tabaqui | As If We Should Forget We Have No Hands...part four! *s/x*

As If We Should Forget We Have No Hands...part four! s/x

Wednesday, February 22nd, 2006 03:34 pm

Ahhh, more. Heh. Now that 'Scaling Heaven' is done, i can have a posting *frenzy*!
Heeee.
Not really.

Anyway, part four!
And i donned my wolly vest and trousers and followed the herd! Yis!
The Great Write Meme. This is where i am in it.
It's your chance!! Reject me! Lambast me! Roll your eyes and quote excruciatingly bad...stuff at me!
Just don't talk about the color of my lj.
*ahem*

Anyway...on with the fic!
Previous parts are here.
Thank you thank you,

reremouse and

darkhavens for...the usual good stuff. :)

"Really, Spike," Giles hissed, agitated half-whisper and much, much too close. "Do you think that was wise? I mean - you might have actually done him harm -" Giles was looking harried, phone tucked under his chin and a half-dozen folders open on his desk - piles of papers and books and a faint whiff of spoilt shrimp from his shoes.

Spike leaned away and put his cigarette between them as a shield. Giles coughed. "Do you think it was wise to not bloody be here when he got in?" Spike didn't bother to 'modulate his tone' - took a hard puff off his smoke and ground it out in the congealed mess that was an early-morning bit of eggs and toast.

"There were Gravlocks, Spike, and they were attempting a Calling and I had to -"

"You had to do bollocks! Andrew could have dealt with the bloody Gravlocks and you know it -" Spike cut himself off in irritation as Giles held up a hand, his attention sharpening on the phone he was holding.

"Yes, I'm still here. Yes of course. A fax? I don't believe I've received a fax, let me just -" Giles strode out into the reception area, calling for his assistant and Spike kicked the wall, leaving a satisfying and dirty dent.

"Uh, everything okay?" Xander was half in, half out of the room, looking as if he were interrupting the Pope or something and Spike kicked the wall again.

"Just Rupert being a sodding pain in my arse," Spike muttered.

"Weren't we... I mean, didn't he expect us?" Xander asked, and there was that look again - that hurt, let-down look and Spike growled. Xander just stared at him, wide-eyed.

"Yeah, he knew we'd be here. Oi, Watcher!!"

"I'm right here, for Heaven's sake, Spike." Giles walked back into his office - stared pointedly at the damaged wall and then sat down, hanging up the phone. "Now, Xander, if you'll take a seat. I am - Rupert Giles, a Watcher -"

"Told him that already," Spike muttered. Xander sat and Spike pulled out a cigarette and Giles leaned forward in his chair, looking very serious.

"Perhaps you could tell me what you, uh, remember about your time in Vietnam?"

Xander blinked - looked over at Spike, who rolled his eyes. "Well, uh...it was really hot and...I spent a lot of time watching it...rain?"

"Rupert. He doesn't remember. Did you not get the memo? What he did for six bloody weeks in that bloody hospital has fuck-all to do with what happened to him! What we need is a spell or something to fix it!"

Giles glared at Spike and Spike glared back and Xander sank down into his chair a little, looking less than pleased. "We've set up an appointment with the coven. They'll be coming here in a few days to see what, exactly, the nature of this - amnesia is."

"The nature of it? It's a spell -"

"You don't know that, Spike! He did sustain a severe blow to the head -"

"He can feel the wards!"

Giles opened his mouth and then shut it - looked over at Xander who smiled faintly. "You can?"

"Yeah. It was like...hot and cold and...furry. But not nice-furry, it was more....bad-furry."

"How can there be a bad furry?"

"For fuck's sake, Rupert -"

"Mr. Giles, your three o'clock is here."

"Ah, yes, thank you, Miss Merchant." Giles stood up - looked over his desk and removed the egg-toast-and-cigarette plate from the surface, shoving it into the rubbish bin. "Really, Xander, I'm sorry, but until we can know the exact nature of your, um, problem, there's not much we can do. We can't risk botching things and maybe wiping out your memories forever. The coven representatives will be here on Thursday -"

"Thursday?" Spike barked, and Xander echoed him a little softer, looking dismayed. "It's fucking Monday!"

"It was the soonest we could arrange for them to arrive. Now look -" Giles leaned on his desk - took his glasses off and rubbed his eyes, a tired gesture that Spike supposed might wring sympathy from some. But not from him. "I realize, Xander, that this is a - a frightening situation to be in but believe me, we're doing our best." Giles put his glasses back on - straightened up and brushed down the front of his suit-jacket. "You're in your own flat, with your own things. I suggest you spend some time...familiarizing yourself with the things there and - and just relaxing. Recuperating, as it were." Giles moved out from behind his desk and Xander stood up, looking like he wanted to say something. Giles patted his shoulder.

Spike tossed his second cigarette after the first one and pushed between the two of them. "Yeah, fine, we've got it, mate. We'll push off now. C'mon, Harris - things to do." Xander gave Giles one last look, all sad brown eye and down-turned mouth like a poster for Oxfam. Then he turned and followed Spike out of the office - past Miss Minchin and some suited, bespectacled Watcher-clone - and out into the hall.

"Guess that was kind of a bust, huh?" Xander said as they went down the stairs. His voice was too low and too flat for Spike's liking and Spike stopped to light a cigarette - squinted at Xander through the smoke as he plodded down the stairs.

"Well, at least the witches're coming, that's something. And - it's not so bad at the flat, is it? Got lots of movies and things to watch. Here, let's pick up the pace a bit, shall we?" Spike grabbed his arm and hustled Xander down two more flights of stairs.

"Yeah, I guess it's okay. I don't have it decorated or anything really, do I? Don't I stay there much?"

"Guess not. Out working like me, I expect."

Xander twitched in Spike's grip. "Like you? You said you killed things!"

"Oh, well -" Spike was saved from explaining by the fire alarm going off and they sprinted the last flight - stood for a moment in the doorway, looking out into the dull-silver veil of rain. "Got your brolly? C'mon, then - gonna get a bit exciting around here, wouldn't want to get in the way."

"I guess not." Xander opened his umbrella and they stepped out, walking briskly toward the tube station. "Spike? They're - I mean, the witches, they'll really help, won't they? I mean -"

Spike sighed and stopped, turning to face Xander and hating the defeated look on his face. "I promise you, mate, they will. They'll do whatever they can. Giles is being an ass but - you're a hero, right? Saved the world a time or two, just like me. They'll do whatever it takes, Xander."

Xander fidgeted with the handle of the umbrella, frowning. "It's just that...he doesn't - Mr. Giles, I mean, he - does he like me?"

*Oh, fuck. Fuck and damn.* Spike had no idea why Xander's hesitant question was making his blood boil - was making him want to do a little damage to...certain people. He just wanted to. Wanted to get that scared, beaten-down look off Xander's face. "Course he does! He's just - he runs the whole Council, you know? Very high-up muckity-muck with all the phone calls and - and random demons. He's...always like that," Spike finished, thinking back, and yeah, Giles kind of was, anymore. Falling further and further into the routines and the roles he'd grown up around - been a part of for so many years. "Don't let it get to you, mate. He's a right old bastard sometimes but if anybody has the answer, it's Giles."

Xander met Spike's gaze, holding them in stillness and silence for a long, long moment, the rain pattering on the nylon umbrella and the puddled concrete - gurgling in gutters and sluicing noisily down and down into the sewers. It was a lot like Vietnam, really, except Xander was huddled into his new jacket and his breath smoked a little when he finally broke the silence.

"Yeah, okay. I'm just - not gonna worry about it."

"Good on you, mate! Now - got the whole afternoon to kill." Spike took a last drag and flicked the butt away. "What'll it be?"

Xander looked up, peering around the edge of the umbrella and getting rain in his eye. "Well, no walks through the park. Actually, I'm starving. I didn't eat much breakfast so - could we get steak? And," Xander bounced just a little. "There is no good food at my place, can we go shopping?"

"Bloody hell. You're just like the girls. Shopping," Spike sniffed, but he was grinning and Xander poked him with an elbow, grinning back - dodged a fat man in a flapping Macintosh and nearly jabbed Spike in the eye with the umbrella.

"Watch it, Harris! Crossing here - mind the bloody taxis, they live to mow down pedestrians." They dashed across the street and headed down the tube stairs, Xander folding the umbrella up and giving it a shake all over Spike, who growled softly. The station platform was crowded and they fought their way toward the edge, Spike elbowing and stomping on toes without mercy, Xander apologizing every third step.

"Hey, Spike, why do you eat food? I mean -" He glanced around and leaned in a little closer, bringing his voice down to a whisper. "Vampire! I thought it was all about blood and real food would make you sick or something."

"I like food, I'm gonna eat it. Bugger the rules. Do what I want, when I want, don't I? Always have."

"So why do you work for the Council?"

"Some days I have not one sodding clue. Here's our ride, step sharp." They pushed onto the car and found a place to stand and Xander looked - happy. Spike squashed the little voice inside that was happy for him and vowed to stop acting like a big girl's blouse. The little inner voice jeered, and Spike did his best to ignore it. *Never can get a break, me.*

An hour and a half later Spike felt pretty sure he'd never want to see the inside of a Tesco's again. Who knew picking out crisps could become a debate as serious as any Parliament session over euthanasia? It went without saying Spike was for euthanasia. And also for Prawn Cocktail crisps, which took a lot of maneuvering to get Xander to put them in the trolley.

But now they were stocked: crisps, dip, cakes and biscuits. Even some complicated bakery cakes to offset the preserved horror that were strawberry Swiss Rolls. They had beer and soda, two whole roast chickens, a boxful of frozen mini-pizzas and, oddly, a bag of prepared salad that Xander had snuck in somehow. Spike blamed the amnesia.

They were set, though, for some hard-core DVD watching and major couch-holding-down and it was the best way Spike could think of to keep Xander distracted until their appointment with the witches.

"Man, I'm like - a complete geek. I've got all of Babylon Five! And Star Trek, Star Wars, fuck - anything with 'star' in the title." Xander gestured helplessly at the piles of DVD's around him, looking up at Spike with an expression of amused horror. "Do I speak Klingon? Or say 'May the force be with you'?"

"Not so I've noticed," Spike said, lighting up and ignoring the little sigh from Xander. "There's good stuff too, though - Platoon and the Alien movies and -"

"Yellow Submarine. Jesus. How'd you stand to be around me?" Xander selected something and slotted it into the player - climbed to his feet and came to sprawl down beside Spike, cradling a bowl of salt and vinegar crisps and some sort of dip. An unholy combination in Spike's book, but then, Xander hadn't ever been subject to Clem's taste test parties.

"Oh, you had your good points. Throwin' yourself into the middle of a good fight and distracting the enemy, that was always good. And you always had good cereal on hand. That chocolate vampire stuff," Spike said, making a vague gesture to represent the snaffling and violating of someone else's breakfast comestible.

"Wait, don't tell me." Xander paused with the DVD remote pointing at the player. "It went well in your blood?"

"As a matter of fact -"

"Jesus, don't go there! Blood and Count Chocula, that's...that's..."

"Sacrilegious, you used to say."

"And I was right." Xander hit play and settled back, munching contentedly. Spike snagged a beer off the end table and opened it, getting comfy himself as the familiar, opening banter of Reservoir Dogs started to play.

Six hours and an unmentionable amount of snack food later and Xander was half-asleep, curled into the heaps of squashy cushions that he'd had the sense to cover his couch with. Spike was dozing himself, blinking sleepily at the final scenes of Amazon Women on the Moon. Xander had laughed himself nearly sick over the silly thing but now all he could produce was a sort of wheeze.

"Gonna live, then?" Spike asked and Xander stirred and pushed himself upright, his hair mashed against his skull and cheese dust along his lip.

"God. I dunno. Too...much...grease. I need an apple or something."

"Bite your tongue!"

"Or you'll do it for me?" Xander said, shooting Spike an arch look. A clearly flirtatious look. Then he noticed the raised eyebrow and, Spike was sure, confused gape and his expression went a little blank. Spike snapped his teeth shut and groped for a cigarette. "Uh - you did know I'm gay, right?"

"Well - uh - not as such - Bugger!" Out of smokes.

"Oh god!" Xander flopped back into the cushions, disappearing from view. "I can't believe I just outed myself. I can't believe you didn't know!"

"Oi! How in hell was I supposed to know! Not like we ever had a quick round of 'hide the sausage', did we?"

"Did we? I don't remember! Maybe I'm so horrible in bed you're not telling me to save my feelings! I mean -"

"Xander." Spike pawed at the cushions in a growing panic, sending several to the floor until he found Xander's head buried in a bright orange one. "I would never not tell you to save your feelings. 'Sides, you're probably right brilliant in bed. Your bird Anya, she told me you were a Viking in the sack!"

Xander's head popped up, tousled and flushed and the little bastard was grinning. "Oh, man, your face!"

"You tit."

"What the hell does that mean? And I can't even begin to imagine a conversation where my - uh - girlfriend would tell you I'm a 'Viking in the sack'. I mean - private, much?" Xander sat up and rubbed his eye - stretched hard. "I feel greasy. I'm gonna call a hiatus to the moviethon and take a shower."

"Right. Out of smokes, me, so I'll just step out to the shop 'round the corner." Spike stood up and started looking for his boots - glanced back at Xander who was watching him with a closed sort of expression on his face.

"You really need cigarettes or are you going to... I mean, it's been a while since you -" Xander made a sort of grrr face, fingers hooked into fangs and Spike rolled his eyes.

"Yeah, I really need more fags. I'll just - slip out tomorrow and -"

"No, uh, you know what? It's - it's okay. I mean, the Council knows about you and...everything so it must be okay, right? So - I mean, I don't want you to go hungry just 'cause I'm...uh -"

"Squeamish?"

"Freaked out. But yeah. Just - do what you gotta do." Spike found his boots and pushed his feet into them - knelt to do up the buckles, watching Xander the whole time. Xander stared back, absently rubbing his fingers together in a strange sort of washing motion.

*And what's that about, I wonder? Didn't do anything like that before - mostly just shoved his hands in his pockets and stood there...* A half-dozen mental images of Xander Harris standing with his shoulders a little hunched, fists pushed deep into his pockets flashed in Spike's mind. Mute and stubborn and immovable. This Xander was just - more open. *Same person, isn't he? Same person only without all the...filters. Years of filters. And what the Council knows and doesn’t know is not going to be discussed. I'll just let that one slide.*

"Right, then. Won't take long - back in an hour, I'd say. You'll - be all right?"

"Man, I just outed myself. Nothing can faze me now." Xander waved one cheesy hand nonchalantly but Spike could hear the tiny quaver in his voice.

"Promise I won't be gone long. You just bolt the door after me and I'll - I'll be back before you even know it, right?"

"Yeah, okay." Xander took a deep breath - looked around himself at the litter of cellophane bags and smeared plates and empty bottles. "Not like I don't have anything to do here to keep me busy."

"You always were a bit of a slob," Spike said, swinging his coat onto his shoulders and happily displacing his own bad habits onto Amnesia-boy. "Drove me right round the bend when we kipped together, your towels all over the place, your moldy cups -"

"Oh, yeah, right. I can't re-mem-ber!" Xander sing-songed, crumpling up some bags in his hands. "You could tell me anything! You could tell me I liked to - to sing show tunes!"

"You and Liza, mate, every Friday." Spike dodged an empty dip container and pulled the door open - felt for the key. "Back in a trice."

"Yeah, yeah, go already!" Xander grinned, shaking his head, and Spike slipped out and shut the door quietly behind himself.

*Well, this is one night he won't forget, that's for sure.*

It was actually a bit over two hours - well, call it closer to three - before Spike got back. There'd been trouble and vamps and a fucking vanful of the bloody filth descending on what they thought was a riot, for Christ's sake. Spike had had a merry hunt through the tangled streets of Whitechapel, losing himself in the pub-crawl crowd and feasting on a baddie or two. Kicking a little ass and getting his kicked back a little and he bounced up the steps to Xander's flat feeling good. Pleasantly full and a little sleepy, ready for a shower and a shag -

*Not bloody likely I'll get that, 'gay' or not. He's gonna be sorry for that, I'll warrant.* Spike could see it, though. Those big, callused hands and soft lips - dark eye all full of soulful caring and world-weary cynicism. *Probably pulls 'em in like a moth to the flame. Rollin' in boys, our boy.* He snorted softly at that and dug out the key - opened the door and stepped in and shed his coat before noticing - anything.

"H-hey, Spike," Xander said, and Spike stopped still. Too much emotion in that voice - far too much relief and Spike turned and stared hard at the couch - now pulled out to a bed - and at Xander, who was sitting in a huddled lump up in the corner, a pillow clutched to his chest and that fucking plastic bag by his feet. Flicker of the television screen in a too-wide eye.

*Hell's bloody bells. Now what? Oh, fuck. Overdue, aren't I...* "Hey, Harris. Xander. Guess I'm a bit late, yeah? Had a bit of a to-do over by -"

"Somebody - that girl named Willow? Called? And she - cried and... I didn't know what to say to her. She kept - asking me q-uestions." The little notebook was open to a scrawled page of words, the Mickey Mouse pen stuck crookedly through the wire binding. "And...and...Lili's going to kill the unicorn and Jack has to kill her -" Xander wiped at his eye - sniffed and seemed to shrink down tighter - further into himself.

"Xander -"

"This m-movie sucks, I hate - movies where - where the hero has to - k-kill -" Xander staggered up and almost ran for the bathroom and Spike just stood there wondering what the fuck was going on.

*Take Red and rip her a new bloody everything! What in hell was she thinking, calling here and - and -* "Fuck me! Xander!" He could hear water running in the bathroom and he stomped down the hall - hesitated outside the door for a moment because if Xander was sick or using the toilet he was not going in. "Xander?"

"I'm - fine! Just -" The door opened abruptly and Xander stood there, head down - water dripping off the short ends of his hair and a spatter of it down his t-shirt. He leaned on the jamb, picking at a nail or a callus or something, not meeting Spike's eyes. "She kind of freaked me out," Xander mumbled, and Spike sighed and leaned against the opposite jamb.

"She shouldn't have called or - bloody hell, not like that, she shouldn't have. She knows better. I'll have her fucking eyes for soup," Spike muttered and then growled when Xander burst into hysterical laughter.

"Oh, god, that's so - so gross! Soup -" Xander wheezed and clutched at Spike's shoulder and Spike hauled him back out to the living room - shoved him down onto the couch and flung pillows at him until he was half-buried.

"Just shut it, you. I need to get cleaned up. Got a bit - spattered out there. And then we're gonna watch the end of this sodding movie and you'll see what real heroes do."

"What do real heroes do, Spike?" Xander asked, pushing pillows aside. His fingers were creeping out to the notebook and Spike wanted to tell him don't, but...

*The only real things I remember...* "Real heroes always win, Xander. Just like us. We always win."

Xander's gaze met Spike's and he looked calm, but not... Not as if he believed Spike. Not completely. "Okay then," he said and picked the notebook up and turned back to the movie - watched with an increasingly bigger smile as Lili cut the unicorn free and Jack defeated the Lord of Darkness and the world - Jack's world, the hero's world - became lovely and warm again. Spring again, in time for the young lovers to pledge their troth. Xander watched and scribbled and shooed Spike to the shower. When Spike came out the TV was off and Xander was curled on his side, the bag tucked away somewhere and the lamp still on.

"Is it okay if I just... If I just sleep out here? I mean... If - it's not -"

"Nah, it's fine. Shared quarters with you a time or two. Won't bother me."

"Good. Okay, cool." Xander settled deeper into the covers and Spike sighed and hitched the borrowed sleep-pants up a little higher. His own kit was stuffed in the hamper, fouled with blood and ichor and alley filth and he hadn't packed but two changes, anyway. Needed to fix that. He crawled into the bed and found a comfortable pillow - turned and burrowed and settled.

"Did you mean it, about the - gay thing?"

"Yeah," Xander said, sleep and laughter in his voice. "Promise I won't molest you in your sleep."

"Oh, no worries. I've buggered my share - makes no difference to me." There was a moment of silence from Xander and then a soft breath that Spike had no hope of interpreting. "You gonna - stay out, you think?"

Xander shifted and Spike lifted his head and looked over at him and Xander was leaning up on an elbow, looking back. "I dunno. I don't know why - I mean - why wasn't I already? It's...fucking weird. I mean, I am. Do you think -" Xander stopped, twisting a pillow-case cover and Spike pushed his foot over in the bed and poked a body-part. Knee, he thought.

"Think what?"

"Do you think that the other - the real me'll remember - this?"

"You're as real as the other, mate," Spike said, and Xander shrugged. "Yeah, I think he - you - will. You will."

Xander looked up - looked away - curled back down, pulling the covers up and hiding his face in the crook of his arm. "Good," he said. Tiny whisper but Spike heard it, and he agreed.

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