Title: Bound by Love and Hate (1/1)
Author: Saturn Girl
Email: saturngirl9@hotmail.com (Hit me, I dig feedcrack)

Pairing: Buffy/Spike and Buffy/Xander (implied)
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Spike and Xander aren't happy when Angel suddenly comes back into Buffy's life. Actually, no one is.
Spoilers: None
Warnings: Non-explicit violence, character death, and Spike being Spike.

Disclaimer: I don't own the characters from Buffy the Vampire Slayer or Angel, and I make no money from this story.

Dedicated to Karen and Mod, my co-founders in the Dead Xander Society, and the other leg and hypotenuse in our Xander Bermuda Triangle Fiction League. (Official slogan - "Xander goes in, but he doesn't come out.") Contact Mod for t-shirts, only $14.95 plus S&H.

I'm a Dead Xander Whore. Are you? http://groups.yahoo.com/group/ioffedxander

Note: Written from Spike's POV.

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Ah, Sunnydale Community Hospital. I've spent many a night here in the past few years it would seem. Sometimes to pinch a few liters of blood, sometimes just for the show.

Hospitals are always full of humans who are either struggling to live, or struggling to die. I'm a bloke who prefers watching people do the latter. Call me a soulless bastard, and I'll thank you from the bottom of my cold, unbeating heart. I say there's nothing more beautiful than the sound of that final hiss as they exhale their last breath, or the look of despair in their eyes when they succumb to the knowledge that they will soon cease to be anything but dead, empty flesh. I usually love the sight, sound, and smell of death...but not today.

I used to dole out death as casually as one might snuff out cigarettes. William the Bloody, they used to call me. I would kill anyone, anytime; I never discriminated. Old, young, white, black, Jew, Catholic, even a bus filled with crippled kids, once. They was easy 'cos they couldn't run away. Me, crude and insensitive? What do you expect? I'm a vampire. If you want pleasantries and political correctness, go watch fucking "Touched By an Angel."

I may be cold-blooded, but I still know about love. That's part of the curse when vampires are damned, you know. We lose our souls, but we don't lose the capacity for love, 'cos love is just another word for pain. Vampires thrive on misery, pain, and suffering, even our own. Over the last two centuries I've seen more than my fair share of killing and heartache, and I've come to realize that the pain associated with love far outweighs even the pain of death.

See, I lost the woman I loved today. The Slayer. Had it bad for her, I did. I was insane with love for the woman sworn to destroy my kind, and suffered dearly for it. She never loved me back, and that was far worse torture than any amount of ass-kicking and stake-threatening she could throw my way. Every moment I couldn't have her was like my whole body was crushed to the size of an acorn and I ached to burst out of my shell.

I'm here to see another man who shares my pain. He loved the Slayer, too. The whelp would deny it, say it was just the love of a good friend, but I know better. I tried to deny the fiery ache I felt for her myself, but it was no use. I recognized the same longing desire in his eyes when she was near. He couldn't stop loving her any more than he could force himself to stop breathing. He would have gladly died for Buffy, and he may very well still do that.

I barely recognize Xander as I look down upon him in his hospital bed. The entire left side of his face is a swollen purple and blue blob, and he's swathed in blood-soaked bandages from head to toe. His shattered leg is held in place with metal pins. Tubes and monitor patches are stuck all over his body, and he's hooked up to a couple of machines that beep and hum importantly. The familiar stench of death looms close, so I don't have much time.

"Hey, can you hear me?" I poke at his shoulder, and he groans, setting off a minor twinge in my chip. "Ugh! Wake up, I need to talk to you!"

"Killed 'em...Angel...please..." His voice is a harsh, scratchy whisper, fighting to be heard above the sounds of the life support machines. "Did this...he did thissss..." He hisses in pain, gritting his teeth. He looks ready to black out, so I shake him again to keep him conscious.

"I know, I know already! Angelus is back, and he pulled off the Great Sunnydale Massacre. I was there, remember? I saw what that vicious bastard did to everyone!" I can't stifle my rage, and it comes out as a rough snarl.

The whelp moans and cringes at my touch, his weary, battered face reflecting my pain and frustration. I release him and clutch at the searing agony in my temple. I want to smash something, but I must remember to keep my inner demon in check while I have business to attend to. The bloodshed and carnage will come later.

Angelus did this to him. He hurt Xander, Dawn, Red, and the Watcher...all of them while Buffy watched chained and helpless, pleading with him to stop. Angelus didn't touch me; he kept me caged in the corner of the mansion while he engaged in his macabre floorshow for the Slayer's benefit. If it hadn't devastated my love so much, I might have appreciated the morbid beauty Angelus created as he meticulously tortured them one by one.

As much as I loathe him, he is my master, my mentor who showed me the seductive power of pure evil and cruelty. His destruction of the Scooby Gang was a wonder to behold, a true masterpiece of misery. But I took no pleasure in their pain. Buffy's anguished cries pierced my heart, and I screamed and bashed myself bloody against my cell door trying to escape, as her suffering, and theirs by extension, became my own.

It sickens me to see Xander here, the only living reminder of the horrors I witnessed. The sight of the abuse he suffered at my Grand-sire's hands forces me to replay the events in my mind, making me relive her tragic death over and over.

Xander and I are not close. Hell, why mince words. We hate each other. There are maggots crawling on a dead rat in my crypt that I like better than this little bugger, and I'll wager he feels the same way about me. We've come to blows on more than one occasion, and would gladly have killed each other if the right opportunity arose.

But while we aren't mates, we do share an unbreakable, intimate bond: our undying love for Buffy, and our eternal hatred for Angel. It isn't concern for his health, but rather this bond between us that prompts me to visit his bedside tonight.

"Spike...you gotta get him," he begs. His shaky hand reaches out to touch my fingers on the handrail. "Please...he killed..." Tears flow down his broken, forlorn face, and he can't continue. His spark is waning fast, and soon there will be no light at all shining behind those eyes that once blazed with contempt for me.

I grip his hand firmly. "You have my word, Xander. We will kill him for what he did to our Slayer. Nothing on earth will stop us from taking our revenge."

"We?" he sputters bitterly. His head lolls to the side, and he inhales sharply as he endures a flash of pain from one of his many injuries. Too hard to guess which. "Hate to break it to you, Fangless, but I'm not going to...to make it to that party."

I quietly pull the privacy curtain around the bed, and push down the metal guard rails. "Yes, you will."

Xander shrinks in the bed, as realization creeps in about what I'm preparing to do. He shakes his head. "No...don't do this..." He gasps when I gently lower his leg from its sling, and crawl up onto the bed. I clench my teeth and ignore the pain chaperone protesting violently in my head. He's so frail, it takes only a few fingers pressed to his bruised lips to silence him.

"Don't fight me on this, pet," I whisper, my lips inches away from his trembling face. "You're going to die in a few hours anyway. Angel killed you and your friends, but worst of all, he took *her* away from us! Don't you want to make him suffer?"

I unfasten his hospital gown, baring his neck and shoulder. He winces as I carefully remove the bandages, and I see the angry, ragged marks where Angelus already fed from him.

"Y-yes," he stammers. I savor the sweet scent of terror emanating from his every pore. His fear is delicious, and it has been oh, so dreadfully long since I've tasted fresh human blood.

"Join me, Xander. It's gonna hurt like the end of the world when I take you, but I don't care if this fucking chip explodes inside my brain. We need each other. Together we can destroy him, pet. Our vengeance will be beautiful and legendary."

He hates vampires, and he hates me, but I'm counting on the fact that he hates Angel above all else. To turn Xander, he must drink from me, and I won't risk short-circuiting my nervous system if he's going to be too goddamned stubborn to cooperate.

I can read the indecision in his haunted eyes. Reside in heaven and allow the monster that murdered Buffy to go unpunished; or accept eternal damnation for a chance to destroy Angel. True devotion commands a very high price.

When he makes up his mind, he closes his eyes and reluctantly arches his neck. "Do it," he says with a shudder, and his invitation stiffens my resolve.

As I lower my fangs to his neck, we brace ourselves for the exquisite, excruciating pain.

===== END =====