Chapter Two

Spike sank back into his chair with a sigh. Brilliant, he chastised himself, so much for the small talk, wanker. He couldn’t quite wrap his head around Xander-fucking-Harris showing up on his doorstep after eight years. He laughed at himself for still being able to feel surprise after a hundred and thirty-odd years. Though he really was surprised. The man who had stood before him was only Xander in name. Almost every trace of the boy he had been was gone. Spike had truly not recognized him as he stood in his doorway. Xander’s face was thinner and much more angular, and his eyes were almost dead. The boy he remembered had eyes that snapped and sparked with humor and life – this man had eyes full of pain. This man also had much better fashion sense. Spike smiled as he remembered their shared laugh over the matching wardrobes. The body had been very different, too. The Xander who had left town had been beefy, this man was whipcord strong, and didn’t appear to have an ounce of extra fat on him anywhere.

Spike thought back to the feeling that had washed over him when Xander had said he wanted to know about him before all the others. He knew that feeling. The demon had roared in triumph, just before Spike had brought it back to heel. In the years since the gift of his soul Spike had worked hard to reconcile the soul and the demon, to keep them in balance as best he could. Most of the time, he felt like a single entity, but on occasion, the demon part pushed itself to the forefront. In a fight or whenever someone threatened those he loved, the demon would wrest control and tell the soul to sod off for a bit. Eventually, the balance would return, along with Spike’s iron control. Spike had forgotten, or repressed, the way his demon part felt about the boy. With Xander gone for so long, it just hadn’t come up – and the demon wasn’t the broody type. But one sniff of that scent unique to the boy, the smell of cinnamon and sunshine, and Spike had felt the demon stir. That little bit of extra attention had made it roar.

Spike grabbed the empty beer bottle and carried it to the trashcan. He knew the sun was fully down now, so he opened the heavy blinds on the kitchen window. The streetlights had come on, and the world looked peaceful. He could see the dark sedan in his driveway, so he knew Xander hadn’t left. He decided to fall back on old habits. The Xander of old had been an eating machine, so maybe some dinner would restore equilibrium. Spike opened another beer for himself and started pulling ingredients out of the huge refrigerator.

Xander stared at himself in the mirror. He had found the small bathroom under the staircase and had managed to wrestle his emotions into submission before he could give in to the urge to collapse on the floor and cry like a brokenhearted child. He ran some cold water in the sink and splashed his face. As his hands rubbed over the stubble, he realized that he must look like shit. He looked into the mirror again, this time actually seeing himself. Yes, he looked like shit. His hair was rumpled, his face was drawn and unshaven, and he had enormous dark circles under his eyes. No wonder Spike hadn’t recognized him. He dried his face on the plain white towel and left the bathroom. As he entered the living room, he realized that Spike had stayed in the kitchen to give him some space. Feeling edgy and out of sorts, he stripped off his shoes and socks and sank down to the floor in a cross-legged position, resting his hands on his knees.

Xander closed his eyes and fell into the familiar meditative breathing pattern. His five years of martial arts training allowed him to achieve a meditative state within three deep breaths. His mind quieted as he began a familiar exercise. Xander inhaled, drawing air into his lungs at a slow pace. He measured the breath by his heartbeat, pulling air in for six beats, releasing it for six beats. He felt the air flow in through his nose, fill his lungs, expand his diaphragm and settle in his abdomen. Without holding the breath, he began releasing it, the air flowing up, reversing its path and exiting his mouth. He could feel his whole body relax as he established the pattern. The only sound he could hear was his own breathing.

After a few minutes, he began the second part of the exercise. He concentrated on the inside of the center of his forehead and began gathering his chi, or life force. It was like gathering a small ball of light and heat to the specific point he had chosen. It felt like small sparks of electricity running up his limbs, converging on the spot. His breathing never faltered and his posture never changed. He envisioned the energy as a small, strong yellow glow and held it at his forehead for a cycle of breaths.

Once he had it stable, he started to move the ball of chi down to the center of his chest. He imagined that it left a warm path as it passed down the center of his body. He centered the ball at his chest and held it steady. After another breathing cycle, he moved it again. This time he forced the ball lower, to his lower abdomen and the point called the dan tien. This was more difficult, and his perception of the ball wavered slightly as he moved it. Eventually, he got it centered. He felt his control slipping, so he released the ball, allowing it to move back to his chest and then to his forehead. Once it reached its origin point, he allowed it to dissipate, letting the energy flow back into his limbs and the rest of his body. He took one last measured breath and let it out. He let his head hang low against his chest for a moment and took a regular breath. He smelled the smell that was uniquely Spike. It permeated the house. The smell was like rain and smoke, and Xander had always associated both of those scents with Spike. He sniffed experimentally. He also smelled food: something spicy and rich.

Xander lifted his head and opened his eyes to find Spike crouched in front of him several feet away. Spike was staring at him with a completely gob smacked look on his face. Xander smiled at him, and the blond man relaxed slightly. His wary crouch settled into a more casual sitting posture on the floor, and he rested his elbow on his knee and dropped his sharp chin into his upturned palm. The scarred eyebrow rose. “What was that?” he asked. “Magic?”

Xander shook his head. “No, not magic. Chi Kung. It’s a martial arts thing – manipulating your life force. It helps me get a grip when I’ve freaked out and made an ass of myself.”

“I could feel it from the kitchen.” Spike spoke quietly.

“You could feel that I made an ass of myself from the kitchen?” Xander grinned.

“No, you git. I could feel the energy, the force or whatever. Supernatural, here – y’know.” He gestured toward his own chest. ”It felt like being in the house when the girls were casting, back in the old days. Like magic.” His voice held something like wonder.

“I’m surprised you don’t know about Chi Kung – you were always busting out the Kung Fu on the Sunnydale demon squads.” Xander rose lightly to his feet and held a hand out to the vampire. The hand was accepted and he easily tugged the smaller man to his feet. They stood face to face for a moment. Xander dropped the hand he was still holding and broke the eye contact.

Spike took a short step back, out of the human’s personal space. “Nope – never much cared about the non-ass kicking martial arts. Besides, no life – no chi.”

Xander nodded. “Makes sense. Do I smell food?”

The two men sat across the small wooden table from each other, enjoying their dinner. Xander was twirling a huge ball of pasta around a fork, and Spike watched in awe as he shoved the entire thing into his mouth and chewed. He pushed the open beer closer to Xander in preparation. Xander grabbed it and started trying to drink around the huge mouthful, also trying to say things like “Ow!” and “Hot!” Spike placed a smaller bite in his own mouth and chewed to disguise his smirk. He looked up as a crumpled napkin bounced off his forehead. Xander was glaring at him.

Spike widened his eyes at his tablemate. “What?”

“You could have told me it had lava in it.” Xander mock-huffed.

Spike snorted. “I told ya it was fra diavlo. What do you expect from the devil’s pasta? Hugs and puppies?”

“I guess I wasn’t paying attention. I was so taken aback by the Big Bad cooking.” There was no heat in the comment, and Spike rather liked the teasing tone. He decided to play along.

“I have lots of hidden talents – cooking is merely the tip of the iceberg. I also knit and scrapbook.” He said loftily.

Xander stared across the table, open-mouthed.

“I’m kidding, twit. What, d’ya think I turned into the undead Martha Stewart?”

“I thought Martha Stewart was the undead Martha Stewart.” Xander deadpanned. They shared a smile and went back to eating. A few moments later Xander gestured to the mug of blood Spike was enjoying with his food.

“Still bagging it? He asked.

Spike grimaced slightly. “It’s a soul thing. I did switch to human, though. I’ve got a good connection in town. I get way better stuff than Angel, anyway.” He laughed ruefully. “It’s not very ‘Big Bad’, but it keeps me from having unnecessary conversations with myself.”

Xander nodded. He wanted to ask more about the soul/ demon relationship, but didn’t want to do anything to change the light conversational tone. He looked up at Spike’s quiet question.

“Do you have a place to stay while you’re in town?”

Xander shook his head. “I guess I need to see to that pretty soon.”

“No, you don’t,” Spike replied matter-of-factly. “I’ve got three extra bedrooms here, and you’re welcome to stay as long as you choose.” He held up a hand as Xander’s mouth opened. “No arguments, whelp.” Xander grinned at the old insult. He smiled at Spike and briefly laid his left hand on top of Spike’s right as it rested on the table.

Spike smiled at the warmth and looked down at their hands … and saw the rings.