Title: That Damned Happiness Clause (32/?)

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Setting: Post Somnambulist. Keep in mind that I am a strong believer in the fact that one little thing can change the course of history, hence cannon gets meddled with because life took a different path my cannon is not Joss'.

Warnings: mega angst.

Note: as stated earlier, Spike's last name is Idol.

He remembered being angry when Xander had first arrived on the scene. He had hated how everyone thought he was so strong and wonderful. Angel and he had only been together a little while and to hear the vampire praise the boy had been grating. Doyle had grown up without a dad, with no idea who he was, alone. No one had called him strong and he resented the Xander kid for getting a title that Doyle felt he himself merited.

And once he had gotten to know the boy he had felt guilty. Xander was strong. Much stronger than Doyle was. He had realized that it was worse to have Xander's da than having no da at all. Had realized that killing your own lover to save them was worse than having a girl who left you because of who you were. Realized that growing up on the Hellmouth was worse than growing up poor. Xander was stronger than anyone should ever have to be. And the word strong would never seem like a positive description anymore. There was nothing good about the strength that Xander had needed to exhibit to stay alive.

But he hadn't known about this. And he sort of wished that he didn't know now. He wished to be blissfully ignorant. So why couldn't he stop looking at the pictures? At the evidence of his friend's strength? It was childish that he craved to not know about Xander's horrific past. He should have been adult, been willing to know about it so that he could help. But he didn't. He wanted to curl up and never think about Xander's past again. . . because he was a coward. Weak.

He realized he was going to be sick with sudden clarity. And he ran out the room but only made it to the living room before losing the content of his stomach. He threw up into the plant Xander had been so worried about. For some reason he felt more guilty about vomiting on the plant than he did about looking through the pictures. He couldn't even think about them. His mind just instantly shied away from the images he had seen.

Without thinking he dialed a number he knew off by heart. If asked he wouldn't be able to explain why he thought calling Xander would be a good idea. But. . . He needed. . . He needed to know why the boy had kept them.

Xander ran the towel over his head again as his mobile started to ring. He smiled upon recognizing the number. Spike said that they two of them were incapable of tying their laces without calling the other one to fill them in. But that was ridiculous. Xander had told him that he was a vampire and had no concept of how humans interact with their friends. Spike had just said that Doyle wasn't human. Maybe Spike was right but Xander didn't care. He was used to hanging out with girls, in high school he had always been on the phone to one of them. He had gotten used to it.

So what if Doyle was calling him to tell him he had watered the plant? It was a comfort. And as he picked up he asked, "Was it dead?"

"Well," the Irishman sounded hesitant, "It looked peak-ed when I came in. And th'n I threw up on it. It may be salvageable."

Laughing Xander said, "Oh just throw it away. Spike'll be thrilled? Why are you chucking up?"

"I'm so sorry, Xander."

Doyle sounded serious and Xander felt badly. It was only a plant. "Hey don't worry about it.'

"No, I mean."

He waited for Doyle to finish the thought but then asked, "Are you ok?"

"I went through yer apartment. Which I shouldn' have done. 'S not me place."

"It's fine," Xander was baffled. Doyle had gone through their place hundreds of times. Why was he suddenly remorseful? He knew that Xander and Spike didn't care.

"I found yer photo album. I di'n' think ye'd mind me looking through it."

"Oh."

"I'm so sorry."

"And then you barfed in my potted plant."

"I'm sorry."

"What are you apologizing for, Doyle?" asked Xander feeling tired. "You didn't do anything wrong. You were poking about, found something that wasn't even hidden, and now you're apologizing. I don't know if it slipped by without you noticing, but you aren't in those pictures. You haven't done anything to hurt me."

"I still shouldn't have been going through yer stuff."

"You've never apologized before what's making you do it now? Why did you really call, Doyle, say it. Whatever it is you know I won't be angry. I know you didn't call you apologize for killing my plant."

"Why did ye keep them, Xander?" asked Doyle sounding so confused that Xander wished he could reach through the phone and give him a hug.

He had no idea how to answer, "I couldn't imagine destroying them."

"Have ye seen them?" asked Doyle disbelievingly.

"No, would you describe them to me?" Xander asked in a cheery voice. "They are no less a part of me than Spike's claim mark or the life inside of me. It's who I am."

"But those are good things!" argued Doyle.

"No they aren't," said Xander slowly, "They're amazing things. My life went from being complete shit to be a fucking postcard. But that's still part of my life. I'm still exactly who you thought I was this morning. Sometimes I need to remember that part."

"Why? Why would ye possibly want to revisit tha'?" asked Doyle. He didn't sound angry just really confused. He sounded young.

"Sometimes I have nightmares and if I look at those I remember that it was hell and that I'm not going crazy. And in a weird way it makes me even happy. I can see that and then I can see Cordy and Spike bickering over which soap to watch. I can see you and Angel making moony eyes at each other while he pretends to brood. I don't know if I can explain it any better than that."

"What does Spike think of them?"

"He's not seen them."

"Oh please!" Doyle laughed grimly, "Ye're telling me ye've managed to keep them secret?"

Xander smiled, "I know it might be hard to believe at times, but Spike's a grown up and he respects my privacy." Doyle snorted. "You only ever see him when he's actively trying to piss off Angel. Spike can be extremely tactful when it suits him."

Doyle felt sick when Xander used the word tactful. Was he being a total prat by calling? Should he have held his tongue? He couldn't think of anything to say.

Easing the silence Xander said, "Look don't try to do me a favor by destroying them. On a purely practical level I don't know if they're the only copies. And if any ever surface I want a set of my own."

"Ye could always say they were a hoax," offered Doyle.

Chuckling Xander said, "To make them I would have had to of participated. I'd rather people thought I was raped and whored out by my father than have them think that I made tactless photography mocking rape, incest, and under age sex." When Doyle didn't laugh he said, "I thought we had a pact to laugh at each other's horrific pasts."

"I didn't realize how bad yers was. I feel inadequate."

"Don't go home angry, Angel will smell it. And from what you said earlier that wouldn't be good. Take a shower, eat something. Oh! Don't eat the Chinese food. That's Spike's science project he's been working on it for weeks. He's gonna see if he can catch dysentery."

"Doesn't that scare ye?" Xander could hear the eyebrow being cocked even over the phone.

"He has the constitution of a corpse. Besides, when he's doing medical research he doesn't go stir crazy during the day. Ya know, the hours we avoid going to work."

"Medical research?"

"He went to Cambridge Medical you know. Fiddled it, is still getting grant money, sometimes he works for it."

"There is so much I don't know about 'im." Doyle finally laughed.

"I'm serious. Calm yourself down. You should go back to the scrap book. Go twelve pages from the back and look at the pictures there. They're the ones you were looking for I'm sure."

"Xander?"

"Yeah?"

"Ye know yer me best mate?"

"I know."

'And ye know that the sick cunt was a bastard tha' ye never did anything to deserve that?"

"Are you trying to convince me or yourself?" He didn't pause for Doyle to deny it. "I know that this really fucks up your idea of me. I just hope that you realize that you just know me better now. I haven't changed. Nothing's changed. Just your perceptions. And as for whether or not I deserved what I got. I realized when I was about twelve that I hadn't done anything. All I did was have the misfortune to get conceived on prom night in the back of my grandfather's car. And maybe sometimes I need Spike to reconfirm that. But he more than proves it. Look at the pictures. You'll like them. Then go home and help Angel."

"I ac'tually 'ave some errands. I'll talk to you later."
Spike had been swimming laps for a half hour. He felt good and he just couldn't explain it. Penn was dead and that wasn't the source of his happiness. He didn't feel anything about his "loving older brother's" death. And that was deeply confusing. He sank down to the bottom of the pool. And he sat cross legged on the floor, thinking. Trying to find the reason for his inexplicable good mood. He pictured Xander telling him about Penn. He pictured Xander worrying about a fucking shrub. He pictured Xander asleep as he spoke to their baby. Their baby. He felt a bubble inside of him and he was mildly surprised that he didn't float to the surface of the water. Their baby, not Xander's, not his, theirs. How had he managed to help form a life?

He started to laugh aloud. The sound was odd under water. He was gonna be a dad. He was gonna be a role model. He had taught minions to feed, had taken them in hand, had been a role model. But that was nothing like this. A baby. Their baby. His baby. And it suddenly clicked in his mind. He didn't care about Penn dieing because it didn't fucking matter. It didn't fucking matter! A dead corpse had ceased to be. Meanwhile their was a being growing inside the boy he loved. A living, beautiful, innocent creature was being formed. So some sick old fuck was dead, what did it matter? Their was a life on the horizon that wiped any thought about death. With another laugh he shot up to the surface and shook his head like a wet dog. He needed to see his boy even if he had told Xander that he'd be an hour. Maybe this way he'd have time to ravage his love before they went to dinner.

Spike saw Xander at the bar and instantly bristled when he saw who he was talking to.

"Should you be drinking? In your state?" she asked as she next to him.

"It's fine. Mystical pregnancies, ya know." He thought it was tragically funny that he could travel as far as he liked and the demons would always flock him. He was a demon magnet. But she seemed nice. "Anyway, this mixed drink is a lot more mix then it is drink."

"William must be so proud of you and the baby," she said warmly and say the confusion on his face, "The bond is really obvious." He just nodded still stunned that he could carry around the magical equivalent of a billboard and still forget about it.

"You know Spike?"

"Get away from him," said a cold voice behind them.

"Hello, William. I was just chatting with your young man. He has the look. His beauty is practically effulgent."

Xander looked between them and edge back slightly. And then it clicked. He had read a lot of William Idol in high school. William had been one of the few poets Xander liked. And he remembered the line from a poem dedicated to. . . "Cecily Adams!"

"No one's called me that in a long time," said Halfrek.

Shaking his head Xander motioned the bartender that he was taking his drink up to his room. "Come on, Spike. We have somewhere to be."