Pairing: Spike/Xander Rating: nothing offensive in this Summary: Twenty years into his relationship with Spike, Xander knows where the currents in Sunnydale will take him A/N: short unbetaed 600wds that doesn't really go anywhere but was a nice break from writing school reports. Just a snapshot of a possible life for Xander
There was an ebb and flow in Sunnydale; Xander knew exactly where it would carry him.
Most days, Xander was smothered in what he knew was a kind of love, but no kind he’d ever seen in any movie. He doubted even Hallmark would have a label for it.
Some days- days when the air almost sparked with evil, and Spike was on edge, waiting for the fight to begin- Xander was invisible, and finally, he understood Marcy.
Spike was like the weather- there might be a pattern to him, but it was so complex, so intricate and dependent on so many variables, Xander didn’t have a hope of cracking the code. He just put up the umbrella when it stormed. Meager protection against the squalls.
The reality of his existence was far from the fantasy he’d built himself years ago. A romantic, exciting life travelling the world with a lover who was breathtaking, dangerous, loving, brutal- a life full of chance and risk.
They never went any further than the next town, and they’d only gone there because Spike liked the Irish bar- he said it reminded him of someone. Xander didn’t know who. They’d also stayed because there was nowhere in the world like Sunnydale.
Nowhere Spike could get his fill of fresh blood without question. He’d learned how to stay under any Slayer’s radar, and God himself knew the Sunnydale police were the most blinkered of any workforce.
They had nothing on Xander. They blamed a mysterious neck disorder. Xander just never mentioned it. He slammed the door on the thought whenever it knocked. It never knocked much these days, anyway. And when Spike kissed him and Xander tasted blood- well, when Spike kissed him, the blood didn’t matter. The taste lingered long after though.
Just once, they had gone further than that one town. One time, when it had gotten too much, when he was tired and stressed and they’d fought over something petty, and he thought he couldn’t endure the taste of second hand blood for another day, Xander had tried to leave him.
When Spike found him, Xander was leaving the dank hotel he hadn’t been able to make himself check in to. His straining duffel bag never made it out of the back seat.
He couldn’t leave Spike any more than Spike could let him go.
There had been a confrontation in the parking lot- but people had left them alone when the yellow eyes turned their way. When those eyes turned on Xander- whether blue or gold,-they burned through to his core, and Xander knew without a doubt. He was Spike’s.
Spike hadn’t left his side for weeks after that, and it was almost like the early days when Xander was so lost in him that he forgot what Spike was and how old he was, and all the things Spike did were a new kind of adventure.
Gradually, Spike gave him more space, and Xander knew he was being tested, but he didn’t want to leave, and so they got back to their routine.
Spike killed, Xander dealt with it in his own way. He ignored it. As he had done for twenty years now, so he would for the next twenty.
The rare times when he acknowledged it, Xander knew there was going to be a special place in hell for him. The emerging gray hairs and not-so-fine lines on his face were a harbinger of that approaching day when he would be judged for his years of denial.
But, Spike worshipped him, and Xander needed to be worshiped.
So, through the dark storms and the bright sunshine that was Spike and Sunnydale, he knew he would stay until the end.