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Cause and Effect	By : elizashaw Category: AtS/BtVS Crossovers > Slash - Male/Male > Spike(William)/Xander > Spike(William)/Xander Views: 6461 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Buffy the Vampire Slayer or Angel the Series. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

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The crash of the IV stand jolted Xander from his uneasy doze. What the hell? He instinctively reached out to grab the flailing vampire, ducking a punch that he was afraid would hurt Spike's hands more than his face. Grabbing the pale arms well above the reconnection wounds, he pressed his full weight down and struggled to hold the dreaming vampire still.

"Spike, c'mon buddy, it's okay. Wake up now." Xander struggled to speak soothingly, but the jerking body beneath him left him gasping more than whispering. It was like riding a bucking bronco, or maybe a mechanical bull, not that Xander had ever done either. He shook the babble away and decided that gentle was getting him nowhere and in fact might actually get him thrown across the room and earn him yet another concussion.

"Spike! Wake the fuck up you undead moron!"

"Get off!" Spike snarled into game-face and lunged forward to smash his face into Xander's.

"Ow!" Xander lost his grip as one hand instinctively flew to the blood that flowed into his only eye.

The scent of blood seemed to bring Spike back to himself, and suddenly he lay as still as the corpse he was. Xander wiped the blood from his eye and glared down.

"I know you're not exactly a morning person, but was that really necessary?"

"Harris?"

Xander released Spike's other arm and slowly climbed off the bed. He looked around for something to press against the wound. So much for the avoid-the-concussion theory, he groused internally. He grabbed a towel from the sink and pressed it to his eyebrow before he turned to survey the still figure in the bed.

"So, nightmares much?"

Spike closed his eyes and turned away. Xander studied him for a long moment. Then, checking briefly to make sure the bleeding had stopped, he put down the towel and moved around to the side of the bed to right the IV stand. Fortunately the bag of whatever liquid mojo stuff the docs were pumping into the healing vampire hadn't burst. He turned the knob on the drip to stop the slowly leaking fluid that slicked the floor from the needle that had been torn from Spike's arm.

"I'm gonna get the nurse. Get you hooked back up, okay?" No response registered on the still face. "Back in just a minute."

Xander walked quickly to the nurses' station, but no one was in evidence.

"Hello?" He wandered down the hall toward the vending machines, hoping to find someone, but the corridor was eerily silent. With no windows and an abundance of fluorescent lighting, Xander had no idea what time it was, but this was a hospital, right? Okay, so an evil underground lawyer hospital, but, still, somebody should be around.

His footsteps echoed against the white walls, and his Hellmouth-bred paranoia began to kick in. Something wasn't right. Fear pricked at the back of his neck, and he suddenly decided that the IV could wait. He needed to get back to Spike, although he wasn't sure if the intensity of that need came from wanting to protect or be protected.

"Come to finish off the job, have you, luv?"

Xander's pace picked up from a quick walk to an all out run as he heard the cocky voice float down the hall. He burst through the door, adrenaline pumping.

Spike crouched in the corner of the room, apparently talking to the air in front of him.

"Set me up, didn't you? Send me off to rescue a barmy slayer? Let her take revenge?"

"Spike," Xander cautiously moved toward the hunched figure.

The vampire gave an eerie laugh, and Xander felt himself suddenly back in the school basement. Please God, not the First, not here, not now, not again.

"Spike can you hear me?" Xander knelt in front of him, trying to make eye-contact, but not reaching out to touch.

"Serves me right, getting offed by a slayer. Took out two," blue eyes filled with tears, "killed ‘em. Got off on it, too. My turn now."

"Spike, there's no one here. C'mon buddy, just you and me, and we need to get you back into bed."

"My turn. S'okay. I'm ready. You can have me." His hoarse voice dropped to a whisper. "No one else wants me." He sat up and flopped useless hands against his chest as though to move the flimsy gown away from his heart.

Xander's eye filled, and he decided that getting Spike back from whatever crazy place he was in was more important than worrying about another smack to the head. He reached out and gently held onto both shoulders, giving the vampire a small shake.

"C'mon man, let's leave the invisible people alone and stay in the real world, ‘k?"

Spike looked right at him, and Xander breathed a sigh of relief.

"Kill me?"

The plea frightened Xander, and suddenly his anger flared back to life. The bastard got to live again, and now he wanted to be staked? Not fucking likely. Not if Xander had anything to say about it.

He shoved the vampire back against the wall, heedless of the wounded arms. He stood and paced away, then came back to tower over the compact figure.

"Fuck you, Spike." He glared down, but the vampire wouldn't meet his gaze. Again the misery seemed to swell around him, and for a moment he thought he heard laughter. He spun around looking for the source, but they were alone in the room. He shuddered. Memories of the First playing with them flooded his mind, and he knew that this was more than depression or loneliness that ate away at the wounded vampire before him. His anger receded somewhat, and he set his jaw. Gently he scooped up the still figure, cringing at his slightness before depositing him back in the bed. Spike immediately curled up on his side, facing away from the door. Shivering overtook his frame, and Xander couldn't help but have compassion, seeing this powerful creature reduced to such a lost state. He pulled the blankets up and tucked them around the thin shoulders, trying not to react when Spike flinched away.

Wanker. Spike berated himself for flinching. He struggled to control the shivering, but his body didn't respond to his commands. Out of control. Again. Sodding plaything for whatever the hell that dread-locked war-painted bitch was. Fear gripped his unbeating heart. She sent the slayer after him, and it had to be the First—back again and pissed off that Spike had burned out his army. Only now he had the slayers somehow. It had to be, and you deserve it, his mind whispered traitorously. Couldn't be evil, didn't belong to the heroes. An enemy of everyone. There was no place for him. He belonged trapped in that bloody amulet.

A warm hand stroked his back. To his horror, tears of misery began to slide down his cheeks, and he bit back sobs that threatened to escape.

Xander felt the shivers change to hitching shudders. Spike was crying? He stilled his hand briefly, then made up his mind. He lowered himself to the bed, leaning back against the headboard, and gathered the unresisting vampire into his lap.

Spike gave up the fight and let the tears come silent and harsh as he buried his head against Xander's warm chest. It no longer mattered that he was the Big Bad, that this was the Slayer's donut boy who hated him for existing. All that mattered was the strong arms holding him together and the warm breath that murmured comfort into his hair.

After a final shuddering sob, Spike lay still. Exhaustion saved him from the impending awkwardness of his position, and he slid into sleep.

Xander felt the vampire go slack against him and knew that Spike finally slept. He shifted slightly to relieve a cramping leg, but he didn't want to give up his hold on the smaller man just yet. For the first time in a long time, he felt relevant, needed. Useful in more than a settling ‘who got what room' way that characterized most of his evaluations of slayer groups. Despite Giles and Willow's assurances that his gift for reading people played a vital role in helping the homes in the various countries run smoothly, he doubted it was much more than a way to keep him occupied and feeling useful in a world of super-girls and watchers and witches.

He continued to run a hand lightly up and down Spike's back, offering comfort even in sleep. Now that Spike was conked out, Xander found himself thinking back over the last hour. One, Spike had nightmares, apparently screaming-rip-out-your-guts nightmares. Two, no nurse, no nurse or doctor anywhere, and that couldn't be right, but he couldn't do much more than note that at the moment. Three, Spike was talking to invisible people again. Xander's empty eye-socket pinched, and he stomped down on the fear that the whole last year and a half had been for naught. Right moving on. Four. Four, Spike was scared, miserable and alone, and Xander was a comfortador. Miserable and alone he understood all too well. God knew what would happen when Spike woke up, and Xander wasn't anticipating gratitude and smoochies, not that he wanted vampire smoochies, he told himself firmly. Not thinking about smoochies.

He sighed and rubbed a hand across his stubbled face. He never felt more alive, more connected, than when he could absorb the pain of another, feel it, hold it with them, for them. It was that capacity that allowed him to stop Willow up on Kingman's Bluff. Unfortunately that connection could have unpleasant affects on his libido. Being that close to someone through misery wasn't entirely different from being intimate in other ways, and he knew that his casual observation of Spike's muscular compactness hadn't been purely innocent. But he knew Spike had had no use for him at that time, as lost as he was in his obsession for Buffy, and anyway, Xander had Anya. At least he had had her then. Now was an entirely different story, and he was afraid it was about to become a messy one.
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Cause and Effect