Sequel to Whistle

Pairing: S/X
Rating: G
Disclaimer: I own none, all belong to obvious people. The Pogues wrote "Love You 'Till The End" and us fans are totally grateful.
Comments: Always welcomed! Absolutely appreciated
Summary: The boys separate and then together
Warnings/Spoilers: Ats S5. Fred and Africa happen.
Beta’d by: emelye_miller . Thank you so very much for your advice, encouragement, and grammar help.

Laugh,Not Cry


I just want to see you
When you're all alone
I just want to catch you if I can
I just want to be there
When the morning light explodes
On your face it radiates
I can't escape
I love you 'till the end

I just want to tell you nothing
You don't want to hear
All I want is for you to say
Why don't you just take me
Where I've never been before
I know you want to hear me
Catch my breath
I love you 'till the end

I just want to be there
When we're caught in the rain
I just want to see you laugh not cry
I just want to feel you
When the night puts on it's cloak
I'm lost for words don't tell me
'Cause all I can say
I love you 'till the end

Spike is in some dark corner when he hears the song playing. He’s always liked the Pogues and this one makes him think of his Xan. And the irony of an evil law firm having good taste in music. Love songs, even, for fuck sake. He knows that some time has passed since the amulet hurled him back out, but they won’t talk to him and he can’t touch anything. It makes him angry and sad by turns and if he could just bloody pick up a phone, he could find his family—find his love—and get away from this miserable place.

Xander sighs when the quiet is shattered by laughter and feet. He walks away quickly and shuts himself in his room. The radio’s on and there’s guitar and a gravelly voice singing “I love you till the end.” He cringes but listens anyway and, damn, all he can see and hear is Spike. In Africa, he feels he can be close to where Spike has been. They may have walked the same trail, breathed the same nighttime air. Maybe even slept in the same places.

He doesn't remember the last day of Sunnydale. Doesn't remember sneaking a goodbye kiss in a shadowy alcove in the school. Doesn't remember hearing Buffy say goodbye to Spike. Doesn't remember huddling with Dawn and later Faith in the shabby hotel, talking quietly about their brother/lover/friend who no one else wants to speak of, Dawn sneaking sips of Spike's liberated Jack. Xander does remember talking, then screaming at Giles when he asks him to stay and help. "Thanks, but no thanks. I'll help another way." He remembers saying goodbye to Faith, ignoring Robin entirely, and promising Dawn that she can come with him when he's more settled, as if such a thing is possible without him. Now, months in, he thinks he might have found a balance between pining and existing.

Spike sits in Angel's office, stunned. They've just lost Fred and gained a Primordial God King. Not a fair trade off, if you ask him. But, he's learned to live with unfair trade-offs. Help his Grandsire (who he's finally turning to instead of against) and die a little every day without Xan. Help the team (he's never really been apart of one before) and cry himself to sleep at night. Andrew's been and gone, telling him of The White Knight's Noble Quest In The Dark Continent. He snarls, "What the sodding hell is he doin' there?" The tosser tells of The Battle of Wills between the Watcher and his boy. He thinks he understands why Xan wanted to go, but is torn between calling Rupert, stupid git, and leaving Xan alone. Of course, the soul takes him to task for that. So, he locks Angel out of his own office, and dials.



"Yeah. Where's my boy, then"

"Good Lord! Andrew said he'd seen a miracle and then blathered something about Tolkien, but he didn't—"

"WATCHER! I want to speak to Xan, yeah? Give me the damn number!"

"Right, of course."

Ten minutes and two numbers scrawled later, he dials the first. "Hey, Nibblet." The ensuing conversation includes screaming, crying, and a promise not to die again and Spike stares at the notepad. He hears Angel muttering outside. "Dammit, boyo, just call already." Deep breaths, he dials.

Xander is in his dingy little hut, drunk on sloe gin, and he can't stop fucking thinking, feeling, and God he was wrong. The world has no color, no sound, no snarky British guy to make life sing again. He glares at the phone Willow made him take because she worries. Well she shouldn't, she's got Kennedy, after all. Why should she see anything else when she's got her substitute, who'll never be Tara, ever. He wonders if she talks to Spike, wherever they are. He wonders if he can be there, too. But if he does what he so wants to do, maybe he won't be with them. Shit. And Spike would kill him when he got there. He takes another gulp. Maybe he'll just sit and wait for the phone to ring. It does.

"Hey, Willow."

"It's me, love. "

They walk hand in hand; Xander watching Spike squinting at the sun. His eyes darting back and forth, peering at shop windows and their reflections.

“Look at us, love. The world is watching.” Spike grins at him. A happy peal of laughter in every word.

“Nah, Spike. I only see you.” A warm smile now.

“Listen! Our song is playing.” He stops in front of a pub. Sure enough, The Pogues are serenading the surly and sublime. Xander takes his other hand and spins and sways close. The shuffling mass of people shuffle slower, watching the two slow dance and mouth the words. An old man smiles. He remembers the exuberant and unshakable force.

The End

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