Spoilers: Sometime in early season five – or possibly late six BtVS. Warnings: M/M – if you don't like boys together, don't play here!
Disclaimer: Don't own the characters nor make any money from stories etc, and bow down to their original creators Joss, et al., plus all the wonderful online writers who continue to give the Buffy/Angel verse characters life.
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New Story: Swan Lake
"It's Farah Litand. Is Mr Giles available please? It's… well… it's really kind of urgent."
The young slayer tapped her chewed pencil impatiently on the side of the small cracked Formica tabletop that was one of five in the tiny backstreet café in Algiers.
She was relieved when the phone made a clicking sound indicating her call had been taken.
"Giles speaking."
"Mr Giles, I… I think you need to have someone come here and… and um…"
In Esher, UK, Giles removed his glasses and in frustration ground out, "Oh do spit it out girl I'm…"
"It's Xander, Mr Giles, it's my watcher Xander! He just won't come out of his room, won't even answer me. He's been weird all week, I found him crying on Sunday. He said it was just an old memory. We'd just dusted three vamps – no big deal, but there was a little girl with blonde hair, a tourist I think. She was drained already, nothing I could do.
"He picked her up and carried her back here and contacted her parents, just like normal but then he… well he was crying after and then after that just stared at the wall all day then…then he yelled at me when I said we should go patrol, kept saying something about a Zeppo and it going on and on and something about everyone dying, he said he just couldn't… couldn't stop it, couldn't stop me from dying and then went really quiet, just turned and locked himself in his room and now… Mr Giles, I'm scared he will do something or maybe already… Mr Giles?"
"Break the door down."
"Excuse me?"
"You heard me girl. Kick it in. Make sure he's… Just make sure he's still… well, in there. Now"
"OK… I'll just… Just wait OK? I'll do it."
Giles heard the phone go quiet then an almighty crash in the background, followed by what sounded like a struggle. Finally the phone was picked up again, this time it was Xander's familiar voice though despite the words, the flat tone was less than reassuring.
"Hey G, I guess the Council is going to have to pay for the repairs this time, 'cause I didn't bring my tool kit."
Giles had seen it before, not necessarily whilst in his current role heading up the Council of Watchers, but he had a nephew who had recently served in Iraq returned to England for the very same reason. A brilliant field surgeon Nigel had arrived home reduced to a barely functioning human being, terrified if a helicopter flew over their home, and prone to fits of despair or rage for no apparent reason. His dear wife and he had finally agreed that professional help was needed. A year on he was doing better, but it was a slow process.
Xander had been on the 'front line' effectively for the past eight years. Post Sunnydale he'd apparently accepted his parents' death in the Sunnydale implosion with stoicism worthy of any Brit, claimed the insurance money and government disaster compensation due him and moved to Portland to work in construction.
A year later he had turned up at the Watchers' Council doors in England and volunteered his services, claiming that normal life wasn't for him. He'd been in the field, collecting new Slayers ever since.
Giles knew he needed to act, and quickly, but also aware that Xander would not appreciate a 'kid glove' approach.
"Xander, I need you to bring Ms Litand back to England with you. It's a matter of urgency. I will make the necessary calls to her parents and arrange your travel details. Can you be at the airport by tomorrow morning?"
"I thought you wanted me in Kenya after this one."
"I'll send Russell, he'll be thrilled to be deployed at last."
Expecting an argument, Giles was rather surprised by the resigned, quiet tone of the answer, "We'll be there. See you in a couple of days then. Email me the details."
"Indeed… and thank you Xander. See you shortly."
As soon as the phone cut out, Giles rang Andrew, "Yes arrange it immediately and blind copy me the Email if you will… And before you ask, yes it will be me that picks them up from Heathrow."
Xander was coming home.
The final battle with Wolfram and Hart's Los Angeles Branch brought it down with blast from Illyria but not before Angel was dusted and Gunn dead.
Illyria had been standing over a badly injured Spike when she threw the blast that not only knocked out Wolfram and Hart, but also somehow removed her from Earth's dimension.
Spike woke as the sun poked its head through the clouds, lighting the sky with pale reds and warm pinks.
He was too broken to move, so simply lay still, expecting to dust. He opened his working eye, the other too swollen to manage, and stared at the pink then blue above, hoping that someone would perhaps remember him, reflecting on his long life as the Sun's rays gradually crept closer.
It was an agonizing three hours later that the lady Sun finally broke through to the alley. In a blast of heat he felt the moment and closed his eyes, sending a last minute prayer that his Grandsire might have found peace and wishing his mother hers also.
But then… nothing happened.
There was no whooping for joy. He felt for a heartbeat, but none was present. He breathed, then found it was as unnecessary as ever, though broken ribs seemed to demand he… not.
He was aware enough to register a figure appearing in his peripheral vision, felt strong arms lifting him, then blissful black.
Part 2
Connor cradled the badly broken Spike to his chest, amazed that he was apparently not dust, given his body was in direct sunlight.
The young Aurelian had felt his father's passing, as had Spike, but also registered a familial tug that demanded he return to the blast location that was previously Wolfram and Hart L.A. Branch.
On arrival in the alley, he saw little beyond an enormous pile of rubble, a number of obviously dead individuals, puddles of ooze and a decent covering of dust across the vista. Then, just as he was about to retreat, he heard a faint, "Oh God."
Pushing aside large chunks of concrete and twisted metal stays, he eventually found his vampire 'brother'. Not dust, despite the sun falling on exposed legs and part of his back.
Connor felt for a pulse, having been versed with the Shanshu prophecy from birth.
There was none, which was odd. But then everything about his life was odd.
So, shrugging off obvious questions, he swallowed hard, shoved aside the detritus and lifted the limp and broken body of his only (un)living relative, then continued back to the main road where he hailed a cab. En route to the Good Samaritan he rang his temporary 'house mate', Matthias, the brother of one of his fellow Stanford buddies who agreed to put him up for a week or two after Connor made mention of some family crisis in L.A.
The instructions to the cab driver were brisk and urgent, the good natured cab driver assuming Connor to be a do-gooder university friend simply collecting a mate after a too heavy night on the booze.
With some juggling of the inert vampire's form he managed to let himself in to his shared apartment just off the main road near the Good Samaritan and contacted Matthias again, this time the young resident doctor answered, who was just finishing up his shift at Mount Saini Hospital.
"Hey man, can you um… I've kind of got a situation here… It's kind of urgent."
Matthias had heard about some of Connor's 'situations' from his brother, and sighed audibly before answering, "OK, who is she and do I have to…"
Connor settled Spike on the rather lumpy couch in the front room whilst juggling the phone and cut Matthias off, "Just listen. I need a few bags of human blood. I'm happy to pay."
"Jeez Connor! What's…"
"I'll pay for it! And before you ask? No, it's not for me! It's a… well… It's for my… half brother I guess. He's been badly hurt and I…"
"So call 911 man! Or do you want me to?" Matthias was beyond tired after a shift of eleven hours and really didn't feel 'the love'.
"I can't. You'll understand when you get home… Can you do it? The blood? Like I said.. I'll pay!"
Matthias gave a heavy sigh. He was used to dealing with some pretty odd requests but this was well and truly outside 'the box'.
In the two weeks Connor had been staying he had been utterly focused on his studies, and spoke lovingly of his sisters and parents, though recently had opened up that he had discovered he was adopted and made contact with his birth father here in L.A. If this was indeed a birth brother in need of blood then there must be something seriously wrong.
"Fine. No problem. As long as you're sure? F #k Connor? Why don't you just bring him in here?"
"Trust me Matt, you'll understand when you get here… Just?"
"I'll be out of here in ten. And you owe me OK?"
The quiet response was all he needed to confirm that Connor was serious.
Matthias divested himself of his 'scrubs' twenty minutes later, having ordered up three bags of 'O-pos' at the end of his shift (feeling like the most ungainly felon). No-one called him on it as he hailed a taxi and took the quickest way home.
Xander was aware he was heading home, handed over his passport, answered all the questions asked of him at the border check and customs, and sat in his seat dispassionately as the plane took off.
It was as always. He had collected tens of… hundreds of girls… slayers… in the past just like this… it was no different this time… collect deliver and then back out to find another. But this was different… this was the end of a too long journey. Something within him had broken, he knew that, and yet could not feel … that was the kicker, he couldn't feel… there was nothing left to feel…
Like a robot, going through a program, he was answering questions then directed to collect his bags and push through the line on the green direction, "Nothing to declare."
There was plenty to 'declare', like "Oh by the way I've just watched twenty three individuals die", or "Do you know what a dying individual smells like?", or "How do you kill a Groxlar beast after it has just killed the young slayer you were charged with counseling?"
None seemed appropriate, so Xander stayed silent.
Giles, true to his word, collected Farah and Xander as they exited the 'Green Line' at Heathrow.
The drive back to the Watchers' Council buildings was disturbingly silent, Farah unwilling to make commentary or ask questions.
_
Matthias arrived home with the promised bounty of blood.
He had expected, well he wasn't sure what… but the physician quickly took over.
Connor was more pragmatic.
"Matti… Oh! Thank the Gods you're home!"
Matthias was almost jetlagged due to the starting time and length of his shift, but immediately snapped out of his stupor as he took in the broken figure on their shared couch.
"F #k! Connor! We should be…"
"NO!"
"But…."
"Matt, just trust me on this one. O.K.? Feel for a pulse and then I'll… Well I'll kind of, try to explain."
Some hour and a half later Matt had managed to reset Spike's various broken bones, feed him the purchased blood (with difficulty) and witnessed Connor opening his own wrist to feed the individual that was currently mending on their couch.
Matthias had finally given in to sleep, not really believing anything he had witnessed, rather putting it down to sleep depravation, and would no doubt sort itself out in the morning.
Spike was in a haze.
He was aware his body had been lifted and moved. He knew that technically he should be dust. He knew, on a visceral level, that Angel had dusted. He *thought* he had felt the sun on his legs and back. He had felt himself lfted, then travel then the agony of bones being pulled straight and realigned. He knew he'd been fed, recently, and human, which made no sense!
And there were just too many… there was too much 'blessed black'
Spike struggled to consciousness in a sunlit lounge room.
Several things were immediately apparent. He was alive (well 'undead'). His breaks and wounds had been treated. He had been fed... obviously, and he was lying in a direct sunlight with someone staring down at him.
Injuries notwithstanding he made an effort to at least thank someone before he was dust.
"Hmmph… Guess this is.. whatever… hmmph jus… thanks Pet… thanks."
Connor held on to the broken figure and whispered rather brokenly, "He pretty much said goodbye to me."
With a voice scratchy due to injury, Spike ground out, " I felt him pass too… I'm sorr… n' thank y…"
Unable to finish before the darkness took him, in his last conscious moments Spike hoped Connor understood.
Connor laid Spike on his own bed, initially lending his own heat to the inert figure, and woke to a sobbing, muttering Spike.
"Kill me too… Just… Sire is dead… Kill me too please… I should be dead! Everyone is dead… Me too… just take me… I can't… no more… I just…"
Connor did the only thing he could think of, he grabbed a blade from his desk and sliced his wrist diagonally, shoved his arm against the form of the thrashing lips of the only living vampire family he had left, and hoped…Account
Part 3
He had been back at HQ for almost a month. Everything seemed strangely normal.
If he was a little 'jumpy', no-one commented. Giles had done the usual debrief though this time the replies were by rote and delivered with none of the usual jovial commentary.
Xander's old apartment was there, and if he spent more time incommunicado, no one mentioned it, but those who knew him 'before' noticed, and Giles acted.
Giles and he had had a conversation regards Farah when he first came back, twice they had even cordially chatted about old times in Sunnydale, nothing unusual there, but Giles agreed with the intuitive Farah, there was something out of sorts, something definitely wrong.
Despite his natural instincts to intervene immediately, Giles was left waiting and watching as the boy, now man he saw as almost his son, Xander, slowly implode.
Giles had initially made it a point of 'checking in' daily with Xander, if only to set his own mind at rest, but after a month, deferred the task to John and Madeline, qualified clinical and post-trauma psychologists.
They had initially engaged Xander in conversations about his role as watcher, then his Sunnydale days, and finally about family, trying to glean his status as best as was possible in both formal and informal discussions but despite their efforts, and perhaps due to them, not knowing the Xander of Sunnydale, they came up with nothing unusual, though both recognized the signs of PTSD. They had dialogue with those who knew Xander prior to Algiers, all of whom described a jovial individual, infinitely dedicated and supportive of others, 'chatty and warm' individual. But none of that was evident now.
Now there was a quiet, rather morose individual who barely met their eyes when in discussion, and abjectly refused to discuss the deaths he had witnessed most recently. Stating simply, "Par for the course innit, as Spike used to say."
They had no idea who 'Spike' was, but the observations and evidence confirmed their diagnosis, PTSD. They both came to the same conclusion, psychiatric advice and treatment was desperately needed.
It was 'Bank Holiday Weekend' and fearful of leaving Xander alone, Giles had suggested he stay at Giles' own family home in Oxford for the duration, with the premise that Giles would rather like the company, a suggestion Xander complied with, apparently without objection. The "I'll go wherever you send me", delivered with no evident emotion to his tone, worrying both Giles and the two attending counselors.
"I'll be leaving shortly. Perhaps you would like to gather your things from upstairs."
"Yeah, sure." Xander stood, stared into space for just a little too long then exited Giles' office.
Seconds later, John and Madeline were ushered in to give the Head of the Council their weekly report.
John removed his glasses and began to polish them, much in the manner of Giles himself when faced with breaking bad news to the Sunnydale crew of old.
"Mr Giles, Xander does seem to be doing a little better. He is showing an interest in local events and…"
Giles removed his own glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose in an act of frustration. "If you don't mind I would rather you were out with it man."
"Yes, indeed Sir. I fear this may be beyond our capacity to assist. Xander is most definitely suffering post traumatic stress, Sir. Both Madeline and I consider that he needs the services of a psychiatrist, indeed may need time in an appropriate facility."
"I see."
"We can recommend a private hospital…"
"Yes. Quite. And thank you. I will see to the arrangements as a matter of urgency. Do you consider that post weekend would be a possible timeframe?"
"I can't imagine it would hurt, but be aware that the longer Xander is allowed to languor in this state, the longer his recovery."
"I see. Thank you. If you could provide a few names and numbers to my secretary it would be most appreciated."
Giles stood and offered his hand to both attending physicians, took the proffered hand and shook it soundly.
Half an hour later, Giles pulled out of the parking bay at Council Headquarters and turned his BMW sports car, with its cargo of silent Sunnydale ex-resident toward the M1.
Xander woke suddenly.
The room was unfamiliar, though the snoring emanating from the bedroom next door confirmed he was ensconced at Giles' family home as promised.
His ears felt 'funny', but the light through the window indicated it was sometime past ten.
Padding down the cold hallway in his pajama bottoms, he found the loo, relieved himself, and returned to his bedroom to dress for the day.
Coffee… coffee was of the good. But apparently no one had thought to provide milk, so he garnered the keys from the fridge top and ventured to the front of the house, letting himself out with a stealth he thought he had lost years ago (read basement and drunken parents).
The local petrol station was only a mile or so away and had all the 'emergency' produce one could need.
He noted that he was shaking as the key went into ignition but thought nothing of it, but as a car pulled out and passed him, his ears seemed to augment the sound, then the shaking became worse, and his focus was blurry.
He slowed the car, but the shaking was getting worse and his hearing… it just wouldn't stop, and the shaking… and that buzzing was confusing… and his missing eye seemed to be sending sparks… and he couldn't breathe… he knew he had to breathe… but it wouldn't come!
He didn't dare stop the car, kept repeating "Just get home… Just get home" and at a snails pace directed the vehicle onto side streets and back routes, terrified he might see another vehicle. Finally pulling up to Giles' home he burst out of the vehicle, stumbled up the walkway and burst into the lounge room screaming at the top of his voice "Giles! Oh God! Giles! Please… Help me!"
Giles stumbled out of slumber in response to the ruckus and was faced with a hyperventilating, violently shaking Xander, sobbing on the floor.
He did the only thing he could think of, fell to the floor and pulled Xander into his lap, grabbing the violently shaking individual tight and repeating "Just breathe with me… Just breathe… breathe… breathe!"
Matthias took a time to come to terms with the revelations Connor had been forced to divulge regarding his very injured 'relative'.
Not the least of which was that the man he had been 'sharing with' was apparently 'super-powered', and vampires were real, and the guy on their couch was apparently close to one hundred and seventy years old – or possibly more?!
But to his credit, Matti pulled in some favors regards blood supply and seemed willing to monitor Spike's progress.
Connor was attentive to a fault. Both wrists bore constant bandages over the ensuing weeks and Spike healed.
It was late afternoon and Spike had been lifted and placed on an old lounge piece in direct sunlight when he came to consciousness.
Connor was in a chair opposite, reading when Spike finally surfaced and spoke.
"Figured I was dust… all things being considered."
"Spike!"
"Yeah… apparently that would be me. Still not very chipper, mind, but will give it me best anon."
"Do you know who I am?"
"Little brother if I'm not mistaken… though my taste buds may have lost a little in the translation. But push comes to shove, reckon there's some thanks needs to come your way... so thanks... for.. everything I guess."
Connor reached out and squeezed Spike's left deltoid gently.
"It's cool. I felt him pass too… I… I kind of need you to meet someone…"
"Friend of yours?"
"He kind of helped save you."