How The Light Gets In (13/?)

[shadowscast]

Another Saturday, another chapter! You'd almost think I'm posting regularly. Oh, and I just missed posting Chapter 13 on Friday the 13th. Heh.

Anyway. Things continue to be angsty. Standard intro:

This is part of my Fragments series. It's a sequel to "Late Night Porn Store Blues," which is in turn a prequel to "Human Frailty."

Title: How The Light Gets In

Author: shadowscast

Rating: R for the language at the moment. There might be some sexual content later, depending on how Spike and Xander behave. (What, you think I'd tell you ahead of time?)

Warnings: Spoilers for all of BtVS and AtS. The whole series was originally just an excuse to indulge my hurt/comfort kink. Somehow a plot crept in too (funny how that happens!) but expect lots of hurt/comfort still to come. My Spike's kinda broken, and my Xander's got problems of his own.

Previously in the Fragments 'verse: In "Late Night Porn Store Blues," Giles sent Xander from Rome to LA after hearing rumors of an undetected Slayer there. Xander found the girl, but it turned out to be Illyria, erstwhile god-king and currently roommate of Spike. Xander found Spike working in a porn store and suffering from a migraine, but it wasn't until Angel intervened that Xander realized Spike was now human. Spike was wounded superficially in a fight and also took an overdose of painkillers, so Xander took him to a hospital.

The next day in "How the Light Gets In," Giles asked Xander to recruit Spike for the new Council. Xander went and tried, and in the course of his interaction with Spike he found out that Cordelia was dead. Xander, in turn, informed Spike of Anya's death. The two of them got drunk and mourned together, and there may have been some drunken cuddles but they didn't talk about that in the morning. After sleeping the sleep of the drunk on Spike's couch, Xander had a morning cigarette in the kitchen and unfortunately triggered an apparent asthma attack in Spike. Note to Xander: don't smoke around Spike.

Meanwhile, Xander tried to recruit Illyria for the Council but it didn't seem to work. Then Xander decided to solve some of Spike's problems by getting him fake I.D. Something Giles said on the phone made Xander start to worry that Spike was suicidal, so he confronted him about it. They had dinner together, and Spike managed to convince Xander that he was too afraid of hell to kill himself.

The next day, they went to a gay bar together to buy a CD for Andrew (who is, by the way, gay). At first Spike danced with a stranger while Xander watched and Angel lurked outside and worried about Spike being up past his bedtime, but then Spike got laid in the bathroom and Angel and Xander had a nice conversation and finally Xander got to dance with Spike, and kiss him.

The next day Giles called up with a crisis: he needed Spike to translate an Ancient Greek text so they could stop someone from turning into stone. So Xander pulled Spike out of church, they got printouts of the text, and Spike slightly crashed Xander's rental car while driving to the UCLA library for a dictionary. Spike spent the day translating, and Xander spent the day dealing with crashed-car paperwork and resenting Spike. Then Spike's phone went dead so Xander had to go visit him in person to find out how the translating was going. He discovered that Spike wasn't in good shape; he was getting sick with a cold, and also hadn't eaten for a couple days. Xander went to get food. He came back with KFC, and he shared its greasy goodness with Spike while they chatted a bit. Then Xander slept in Spike's bed while Spike kept working. All that effort finally paid off; Spike found the right page and called Giles.

The following night, Xander showed up at the porn store during Spike's shift with subs to share. He hung around while Spike worked, and finally kissed him. Spike's reaction was unthrilled, and Xander worried he'd made a mistake. They talked in the back room for a while without mentioning the kiss, and Xander seemed to make some progress in convincing Spike to come to Rome. Then Angel came by and had an argument with Spike. He told Xander he was worried because Spike was sick; Xander told him to lay off, but then invited him to work for the Council. Finally Spike left Xander alone in the back room with a bottle of Wild Turkey and a bondage magazine. Xander drank the bourbon and read the magazine, and Spike had to drive him back to his hotel.

At the hotel, Xander drunkenly tried to come on to Spike, but Spike took advantage of Xander's inebriation in a different way: he asked him what his nightmares were about. Xander somehow found the courage to tell him about his terrible experience in the Democratic Republic of Congo and the Slayer he'd let die.


Previous parts can be found here.


Chapter 13

Xander lay quietly with his head on Spike's lap. Spike was stroking his hair, not saying a word, just coughing once in a while. Xander sniffled; his face was a wet mess of tears and snot, and he desperately needed a kleenex, but he didn't want to move or speak, because that would break the spell.

He'd told Spike. He'd said it out loud, and the world hadn't ended, and Spike hadn't called him a coward or a murderer. That didn't mean he wasn't, of course...but it was something. It was unexpected, and good.

It was Spike who finally broke the silence. "You should tell Rupert."

"How?" Xander's voice came out all raspy from the sobbing; he sounded almost as bad as Spike. He must think I'm pathetic, thought the self-mocking part of him.

"Might not be as hard as you think. Rupert's a bloke who understands shades of gray and hard choices, Harris. Remember the time he plotted to get me killed?"

"We all tried to kill you, Spike." Xander managed a hollow laugh. "You were evil."

"Well, yeah, but I mean that time after I got the soul, when he tried to use Robin Wood to do for me."

"Oh." Xander swiped his shirt sleeve across his face and sat up. "Look, no offense, Spike, but you weren't human." He wasn't sure if the little twitch Spike's lips made was a wince or not, but he rushed to add, "That makes a difference to Giles, is what I mean. He's got that whole Watcher philosophy—humans 'yay,' demons 'boo.'"

Spike raised an eyebrow. "Seem to recall someone else having that attitude."

Xander shrugged. "I grew up."

"Well, Rupert's a bloody grownup too, in't he? Do you still think he's a fucking toff-nosed librarian, after everything? Ask yourself this, then; what ever happened to Ben?"

"Ben who?"

"Ben-is-Glory Ben."

Xander frowned, confused at the non-sequitur. "He, um, I guess he died."

"Right. And who killed him? Buffy?"

"Hell no. She wouldn't—"

"Right then." Spike coughed, and leaned back against the pillows. "I was a broken useless heap at the bottom of the tower. Dawn was up top with Buffy. You were with Anya, the witches were together—count it on your fingers. Who's left?"

"Shit." He'd never really thought about it; there'd been too many more important things to deal with. Too much grief. "Maybe one of the minions...?"

Spike shook his head. "I asked Rupert about it a while afterwards—got worried that Ben had slipped through the cracks again, maybe no one even remembered him but me. He said he'd taken care of it."

"Oh." Xander was too tired and wasted to really figure out what this meant, but he had a shivery feeling at the back of his neck. Before he could say anything else, the phone rang. Who the hell's calling at 3 a.m.? With a pang of worry, he picked it up. "Hello?"

It was Illyria. "Sorry to call in the middle of the night," she said, "But do you know where Spike is? He never came home from work."

"Oh. Yeah, uh, he's actually here with me." To Spike's questioning look, Xander mouthed 'Illyria.' "You want to talk with him?"

She did, and Xander handed over the phone. Then he went to the bathroom to clean up. He pulled off his eye patch and splashed cold water over his face. He felt strange, light and hollow and not quite real. The bathroom light seemed too bright. When he came out into the room again, patch back in place, Spike was just placing the phone on its cradle.

"I told her I'm staying here for the night," Spike said. "Hope that's all right."

"Sure." He felt awkward suddenly. "There's only one bed, you can—"

"It's wide enough for the two of us." Spike stifled a cough. "Don't know about you, but I'm right knackered."

"Okay." Xander shook his head, trying to focus on the necessary mundane details. "I can give you a T-shirt and boxers to sleep in," he offered, heading for his suitcase.

Spike undid his leather bracelets, set them on the bedside table, then pulled his own T-shirt off. Xander, busy undoing his boots, only saw the movement out the corner of his eye, but he looked up just before Spike pulled on the shirt Xander had tossed him. In that moment he caught a glimpse of dozens of thin pink scars crisscrossing Spike's chest.

"Jesus, Spike, what happened to you?"

Spike looked up, surprised, tugging the T-shirt into place. "What?"

Xander waved a hand at his own chest. "Who cut you?" The long thin scars matched the ones on Spike's right forearm. It must have happened after he turned human, otherwise they would have disappeared like the one on his eyebrow.

"Was nothing," Spike muttered, fiddling with the belt of his jeans. "Just some demon with long nails."

Spike wasn't all that great at lying, and he was obviously doing it now—badly, with the eye contact avoiding and the mumbling and the vagueness. Whatever, none of my business, Xander told himself. He just hoped it wasn't an Angel thing.

They finished changing in silence. Xander usually slept in the buff, but that didn't seem like a good idea tonight, so he put on a fresh pair of boxers before he crawled under the covers beside Spike. "Good night," he said awkwardly, reaching for the light switch.

"Night," Spike mumbled, already curled up away from him. "Sweet dreams."

***

Xander woke up with a headache and a hangover taste in his mouth. He woke up to the sound of coughing, and for a moment thought he was back in the hospital in Kinshasa.

No. L.A. Spike.

"'Morning," Xander said as soon as there was a break in the coughing. "You okay?" The eye patch had slid around sideways; he didn't usually sleep in the thing. He tugged it into place before he looked at Spike.

Spike caught his breath and tugged the blankets tighter around his shoulders, burying his face in his pillow. "'m fine. What time is it?"

Xander squinted at the digital clock. "Just past ten. Want to get brunch downstairs? My treat."

"Wanna sleep more," Spike mumbled into the pillow.

"Okay." Xander considered trying to go back to sleep himself—but now that he was awake he needed to pee, and he was desperately craving a cigarette. "I'll bring you up something," he promised, and climbed out of bed.

He sat on the hotel's terrace so that he could smoke while he had his coffee. The sun was bright and hot, and he could hear the roar of the traffic out front. It was a good noise, the kind of noise that could anchor a guy in the here-and-now and stop him from freaking out too much at the memory of getting drunk, coming on to his former mortal enemy, getting rebuffed, and finally spilling out his darkest secrets to said former mortal enemy while curled up on his lap, crying.

What does Spike think of me now? Last night, Spike had been...supportive. He'd been incredible, really—all non-judging and comforting and then letting it go after Illyria called and Xander got into pretend-it-never-happened mode. There was a little cringing, ashamed part of Xander that still wished he could turn back time and shut himself the hell up, but mostly what he felt was a profound sense of relief. And maybe Spike was right about telling Giles; at least it would be easier to tell him now that he'd already made his confession once. Maybe he wouldn't even have to get drunk for it next time.

And as for the kiss...okay, he really had no idea what was going on in Spike's head. It's Spike's turn to make the next move, he decided. Xander had made it clear enough that he felt something, and he wasn't going to be the loser stalker guy who keeps trying when he's not wanted.

He just hoped he hadn't already totally blown it.

***

"Hey, Spike, you awake? I brought you juice and a muffin." He hadn't wanted to go right back upstairs and wake up Spike, so once he'd finished his first coffee Xander had asked for a newspaper and a refill, and he'd stayed in the sun catching up on world events until the lunch crowd started filling up the place and the waiter asked him pointedly if he'd be buying anything else.

Spike stirred and croaked out, "Not hungry. Ta, though." He'd obviously been out of bed at some point, because the kleenex box from the bathroom was now on the bedside table along with a scattering of crumpled used tissues. Nice.

Xander shrugged and headed to the mini-fridge to put the juice inside. "Spike," he said over his shoulder, "did you notice that round basket-like thing beside the bed? It's what we humans call a 'trash can.' We use it for disposing of gross things that our roommates wouldn't want to touch."

Spike pulled himself up enough to give Xander two fingers. "Not your roommate, am I?"

Xander grinned at that, though he wasn't sure why. "At least you wouldn't leave blood rings on the coffee table anymore."

Instead of responding, Spike just coughed. Xander's smile faltered at the hollow, wheezy sound. He didn't sound that bad last night, did he?

Xander went over to the bed. "Are you all right?" he asked, a bit nervously. Spike had fallen back flat on his back, and he was still coughing. "Can I help?"

"My bag," Spike gasped.

The red courier bag was on the floor at the foot of the bed. Xander snatched it up and brought it to him. "What do you need?"

Spike's eyes were open wide, and he was still making that scary wheezing noise. "Front pocket."

Xander ripped open the zipper and shook the bag so its contents fell on the bed. A pencil, a small black notebook, an expired bus transfer—and an inhaler. "Here," he tried to hand it to Spike.

Spike didn't lift a hand to take it. He was obviously struggling to breathe. "Shake," he managed to say.

Xander was starting to get scared. He looked down at the inhaler. It had a label on it printed with instructions in big bold letters: Shake for 5 seconds before using. Okay, I can do this. He shook it vigorously; it rattled like there was something loose inside. With no watch on he wasn't sure how long five seconds was, and every breath seemed like an eternity. Then Spike reached for the inhaler, and Xander pressed it into his hand. He watched him put the mouthpiece between his lips, press the canister sharply and take a long, wheezing breath. Then Spike dropped his hand and the inhaler down to his chest and closed his eyes, still holding his breath. His jaw was tight, and his face was pale. Finally he let out a sharp cough, and seemed to start to breathe more normally as he opened his eyes.

"Jesus, Spike. What just happened?" Xander's mouth felt dry, and he wasn't sure that his voice wouldn't crack.

"Think I'm sick again," Spike said dully. "Feels like I've got a fucking Chirago demon sitting on my chest."

"Shit." Xander flashed back to Angel's warnings—maybe Deadboy hadn't been overreacting, after all. "I think we should go to a hospital."

"Just take me home." Spike struggled to sit up. "Illyria's there, she'll—" He coughed, and didn't finish the sentence.

"She still has the cell phone," Xander pointed out. "How about I call her now?" He didn't wait for Spike to agree, he just dialed the phone. Elder god or not, Illyria was Spike's actual roommate and she probably knew something about his health issues. Xander didn't want to go all Angel on Spike's ass and start trying to strong-arm him into seeing a doctor—maybe Illyria could talk him into going voluntarily.

She answered after the second ring, a chirpy "Hello?" in the Texas girl voice. Xander quickly explained what had just happened, and Spike glared at him.

"Oh good Lord," Illyria groaned, "is he running a fever, too?"

"Um, hold on." Xander put the receiver down on the table and turned to Spike. "Illyria wants to know if you've got a fever. Can I feel your forehead?"

Spike rolled his eyes at that. "Can't keep your hands off me, can you?" There was something affectionate in his tone; he was joking, not complaining. Xander managed to smile a bit as he laid his hand across Spike's forehead, but the smile died when he felt how hot he was.

"Yeah," Xander reported back on the phone, "he's got a fever."

"Damn it, not again." Illyria sounded upset; Xander wondered what she'd sound like if she was using her god-king voice instead. "Take him to the ER at County General, okay?" she said. "I'll meet you there." She hung up before Xander could ask her to talk to Spike herself.

Fuck. "Okay, Spike. We're going to the hospital. Illyria says so."

"Bloody hell," Spike said weakly. "All right. Gotta do what Smurfette says, don't we? Where're my fucking clothes?"