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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.

Chapter List
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"Right." Spike smirked. "Sure you're not the one hallucinating, mate? First Slayer's long gone."
"Gone but not forgotten, apparently," Xander groused, "and she seems to have a thing for killing people in their dreams."
"You're serious."
"If you'll excuse the pun, deadly serious." Xander stared at the vampire.
"And how exactly do you know that this is her?" Spike asked, half-afraid he could predict the answer.
Xander leaned back in the chair. "Remember the Initiative?" At Spike's shudder, he hurried on. "Okay, dumb question. Remember the night we took Adam down? The whole super-slayer spell mergy-thing?"
Spike nodded. He had heard scraps of the story over the years.
"Well, it seems the First Slayer didn't like us mere mortals getting all cozy with the current Slayer's essence. She showed up in our dreams that night. Have to admit, she had quite the knack for poetic justice. She carved out Giles's brains, sucked Willow's spirit, attacked Buffy." His gaze turned inward as the terror of that night returned.
"And you?" Spike asked the question quietly. He could sense the fear that tugged at the man before him.
Xander looked directly at him. "She ripped out my heart."
"Jesus."
"You know, the funny thing is that that wasn't the worst part. I mean, you'd think having your heart ripped out by a crazy Neanderthal slayer would pretty much be as bad as it gets." Xander found he couldn't sit still as the images bombarded him. He walked over to his bed and straightened the covers, anything to keep his hands busy, or maybe to stop his mouth. This part of the dream he hadn't shared with his friends. They didn't need to know, and he didn't want them drawing conclusions, but the figure on the stairs, yelling at him, pounding down toward him wouldn't be banished.
"Xan? Xander! Hey, Harris!"
Spike's voice broke apart the images. Xander's attention snapped back to see worried blue eyes staring at him.
"Sorry. Guess I got distracted. You know, it was one of those dreams that kinda sticks with you. Hey, do you think if I started a dream journal and wrote it all out, it would go away?" Xander could feel the babble pouring out, but he couldn't stop. Somehow his mouth had led him to a conversation that he so did not want to be having. At the same time, he recognized that releasing the horror of the dream might give them clues to help Spike.
"Harris. Sit down." Spike growled and his eyes flashed yellow. Cursing his current weakness and struggling against the anger that urged him to lash out at what hurt Xander, he came close to losing his patience.
Xander sat, eyes downcast. He took a deep breath.
"Sorry. It's just, that dream. Still gives me the wiggins."
"S'alright. Wanna tell me what the worst part was?" He watched Xander struggle to keep still, fists clenched.
"She was my dad. Right before she ripped out my heart. It was my dad who reached into my chest. Then she was there."
Silence filled the room. Spike could smell the misery and anger bleeding off the man.
"Fuck, man. My own dad hating me enough to rip out my heart." He shuddered and blinked tears away. This was not about him. Spike was the current target, and the dream of his father was long past.
The vampire stared thoughtfully at the hunched figure. He knew all was not right in the Harris house, but dreaming of being killed by your own father, well, that was beyond brutal. He could see Xander folding in on himself, trying to pull the pain back inward. After a moment's consideration, he decided not to press. It had to be hard enough to be facing the fact that his nightmare killer had returned. No need to force him to spill his guts to a former enemy.
"So, this slayer bint. How'd you take her out?"
"Buffy." Xander shrugged. "Seems the Buffster just told her to get over herself, and she disappeared. We all woke up."
Silence returned as they considered this.
"We could…" "I'm not…" they spoke over one another.
"I'm not calling in the bloody Slayer to rescue me." Spike ground out, cutting off what he knew Xander's suggestion would be.
"Spike, she may be the only one who can do this."
"Who can do what?" Angel's presence raised the tension in the room another notch. He stalked through the doorway, watching Xander closely.
The man shifted in his seat under the menacing scrutiny.
"Lay off, Peaches. The whelp's talking out of his arse."
"Maybe you'd care to let me know what's going on then?" Angel scowled at his Childe.
"Rally the troops, old man. Looks like the slayers aren't done with us yet, and I'm only going through this once." Spike snarled back.
**************
Xander leaned against the wall in the corner of the room watching Angel Investigations kick into gear in response to Spike's revelations about his dreams and the First Slayer stalking him. He had let the vampire tell the story, contributing only to answer questions directed at him, grateful that no one asked about the specifics of his dream.
"Wesley, I want everything Wolfram and Hart has on slayers," Angel directed.
"The Watcher's Journals in the Council Library…"
"We're not calling them." Angel cut him off. "They made it clear that they want nothing to do with us. I'm sure we can access everything we need from here."
Wesley nodded, clearly not pleased but disinclined to argue.
"Gunn, research past contracts, anything that has to do with slayers."
"I'm on it, boss." He nudged Wesley, "Looks like it's the books for you and me, English." A knowing look passed between them as they left, ostensibly to follow Angel's orders. Xander hid a smirk as he realized that Angel might not quite be as in charge as he thought he was. He wondered how deep in the paperwork Wes would bury the long-distance call to England.
"Fred, can you tell everything that's been in this room in the last 48 hours?"
"Sure, I just need to calibrate the spectrometer to pick up sentient traces, corporeal and non-corporeal. It's really just a matter of making sure that I record the known entities first, so we don't end up double-counting."
"Do it." Angel all but growled.
"Right, it'll take a few minutes to get the calibrations right, and then I'll be back." She hurried out of the room.
"Alright, muffin, you've cracked the whip and got the troops running, why don't you get back to steering this ship." Xander watched in amazement as Angel obeyed the green demon with barely a glare.
"That was one of the worst mixed metaphors I've heard in a while, mate." Spike grinned.
"Yeah, well, his aura's throwing out sparks that don't exactly make for poetic flow." Lorne gestured carelessly. "Now boys, let's see what sort of light Uncle Lorne can shed on the situation."
Spike's eyes narrowed suspiciously. "Don't need anyone else in my head."
"And trust me, that's not a place I want to be either." Lorne held up a placating hand as he settled into the chair by Spike's bed. "No, sweet cheeks, I'm thinking a quick chorus of 'Dream a Little Dream' might be in order."
"Sod off."
"What and huh?" Xander looked from one to the other.
"Mr. Greenjeans here wants to tell my future."
"And he wants you to croon Sinatra why?"
"Simple, sugar plum, he sings, I can read his path. It's a psychic thing. Now, Angel-cakes there was throwing off the sparks of frustration and rage. Our wounded song-bird here, well, he's a bit more understated."
Xander snorted at the thought of anyone calling Spike understated.
"Oi!"
"C'mon blondie, you're hardly a wallflower." Xander rolled his eyes, but he smiled.
"Obnoxious git."
Lorne surreptitiously watched the interaction. He had a feeling that Xander was much more closely tied into all this than Angel was willing to admit.
"Alright kids, as much fun as this is, I do have a 3 o'clock with Ben and Matt, so could we maybe get this show on the road." Lorne clapped his hands together and stood resolutely.
"I'm not singing." Spike made a move to cross his arms defiantly and grimaced as pain shot from elbows to wrists.
Anxious at this sign of suffering, Xander interjected, "Look, just let him do this, Spike. It's not like we have any better ideas on getting this figured out." He heard the bitterness as he finished his argument, but he couldn't help it. The vampires' outright dismissal of the Council to whom he'd devoted himself rankled.
Spike heard the hurt beneath the anger. While he understood it, he refused to consider having anything more to do with slayers right now. He didn't want to argue anymore, but he refused to give in gracefully. He heaved an unnecessary breath and began to sing low, "Early one morning, just as the sun was rising, I heard a young maid sing in the valley below."
Xander started and stumbled backwards. Of all the songs to pick! Lorne's eyes widened as images and emotions flashed through him from both the vampire and human. Dimly, he noticed Xander stagger from the room as he rode out the visions.
**************
"Here."
Xander lifted his head from his hands to take in the bottle of water dangling from green fingers.
"Doesn't exactly have the same restorative kick as a sea breeze, but it's the best the vending machine has on offer." Lorne settled his long frame into the chair next to Xander. "What a different world it would be if you could get a decent sea breeze that way," he mused.
"Uh huh," Xander took a sip of water.
They sat in silence, Xander studying the bottle in his hands, Lorne studying Xander.
"So did you see what you needed to?" The question was tinged with bitterness, edged with despair.
"I saw enough."
At the noncommittal answer, Xander lunged to his feet and began pacing.
"Fucking asshole. He picked that song on purpose."
"I expect he did." Lorne watched carefully.
Xander suppressed a shudder. Hearing that song brought back the last year with an unexpected violence. Images of Spike slaughtering the populace again, the fight with Caleb, losing an eye, losing Anya.
"Asshole." He swore vehemently. Why the hell was he even still here? Clearly Spike hadn't changed, and whatever pull brought him to Wolfram and Hart to inquire after the resurrected vamp quickly faded in the face of his anger. Let the First Slayer have him. At that thought, confusion set in again. As much as he hated Spike in the moment, he couldn't really wish that kind of violence on anyone.
Lorne watched the pacing man, debating how much to disclose about what he had seen. He had bent his confidentiality policy on more than one occasion, and in this case, what he saw applied as much to Xander as it did to Spike.
"Hate's an ugly color, muffin, especially when it's misguided."
"You don't know anything about me and Spike." Xander paused in his pacing to glare.
"Contrariwise, that little blast of insight back there told me quite a bit," Lorne uncrossed his legs and stood eye to eye with the tense man. "You're in deep here, and walking away won't be good for anyone."
"I can't save him from psychotic slayer numero uno, and I sure as hell don't want to hang around for the scintillating conversation and charming musical numbers."
Lorne laid his hand on Xander's chest, over his heart. He locked on the troubled brown eye. "Get this straight, cupcake. She's not forgotten you, even when you forget yourself. She knows where your strength is, and she'll try to take it again if you let her."
Xander swallowed thickly. "How do I stop her?" His hoarse whisper held as much hopelessness as it did determination.
"Stop letting her win." Lorne removed his hand and stepped back, winking charmingly.
"Thanks for the clarity, Obi Wan," Xander snorted.
"That's all I got for the moment…unless you wanna sing?"
"Uh, no thanks. Don't let her win, got it. I can work with that. You've been really helpful."
Lorne shook his head impatiently. "Not what I said, lambchop. Stop letting her win. Now. Before it's too late, and we're all too far gone."
Xander struggled with the distinction as he watched Lorne step into the elevator. He looked back at the two guards standing outside Spike's room. Ten minutes ago he had been ready to catch the next plane to anywhere but here. All that mattered was leaving LA and the jerk of a vampire laid out all vulnerable and snarky on the hospital bed. Ignoring the part of his brain that said Spike had struck out in frustration and fear, he continued to blame him for pressing buttons that would remind them both of The First with all the attendant pain. Another thought niggled at him, though, and he wondered if the choice of song also gave Spike a sense of control—that trigger had given him back the power that none of the Scoobies were inclined to help him regain.
Tossing the empty water bottle into the trashcan in the waiting room, he exhaled angrily. What the hell did that Lorne guy mean by stopping the slayer now? She wasn't here, and Xander hadn't thought of her in years. Okay, so that wasn't strictly true, but he wasn't seeing her in his sleep every night. So that had to be good, right? He stared at the open doorway for a moment longer before making his decision. As much as his brain told him to get out of Dodge, his heart still pulled him back to that sterile room and the vulnerable vampire inside.
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Cause and Effect