'd given away the element of surprise, there was pretty much no way he could succeed in dusting Angel. Still, it was satisfying to see Angel flinch at the threat in his voice. That never used to happen.

"Spike doesn't want my help, but that doesn't mean he doesn't need it," Angel said. "The city's full of danger, and he doesn't understand how vulnerable he is."

"So you stalk him?" Xander asked, raising his eyebrows. "You know, there's about four million people in LA getting by without your help."

"I can't save all of them," Angel said. "But Spike's my responsibility."

"Since when? If this is some kind of sire thing, I think you get a pass now that he's human."

Angel shook his head, looking morose. "He's carrying a burden that was meant for me."

"You mean the prophecy? That whole thing with the Mountain Dew?" At Angel's surprised blink, Xander added "Yeah, he told me about that. No offense, but one, he beat you fair and square, two, you can't sign a prophecy away, and three, wasn't the whole thing a fake, anyway?"

"It was never completely clear..." Angel grimaced. "Parts of it were definitely true, all right? Anyway, whether you believe in the Shanshu prophecies or not, you must see that Spike needs help."

Xander gave a half shrug; he couldn't exactly deny it. "I'm helping him. I'm getting him a passport and a green card."

Shaking his head, Angel glanced back towards the club. "He shouldn't be out here."

"Why not?" Xander wondered if Angel even knew what kind of club it was, or if he could possibly suspect what Spike was up to right at this moment.

"It's after midnight," Angel said, like Xander was dumb for even needing this explained to him. "He's human now. He should be in bed."

"Okay, uh, human." Xander gestured at himself. "Not in bed. Human," he gestured widely at the back door of the club, "not in bed."

Angel rolled his eyes. "Obviously. But Spike's not very strong; he shouldn't be wearing himself out like this."

"Yeah, I'm starting to see why he hasn't invited you in," Xander said, finally tucking the stake back in his pocket. "Do you tell him stuff like that to his face?"

"You don't understand," Angel said, and there was a tinge of desperation in his voice. "He's been sick. He had TB complicated with viral pneumonia, he was in the hospital for weeks. And then not long after he got out, he came down with bronchitis. He only got over that a couple weeks ago."

"Oh. Shit." Xander stared at Angel, finally comprehending a little why he'd developed this weird overprotective streak. "So if he only turned human a couple months ago..."

"He's been sick most of that time."

"Damn, no wonder he seemed kind of depressed."

"Xander," Angel said, lightly touching his arm, "he won't let me in. Maybe you can talk sense into him."

Xander moved away from Angel's touch, and closer to the door to the club. "Look, no offense, but if he doesn't want your help, he just doesn't. I'm not going to talk him into anything." Except maybe going to Rome, he thought silently. If Spike was as messed up as Angel said, then he'd definitely be better off with the Council than with Angel. What the hell kind of resources did Angel have to take care of a human?

"Will you at least watch out for him? As long as you're here?" Angel asked, his face drawn with worry.

"Well, obviously." Xander reached for the door handle. "That's what friends do."

***

DJ Dongo had finally arrived and started setting up. Xander went and bought the CD—which had been the whole point in coming here, after all—and while he was handing over his cash, Spike came up behind him and draped an arm over his shoulder.

"How're you holding up, mate?" he said near Xander's ear.

"Okay," Xander said, taking his change and tucking it away. He looked around and saw no sign of Spike's dance partner. "Don't tell me you got ditched?"

Spike looked at him like he was dumb. "No, we finished with each other is all." He met Xander's look with a slow, lazy grin. "Have to say, it was a brill idea coming out here. Best night I've had in a long time."

"Spike..." Xander wasn't sure if he was embarrassed, appalled or jealous. Plus, with the conversation with Angel fresh in his mind, he couldn't stop himself from looking at Spike for signs of weakness. His eyes were bright, and his cheeks and lips were flushed—hello, recent orgasm. "At least tell me you used a condom."

Spike rolled his eyes at Xander. "You're a regular wet blanket tonight. All right, look, I didn't sleep through the eighties; I know what's what. We bought one from the little dispenser by the hand dryer."

"Okay." Xander tucked the CD into the biggest pocket of his cargo pants, and nodded toward the exit. "Let's get out of here."

"Something wrong, Harris?" Spike asked, still keeping inside Xander's personal space. "You seem...off."

Xander gave a jerky shrug. There was plenty wrong, but no more than usual. "I ran into Angel outside," he said. "He followed us here."

"Fucking poof," Spike muttered. Xander knew enough about British swearwords by now to see the irony, but he didn't point it out. "Did he hassle you, then?"

"Nah. I nearly staked him, though." As expected, that got a smile from Spike. "He seemed to think it's past your bedtime." And that brought out a scowl.

"He has boundary issues," Spike said irritably.

"Listen, he told me about how you've been sick." Xander felt like he needed to tell Spike he knew because he was pretty sure Spike had been deliberately not mentioning it—and he didn't want to be sharing secrets from Spike with Angel. "He thought you should still be taking it easy."

Spike rolled his eyes again. "I've been fine for weeks. What I needed was to get out of that sodding flat and have some fun—which is a concept Angel doesn't quite get."

"No argument here," Xander said. "So speaking of fun—I got Andrew's CD. Wanna go find somewhere to play pool?"

"Actually," Spike slid around to block Xander's path, black-lined eyes burning bright with a kind of hungry smile he'd never turned on Xander before, "I want to dance."