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The Silent Urge Series	By : Druffine Category: -Buffy the Vampire Slayer > Slash - Male/Male > Spike(William)/Xander > Spike(William)/Xander Views: 25061 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: I do not own Buffy the Vampire Slayer (BtVS), nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
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Part A Gotta Get Away

Chapter 04 - News II

~ Xander ~

Shitshitshit. I start to pace. We have to move out. Tomorrow. Where the hell shall we find a room or anything so fast? They are my parents. They shouldn�t kick me out like that. God I�m so fucked. I have no idea what to do now. And I said thank you to Spike.
To Spike of all people!

Maybe Willow would let me stay until I find something. Or Giles. No, Giles has this friend visit thing and therefore kicked Spike out. Spike � William who is my boyfriend if you ask my mom. Boyfriend? Vampire. Boyfriend-vampire. Vampire-boyfriend? Aaargh.

I look at him and he cocks his head to the side and raises his scarred eyebrow. He tries to look cool but insecurity is written over his face in big black block letters.
�Are you alright, Xander?� He asks me with this ridiculous Giles-imitating voice. Suddenly it hits me. Spike�s isn�t � wasn�t - the bad boy he pretends to be! He is the Giles of the vampires � or Ripper is like Spike for Giles and William is like Giles to Spike or� lost track but again. Spike was a librarian? I start chuckling which leads to laughing which leads to guffawing hysterically and can�t stop.
~ Spike ~

The whelp is giggling � again. I think it�s shock or something. He can�t laugh at me. I�m the Big Bad � nobody laughs at me.

�What ya laughin� at, wanker?� He just continues giggling. Then I get it.

Bloody hell! My reputation went straight down the drain.

I have given him a complete William the Ponce live show!

Did it for his Ma. Don�t want her to worry. I�ve really gone soft.

�Start packing!� I snarl and turn around. The giggling stops abruptly and his hand is on my wrist. I sigh loudly and his hand drops away. He appears in front of me, blocks my way. I know my irises are completely golden when I gaze at his face but he is watching something very interesting on the floor.

�You meant that?� He questions with a four-year-old�s-voice.

�What?� I reply faking indifference.

�I mean you know with the moving out and into your apartment. You don�t have an apartment or do you have an apartment � flat? And with me moving in with you and�� He raises his head and meets my eyes.

Hell, he is so vulnerable.

How has he survived this long?

His babbling goes on: �You said that to my mom just because you don�t want her to worry right? But why should you mind if she worries or not? I mean you�re evil and all. The chip is only stopping you to hurt physically right? Or has it fried your brain this much and you are a kind of invalid vamp now? Being nice and�?� I growl. �No, you�re planning something big, aren�t you? Something to hurt my mom. At first telling her you�re nice to me and later she gets one by one my body parts every day by mail. You�ll torture her. If you torture her I�ll dust you. But I can�t dust you when you send my body parts around, can I?� I cock my head to the side. �When you start with my ear I still have my hands and would be able to dust you. Will you start with my ears? I like my ears�� What is he on? Why is he giving me torture advice? Have I really to decide *now*, with which body part I start? He thinks I will hurt his mom. I would never hurt her. She is a kind woman and I understand her conflict between husband and son. She didn�t handle it well. Whatever. Un-fucking-believable, he is still babbling. He�ll pass out from the lack of oxygen. �� she was so grateful that I have someone who likes me and I thank you for the nice act and all. For a moment she was happy � haven�t seen her that since � ahm � forever. If you could keep it up for a while longer. Just until we move out and� �

Or not. I grit my teeth and interrupt him: �Wasn�t an act. Don�t want her to worry, had a mom too, you know. Start packing. NOW.� A growl accompanied by a flash of my other face for emphasis.
~ Xander ~

Whoa, pissed off Spike.

He had a mom too. Everybody has a mom.

Spike pushes past me and is out of the door into the night.

�Wait!� I call and he stops and turns around.

The yellow lights of the street lamps illuminate only one side of his face. One half in the light, one half in the dark, I register and store it away for another day when I have the time to think it over. It seems kinda� important - in a creepy way.

�What whelp?� He drawls annoyed.

�Where are you going?� Don�t leave me, I don�t know what to do without you. God, Xander get a grip!

Spike lights a cigarette, takes a drag and another, blows the smoke into the clear night.

�Find a place for us, find a job for you and�� He lets the sentence hang in the air. What is he not telling me? My hearts starts pumping furiously, drumming against my chest.

�And what?�

�Andperhapsoneformetoo.� Huh?

Did he say what I think I heard?

�You, job?� Oh that was coherent, Xander. Congrats. Shut up.

�Not the nice kind of job!� He growls. �Now. You. Pack! What is not packed is left behind, pet. And grab my stuff too � all of it.� With that he throws his cigarette to the ground, stomps it out and turns. I blink and the night swallows him.

I stay in the door jar for a moment longer, stare in the dark.

Spike and a job.

A job and Spike.

Not a nice kind of job, he said.

Not a nice kind of job for him or for me or for both of us?

What is not a nice kind of job in demonic meanings?

I should be scared. God knows what kind of work I�ll have to do. Don�t have much choice, have I? I�ll be patient. Spike has surprised me a lot in the last two days. Manners and Moms and laughing and nursing me yesterday. And my back! I have totally forgotten about it. It doesn�t hurt, so it can�t be that bad. Have to take a look later. Now packing.

I go back into the basement and open a cupboard. There are six or seven duffel bags. I always bought one after really bad beatings I received. Always swore to myself then to start packing as soon as I would be able to leave the hospital. Mom visited me secretly when Dad was at work. I knew she was sorry. I never could bring myself to pack and leave her alone. Now I don�t have a choice. Aren�t I grateful for that?

I am going to leave this basement.

I am leaving this parody of a family.

I am leaving for good.

I start a new life tomorrow.

A new job.

A new whatever to live in.

It doesn�t matter if it�s cleaning the public toilet and living in a dusty crypt � I�ll deal. Everything is better when it gets me out of here. I have to smile. Out of the basement. Out of my psycho parents� house.

--- out of the ground� into the sky� ---

I start with Spike�s stuff. It�s not much. Two pairs of black jeans, five black t-shirts, some socks, a red and two black silk button-downs, no underwear, two cd�s (Sex Pistols and The Clash), a locked silver metal box the size of a Maxi-Cornflakes-Pack � I wonder what�s in there - , two bottles JD and 5 packs of cigarettes. Everything fits in two duffel bags.

For my clothes I need three duffel bags, the two left are now filled with my comics, some books, two photo albums and little remembrances. I really don�t own much. I go to the bathroom and find a bucket for the stuff there.

My large first aid supply goes where I go.

I look for the nearly empty tube of antibiotic cream Spike has used on my back but they�re all nearly full. Spike had to have emptied it and thrown it away. I shrug my shoulders. It has done what it was needed for; I don�t hurt anymore.

So, I am through. Packed everything, looked twice if I forgot something; I didn�t. I lie down, stand up again, search the fridge, find sausages, cook them, eat them with a lot of bread, eat a chocolate cream dessert, eat the rest of the ice-cream, look for the thousandth time at the clock, nearly 4:30 a.m. and Spike is not back. Sun�s up in an hour.

I am excited. What will Spike organise for us? What jobs? What place to stay?

I start to check the basement again for things I don�t want to leave behind but I am sure there isn�t anything for me here anymore.

And what if Spike doesn�t come back? Why would he care for me? Here isn�t anything to come back to� Totally resigned I fall down on the shabby sofa and try to choke the tiny bits of hope *he* gave to me.
Lyrics: Nirvana

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The Silent Urge Series