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Good Man
by Huzzlewhat
Summary: Xander does clean-up duty.
Rating: R
Author Notes: Thanks to carolyn_claire for the great beta and
encouragement.
Story Notes: AU to Bargaining.
Disclaimer: None of the Jossverse characters belong to me. For which they
should be grateful, apparently.
"So they've sent you to clean up their mess, have they? Sent you to talk
sense into the big, bad vampire?" Spike eyed him where he sat, hunched in
the chair that he'd been waved into, not looking anywhere except at Spike,
or his own hands. "And of course you came. That's your thing, isn't it?
Like a fucking dog. Not too bright, but you'd cut your arm off before you
crossed them. So fucking loyal."
"I'm... I'm not." All his sins, past and present, crowding round him. "I
haven't been."
Spike's eyes narrowed, gleaming slits in the darkness. Xander wished
there was more light. But then, hearing the shuffling drag somewhere off
in the corner, he was grateful he couldn't see anything at all except
Spike's face, flat with contempt.
"It's not about what you do, you git. It's about how you think. Whatever
you've done wrong, it doesn't matter. Because it'd never occur to you that
your girls aren't better than you. You'll sit there all puffed up and
protective and say, 'Willow would never,' when the proof is right there in
front of you that she would, and she did. 'Cept you can't even look at it,
can you?"
"She didn't--"
"Poor, stupid sod. Of course she did. You don't think Red had any idea of
what might happen?"
"She wouldn't have--"
"See, there you go. Yes, Xander. She would." He sucked in a quick,
vicious drag on his cigarette. "God, how much I hate you all."
"Why am I here, then? Why even see me?" Echo of fiercer challenges in his
tired, tired voice.
"'Cause you're the only one who didn't know. The others... You can bet
Glinda knew. All sweetness and dimples, that one, and she's got no
backbone. Takes more to be good than knowing what's right. Gotta have the
strength to do it. Good and weak is no better than evil."
"Like you'd know how--"
"Shut up." Growled, cold, violence sudden and threatening. Then back,
shoulders resettling in that seemingly careless slouch, gaze flickering
between the tip of the cigarette and Xander, pinned. "And your demon?
Girl's been around for a thousand years, 'course she knew what was what.
But you, you're just stupid."
"I--"
"Cheer up, pet. Stupid's the only reason I let you in the door."
No words, no answer. The smell in the room was making him nauseous,
catching in the back of his throat with a solidity that choked him.
"Oh, yeah. Loyal little doggie. 'Cept now you're in the middle, aren't
you? Poor little doggie, stuck between two mistresses, and gotta choose."
Voice low, silky, inescapable. Xander hadn't thought the hair on his arms
could stand up straighter. "And you're standing by the witch. Can't say as
it surprises me."
"You're wrong." Dull. Empty. Resolved.
One eyebrow arched. "You're not standing by the witch?"
"No. About choosing." Xander squared his shoulders. "I don't have to.
What has to be done--"
Spike moved fast. Knee on the chair between his legs, one hand on his
shoulder, pushing him back, the other on his face, cigarette clenched in
the fingers that gripped Xander's jaw, forced it upwards. The tip was a
bright flare in the corner of his vision, close enough that he could feel
the heat, the near brightness of it casting wild shadows on the face so
close to his, utter blackness beyond. Agitated rattling of chains from the
corner, a liquid grunt.
"Don't say it," Spike snarled, lip twisted, wincing from the ricocheting
pain from Xander's jaw, from the chip. "Don't you bloody dare. After what
you've done, you don't get her back."
Xander didn't flinch. Dull, empty. "We don't have a choice, Spike."
"You don't have a choice."
"Willow's going to call Angel."
Silence. Eyes wide, strangely young, then narrowed, then another laugh,
and Spike shoved him away. Xander caught himself as the chair rocked back,
didn't fall.
"She didn't have the courage to come to me herself. You think she's gonna
go to Angelus? You're talking real wrath-of-God territory there. No way
she'd come out of it with her limbs attached, after what she's done. It
might be worth it to call him myself, just to see what he'd do to her." He
sat back in his chair, propped one foot on the edge of Xander's, between
his opened knees. "She doesn't want anyone to know." A smile twisted his
lips. "Don't suppose she's told Rupert yet."
"I... no."
Slow, deliberate drag on the cigarette, slow exhale. "I'll tell you what.
You're going to go away. You're going to go back to your demon, and crawl
into a damned bottle, or do whatever the fuck you have to do to get
through the nights. I don't give a rat's ass. It isn't your problem
anymore. I'll take her, get out of town. You'll never see either of us
again. And no one will ever know. You take a step toward her, and Angel
will know. And Giles."
No one will ever know. Imagine the look on Giles' face.
A wet scraping noise, behind him now. The smell was stronger. "Zaaa..."
Spike's gaze went past him, and the smile changed to indulgent affection.
He sat still under the drag of damp fingers across his arm, down to his
hand where it grasped the arm of the chair.
"Zaaa."
The fingers were petting him, soft little clumsy strokes that left a
slick trail on his skin. Mindless, stupid. The vague, remembered affection
of a dumb animal.
It couldn't be worse than this. Couldn't get worse. He couldn't look.
Spike's eyes were on him again, his lips twisting in malicious
satisfaction at whatever he saw on Xander's face.
When he managed to speak, his voice was gentle, soft, breaking. "It'll be
all right."
Spike's laugh was an assault, a cruel stab. "Sure it will, pet. You just
go away, and it'll all be fine. Good thing you've got old Spike to clean
up your messes."
"No," Xander said, reaching out to the cold hand that didn't -- quite --
dare to grasp his, patting awkwardly. "It will be all right. I'll make it
all right."
He stepped out into the moonlight, into the air, leaving the closeness
behind. A deep breath, trying to clear his senses of the smell that had
penetrated so far he could taste it on the back of his tongue. Another
deep breath, and he coughed, dry tickle in his throat from the dust in the
crypt.
He hated crypts.
The gasoline poured out in uneven splashes, even though his hands were
steady, and he used Spike's silver lighter to set the crypt ablaze. He
watched it catch, watched it burn, waited until he heard the sirens in the
distance to go.
No one will ever know.
Her hair had been golden, just like he remembered from the first time
he'd seen her, the bright gold of captured sunlight. It had been brown
when she'd crawled out of her grave, which meant that Spike...
Eyes closed against it, against the image that summoned, of Spike being
gentle, fingers softly bringing shining gold to lank brown, working around
the chains. Chains because she was still stronger than him and hey,
sunlight.
He gripped the lighter, stared at it for a moment before tucking it away
in his pocket. A reminder, as if he'd ever need one, of the look on
Spike's face.
There's nothing left, Spike. I don't have anything left. Except the right
thing. Takes more to be good than knowing what's right. Got to have the
strength to do it. I'm not a good man. I'm starting to think I never was.
But now, I need to be.
He slipped the stake back into the loop at the small of his back. He'd
left the knife behind. Why had it surprised him, if her hair was still
gold, that her blood was still red? He'd closed his eyes tightly and held
her, smoothed her hair, tried not to breathe in as she bled out. Her eyes
had been clear and beautiful, despite the ruin of the rest, and he'd seen
the pure, dumb trust there, and the bewilderment, and understood why Spike
-- poor, stupid Spike who, for all his posturing and speeches, was no
smarter than Xander -- hadn't been able to let her go.
When he reached the car, he turned the key in the ignition, checked both
ways carefully before he pulled out onto the deserted streets. New car
smell surrounded him, doing nothing to soothe his stomach. No point in
going to his place -- Anya would still be there, with questions she'd want
answered. Willow and Tara were waiting back at Revello, waiting for word,
to hear that they were safe.
He rolled down a window to let the cool night air in, and headed out of
town.
End
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