A Harsh Master

It took weeks for Xander to recover from his little brush with death. He was pretty much mobile by the end of the first week, but he had to mind the gash in his chest to make sure he didn't pull all his stitches and open the damn thing again. That was never fun. Even healing nicely it was going to leave one hell of an impressive scar. Though he couldn't work up much in the way of angst over that. Wasn't like he didn't already have a sizeable collection.

Anticipating a long stay, the gang had put themselves up in the downtown house that was serving as the Council presence in L.A., for training slayers, housing them if they lived out of city or state, generally being all office-y, so it was hardly the best place for an extended convalescence, but on the other hand, lots of slayers handy, which could hardly be a _bad_ thing.

It took him a whole lot longer to get over ... everything else that had happened.

He never saw Spike. Not once in the six weeks they spent in the city. He didn't call, although neither did Xander, Xander didn't go back to Wolfram and Hart and although Angel, Wes, Gunn and Fred showed up on his doorstep at various times, Spike was never with them.

But then, he didn't have to be.

The bit of Spike that had somehow managed to find its way into his head never went away. He'd clung to it for days, retreating into his mind so he wouldn't have to deal with the fact that he'd so thoroughly screwed up that chances were Spike would never want to talk to him again.

The girls were all very supportive of his depression, telling him he should take all the time he needed, tiptoeing around him, making sure never to mention anything that might remind him of Spike. For a good week he wallowed in the comfort of fluffed pillows and constantly refreshed tea and all the sympathy a teenaged girl who'd just been dumped by her first boyfriend could ever want. Thankfully, that got old fairly fast.

And it was when he decided that enough was enough, that he discovered that the presence in his mind was not to be so easily dismissed.

Having spent the past week inside, in bed, in absolutely no danger at all, it hadn't really proved much of an issue. But the first time he tried to walk outside after dark he started to understand just what was happening. It wasn't so much a voice as it was a compulsion. Like there was something inside him urging him to stay inside, that it wasn't safe, he couldn't protect himself, he should wait for Spike, ask Spike, Spike would take care of him. It had been like that for weeks now, ever since that innocuous morning when Spike had cut himself and Xander had unthinkingly licked up his blood. Even more so since Spike had bitten him, once he came to think about it.

And that first time he hadn't been able to force himself to do it. Dawn and a couple of the younger slayers had been with him, but Buffy, Willow and Giles weren't even in the house. It had been so subtle, so normal that he hadn't even questioned it. They'd gotten to the front door and he had suddenly realised that he wasn't really up to this right now, they should go on without him. It was only after the words had left his mouth that he'd wondered why he'd said them, only after the others had left that he'd realised what was going on. He'd fought against it then, and when he was concentrating he discovered he could get past it, but it was so much harder than it should have been. That night, at the church, with Willow and Buffy and Giles tugging at his soul, it had been nothing, easy, but without that, without them, he wasn't strong enough to just dismiss it.

That pissed him off.

It was bad enough Spike could do this to him in the first place, but that he could keep doing it even after Xander had gotten away was just unfair.

So he made a point of doing any number of little things to deliberately set it off. He wasn't an idiot, didn't go out patrolling in the middle of the night, still injured, all by himself, but he did go out on early evening rounds with the girls every so often, once he'd gotten his strength back. He met up with the gang for drinks almost every night, never mind the fact that they were all living together anyway. And every night, after it got dark, no matter what else he might be planning, he went to the front door, opened it and sat on the front porch for fifteen minutes, by himself, stake in hand.

It never went away.

When he found himself pacing the front deck and wondering if a night-time trip to the cemetery would make the fucking thing piss off, he decided that it was probably time to tell Willow what was going on.

Unfortunately, the best Willow could do was tell him that his mind was probably more susceptible to these sorts of things after having been possessed and magicked so many times, not to mention the frequent head trauma. She could help him block it out, could to a spell to try to make sure supernatural things couldn't just go in and take him over, but apart from that, the best she could think was that time and distance were going to be the best solutions.

So when they asked him if he was going to be coming with them back to England, he jumped at the opportunity.

Once there, he settled back in fairly easily. There was still plenty of rebuilding to be done. Literally. The council building had been completely demolished and they needed somewhere big enough to house and train all the slayers that were still constantly showing up. They gave him a place to stay, an office in the new Council headquarters, paid him not too badly and he was always near Buffy and Giles and Willow.

Four months into his stay he was sitting with Buffy on the back veranda of the old hotel he was slowly doing up, chatting and watching the sunset. Eventually they fell into that comfortable silence that only happened between old friends.

When he finally looked over at her, he found her gazing at the scar on his neck, one hand unconsciously touching the matching one on her own. She jerked away when his head, moved, ducking her head in embarrassment and giving him a wry smile. "Sorry," she said.

Xander shrugged, grinned at her. "No problem, Buff. You're welcome to ask me to take my shirt off any time so you can stare at all my manly scars."

She chuckled and elbowed him lightly. "Just so long as you don't expect me to do the same."

He widened his eyes. "Well, I dunno, tit for tat, Buff, seems only fair."

He laughed out loud and waggled his eyebrows when she turned to him equal parts amused and shocked and exclaimed, "Xander!"

"What? Did you think I meant ...? Oh, Buffy, where does your mind go?" He shook his head despairingly, then grinned at the outraged expression on her face. Leaning back to try to find a comfortable angle on the wooden bench, he glanced over at her. "So, what's got you staring at my neck this fine morning?"

She twisted around so she was sitting sideways and looked at him directly. "Nothing, well, nothing really. I just, you know, noticed it. You usually try to keep it covered up. And I guess it just made me think. That night ... he could have killed you."

Xander looked at her, concerned. She was staring at his neck again, lost, he supposed, in the memories of that night, or countless others when she'd lost, or nearly lost, people she loved. He sat forward and placed a gentle hand on one seriously tense shoulder. "Hey," he said, waiting for her to look at him. "There's a lot of things that might have killed me that night. Might have killed you and Will and Giles. But they didn't. I saved you, you saved me, it was a whole big saving thing, which is what we do right?" He smiled gently at her, relaxing when she sighed and gave him a sad smile back.

"I couldn't believe it, you know, when you didn't come with Spike. The whole thing nearly fell apart right there when we felt you just disappear, when Spike h-hit you." She said it hesitantly, like she still couldn't believe that something like that could happen. Xander didn't react. He'd come to terms with it a while ago. Nothing made it alright, but he understood why Spike had done it. "And then when I saw him drinking you and I just ... god Xander, I froze. I'm so sorry. For a second it was like my mind just ... couldn't put the pictures together. And then ... if I'd been any longer you'd be dead, now."

"No," he said, taking her hand firmly. The horrified expression on her face was too much for him to take. "Buffy, no. It doesn't matter now. You saved me. You did. You got him off me in time and I'm fine."

"I should have killed him then." She shook her head despairingly. "God, after what he did, I know I should have. I had my stake over his heart. But I just, I couldn't, you know?" She looked up at him then, her expression tired, sad, regretful even. But always determined. She might regret the necessity of an action, but she always followed her heart and so she always knew that, ultimately, she'd done the right thing.

"You never could kill him, could you?" he said wryly. "Not when he was helpless, even when he betrayed us, nearly raped you and, let's not forget, when the first had him killing people left right and centre again. Although, yes, that wasn't exactly his fault. He's given you enough reason, though, hasn't he? But you love him, which pretty much means Spike gets a get out of staking free card, something I'm actually fairly happy about, him being a dickhead aside."

Buffy smirked. "I guess so. I mean, I don't _love_ love him, not like he wanted, like he deserved." She looked up at him suddenly and got that intense, I've worked it out expression, like when she figured out why the demons were attacking or something. "Like you do." Then she laughed softly and looked down. "I don't mean to be, you know, mean, but I'm not sure I'll ever get used to that."

He grimaced, thinking about everything he'd done the past few months to get Spike the hell out of his head. "Heh, well, that makes two of us, then."

Buffy narrowed her eyes sharply. "That mind control thing's not still bothering you, is it, Xan?"

Xander was surprised. He hadn't thought anyone had noticed anything. Being so far away from Spike, the meditations Willow had him doing, having the Scoobies around him most of the time. Mostly it had faded. The most he could really say was that he was more careful about going outside now that he might have been, which, rationally speaking, wasn't exactly a _problem_. Besides which, Willow had assured him that, with the spell she'd performed, as long as he didn’t want it, Spike would never be able to do anything like this again and that from now on everything should be fine.

So he'd just let her think that it was. It was easier, and as long as he wasn't in any danger, he wasn't too keen on doing any rigorous get-Spike-out-of-my-head work.

But the truth was, that weird feeling that some part of Spike was still inside him never went away. And after the anger and the frustration had played themselves out and he'd come to terms with what had happened between them, he'd realised just how much he missed Spike.

Their relationship hadn't been all about control and fear and misunderstanding. In all the in between bits he'd been honestly happy. Now that he didn't have to think about the look in Spike's eyes as his fist came flying out of nowhere, he could think about the look in his eyes every time Xander kissed him, made love to him, every time they caught sight of each other across a crowded room. It was all sickeningly romantic but exactly how he felt.

He'd loved Spike. Still loved him. And as long as he was able to close his eyes and find that little room deep inside of him where Spike waited with a smile that went all the way to his blue eyes, he couldn't imagine not loving him.

And that ... well, he wasn't quite sure how he felt about that.

Buffy's frown had deepened as she waited for him to answer. "Nah, it's not bothering me," he replied. "Well, I mean, 'bothering' is probably not the right word. It's just ..." He broke off uncomfortably, not sure he really wanted to talk about this with her. Then he caught sight of the scar she had been touching so very recently, peeking out from the edge of her top and it made him realise that if there was anyone who could possibly understand, it was going to be Buffy. Not only had she been with more than one vampire, she'd been with the same vampire he was, and okay that thought wasn't helping. Still ... "Do you ever feel like ... like he left a part of him with you," he said hesitantly, watching her face for her reaction.

Buffy just watched him thoughtfully. "Angel, you mean? When he bit me? Well, I don't know. I mean, for years it felt like I was carrying a piece of him around inside, but it started before that, I think. I guess maybe," she said doubtfully. "But I never drank from him, so I don't know if it'd be the same." She trailed off and Xander just shrugged, prepared to concede the point. Before he could do so, her face lit up. "Oh! Wait! Dracula!"

She smiled triumphantly. After a moment he prodded her. "What about Dracula, Buff? The fact that he made me his little monkey boy?" This had so better be going somewhere, because that was one experience he had _no_ desire to revisit.

"No, no," she said impatiently. "Well, maybe ... but I was talking about when he made me drink his blood!"

He looked at her with renewed interest. "Really? You never told me that. So what happened? Could he like control you and stuff with it?"

"Well, no," she frowned. "He thought he was going to be able to, but for some reason it didn't work like that on me. It's probably a Slayer thing. Although, you remember he did come into my room and put the whammy on me the night before when he drank my blood. But the point is, when I drank his blood, I could feel him inside of me. It was seriously creepy, like he was in my mind, in my blood ..." She shuddered at the memory. "I could feel him trying to control me, but there was no way in hell I was going to let that creep go all Master Vampire on me. It pretty much faded when I ignored it, and when I killed him it went away altogether." She looked at him hopefully.

"So ... why hasn't Spike just ... faded away then?" he asked. "It's been _months_, Buffy. I mean, I know Will said I was all susceptible to stuff like this, and okay, you are the Slayer, natural defences probably abound and all that, not to mention my iron will is something closer to the consistency of jello, but ... what point was I trying to make?"

"You should be happily Spike-free?"

"Right! Why can't I get him out of my mind?"

Buffy just looked at him for a moment, like she was trying to puzzle something through. It made him want to squirm in his seat and protest that no miss, the dog really did eat it. "Xander," she started. "Xander, you still love him, right? And I know you miss him. So, have you ever thought that maybe you can't leave him behind because part of you doesn't want to? I mean, how would you really feel if you woke up tomorrow and he just wasn't there?"

He stared at her. Then he stared at her some more. She sat through it patiently. How would he feel? Well, he'd feel great, wouldn't he? No more Spike. No more doubts and struggles ... that really, honestly, hadn't been bothering him for months. Still, he wouldn't have to close his eyes and feel Spike waiting for him, wouldn't be able to forget the world around him and just let the knowledge that Spike would always love him, always be with him wash through his soul. He'd be alone, honestly and truly alone and fuck but that thought scared the shit out of him. He loved him and these past months he'd been doing everything he could to forget that short of letting Spike go.

Because ... because he didn't want to. Maybe, just maybe, that bit of Spike belonged inside of him. And maybe Spike had forgotten about him, maybe he'd been terrified that this was all he was ever going to get, but suddenly ...

"Buffy, I ..." He stood up, barely registered her startled expression. "I have to go make a phone call."