Live The Question

[sevendeadlyfun]

Pairing: Various (None in this chapter)

Rating: NC-17 overall (R this chapter)

Warnings: implied slash, language

A/N: Sorry this has taken so long. I had a few plot kinks to work out. Luckily, it resulted in a fairly long chapter, so yay! Beta'd by the incomparable kidcyclone  who is indeed the wind beneath my wings.

Xander paced the length of his bedroom, reaching a wall and spinning to pace the other direction. Two weeks, he thought wildly. It had been two weeks since his disastrous encounter with Spike. Now, he was about to do something he never though he’d do in his wildest dreams.

Sure, he’d fucked men. After Sunnydale collapsed, Xander had been the Council’s “roving Ambassador”, running around after frightened girls who had no idea why they could suddenly tear through metal or what their strange dreams of monsters really meant. Away from his friends, he’d rediscovered a side of himself that he’d always avoided. The darkness inside him, the internal whirling vortex that held his hyena self and his soldier self, wasn’t a place he cared to visit much. He was a good guy, Mr. Normal, the Scooby’s’ faithful Zeppo.

He ignored the strange cravings for bloody meat, for violence, and for domination. Safer that way, just to pretend it didn’t exist. Made things simpler, being the Zeppo. But once on his own, he’d found that those cravings were harder to control. So he’d indulged himself, burying his pain and frustration in the nameless bodies of faceless men. For a whole year he’d denied the possibility that it wasn’t just sex he wanted, but sex with a certain someone. He kept waking up next to slim, bleached blonde men and finally admitted that what he wanted was Spike.

He shook his head, standing stock still as he realized he’d lied to himself even more than that. After Spike had fled the room, Xander lay there, body quivering and eyes filled with tears. Spike had apologized, repeatedly, guiltily. Xander could barely speak, had only asked Spike if this was Spike’s way of repaying all the unkindness Xander had given him back in Sunnydale. Spike had said no and Xander believed him.

Oz had come in, eyes inscrutable and calm. He had sat next to Xander, rubbing the shaking boy’s naked back. Rather than shame or embarrassment, Xander relished the great waves of relief that rolled over him. Here was someone who knew the darkness inside. Oz wouldn’t judge him or belittle him, he felt sure of it.

Xander had always felt a kind of kinship with Oz, instinctively seeking the alpha wolf’s approval. Xander had never told anyone of how the hyena-spirit lingered inside him, an echo of the possession that had gripped him. He still sought an alpha, someone to take charge and lead him through the dark. He had attacked Buffy that day because he wanted her to dominate him, to be the pack’s alpha. She had fended him off, but hadn’t proclaimed her mastery of him. So he searched in vain for someone, anyone, and all of his relationships proved that. Cordelia, Faith, Anya, all strong women with take-charge attitudes. Except, they wouldn’t take charge of him. They leaned on him, looked to him for strength and he had none to give.

Now here was Oz, offering him comfort and acceptance. Xander nuzzled closer to the compact werewolf, tilting his head to show his throat. Oz rumbled softly, fingers closing lightly around Xander’s neck.

“You hurt?”

“No,” Xander answered faintly. “J-just a l-little…shaken up.”

“Why?” The words a command, not a request.

“I l-liked it, Oz. He h-hurt me, used m-me and I liked it. I g-got off on it,” Xander confessed, hiding his head in Oz’s lap.

“And,” the reassuring voice questioned again.

“Um…I shouldn’t like someone doing that me,” Xander offered.

“Why not,” Oz challenged quietly. “I know, Xan. The beast inside you? I sense it. It gives you…cravings. As long as you can handle what it wants, you should let it flow.”

The werewolf shrugged philosophically, his hands releasing Xander’s throat to stroke the brunette’s rapidly hardening shaft. Xander moaned, arching into the alpha’s touch. Oz rumbled again, and Xander froze, body aching at this show of authority.

“You want to be mine,” Oz began, again a statement and not a question. “I want you. Have since high school. The beast…it needs its own kind. I love Willow always. But she can’t…deal. Her beast is different. But, before we can be together, you need to understand what you are.”

“What I am,” Xander echoed blankly. “I don’t understand.”

“What you want, why you want it,” Oz clarified. “You have to go back to Spike. Once you get it, you’ll be ready for us.”

Xander began to pace again. Oz wanted him as a mate. But first Xander had to fuck Spike again? It made no kind of sense that Xander could see. Shouldn’t Oz want him to himself, no sharing or fooling around? He’d asked the werewolf that, and the response had been that Oz wanted a whole mate, not half of one. Xander shook his head, still confused.

So he’d put it off. There was plenty to do around the Agency. Champions had walk-in clients and Oz’s visions to keep them busy. Plus, the Slayer problem and the state of Angel’s soul conspired to force everyone’s nose to the grindstone.

Angel’s soul had been a puzzle. By Angel’s own admission, he couldn’t “hear” it anymore. His demon too lay quiet, which seemed to frighten the vampire more than the silence of his soul.

Willow had explained her theory about balance, a theory that made a frightening amount of sense. But, it had taken Spike’s admittedly skewed view of things to piece it all together. Luckily, the answer to that particular question had been of the good.

“See, Angel’s soul is pure goodness. Well, maybe not his soul,” she smiled with a sheepish look at Angel. “But the curse is pure goodness.”

“How d’you figure that, Red? Seems like vengeance wouldn’t qualify as one of those purely good deeds,” Spike argued.

“No-o,” Willow admitted. “But it’s not the vengeance part that matters. It’s the magic used to accomplish the re-ensouling that counts. The Coven explained that to me. Well, not specifically Angel’s curse, but the bit about the magic.”

“Go on,” Angel motioned, face screwed up in confusion.

“Your original curse wasn’t pure goodness,” Willow explained. “Spike’s right on that. The magics used in vengeance are always dark magics. But, the current curse you have is mine. Not that I wanted to curse you or anything,” she added hastily, soft eyes staring imploringly that Angel.

“I understand,” Angel smiled back reassuringly.

“The curse you have now isn’t the original curse. That one was broken when you…when you and Buffy…” Willow blushed, gesturing vaguely at Angel.

“When he and the Slayer got all their bits lined up,” Spike supplied helpfully. “Can’t understand how that drove you over the edge, mate. Shaggin’ the Slayer ain’t bad, but it’s not exactly likely to incite madness.”

“Spike,” Angel ground out. “Shut. Up. It wasn’t that. It was…”

“I know, I know,” Spike waved off the diatribe. “Your bleedin’ perfect love. I was there, remember? Tragic love always was one of your favorite themes.”

“Anyways, “ Willow interjected quickly. “The next two times you were re-ensouled, it was me. Since I wasn’t seeking vengeance, the magics used weren’t dark magics. So your curse came from the good magics.”

“So, something’s disrupted the balance of my curse?” Angel frowned. “But then why has it affected my demon?”

“Peaches, you’re a dolt,” Spike answered affectionately. “Thick Irish git like you, it’s a wonder you’ve lasted as long as you have. You drained that bastard Hamilton, right?”

“Yeah,” Angel shuddered, remembering. “He tasted awful.”

“Poor sod, bet he gave you a hell of a bellyache,” Spike sympathized. “Well, he was directly connected to the Senior Partners, yeah? They must be darker than hell.”

Willow bounced, hands waving excitedly. “That’s it! When you drained him, you got more than blood. The Senior Partners had part of their essence inside their liaison.”

“How d’you know that, Red,” Spike asked suspiciously.

“Uh, well, it’s kinda…fromIllyria,” she mumbled, hiding behind her hair. The blue streaks covered her face, a reminder of her union with the god.

“Wait,” Spike said, holding up hand. “You’re telling me you got Big Blue’s memories tucked up inside your head?”

“Sort of,” Willow shrugged. “There are…fragments…echoes. Parts of her, of Fred, they’re…part of me now.”

“But they don’t control you,” Angel asked anxiously.

“Nope,” Willow replied confidently. “I’m still just Willow. Only it’s like Willow plus a brilliant scientist and slightly crazy god. But, I’m the one driving this bus.”

“Back to this drinking evil blood bit,” Faith pointed at Angel, dragging them back to the topic at hand. “So when Angel drained this guy, he got a dose of pure darkness.”

“Oh yeah,” Willow nodded emphatically. “He would have been stuffed to the gills with dark magics. That’s part of how he was made. Think of him as the Senior Partners child. When a vampire makes a childe, they give up a tiny piece of their demon. Same thing with the Senior Partners. Their darkness, their evil, becomes part of their…offspring.”

“And this means what, exactly, “ Xander wanted to know.

“Well,” Willow began. “I think that it means that Angel’s curse got modified.”

“Red,” Spike asked. “What happens when pure good meets pure evil?”

“In magic? Usually nothing,” Willow smiled. “Luckily, it doesn’t happen very often. But, they balance each other out.”

“So, how did Angel’s curse work? I mean, if you used purely good magics, then shouldn’t his demon have slipped it off like sweater,” Oz questioned. “Or like those eggs, in the commercials for Teflon pans. Isn’t the demon pure evil?”

“Nah,” Spike shook his head. “Demon isn’t pure evil. Demon isn’t pure anything. Know you Sunnyhell screw-ups got a lot of wrong ideas stuffed into your head, but this is something you need to understand. Demon’s just a being like any other. Sure, it’s mostly evil, wants to feed, fight, and fuck. But, it also feels love, bonds of kinship, even loyalty of a perverse sort. Anything that can feel love isn’t pure evil.”

“So, the curse affected Angel because he wasn’t pure evil,” Oz concluded.

“Oooh, oooh,” Willow shouted. “I got it!”

“ ‘Bout bloody time,’ Spike grumbled. “Thought we’d be here all day.”

Willow sent Spike a severe glance, saying sulkily, “If you know so much, you explain it.”

“When Angel drained the tosser, the pure dark in his blood hit the pure good of Red’s mojo,” Spike recited, “That put his soul and his demon in balance. Apparently, evil blood’s good for what ails you. The reason Angel ain’t hearin’ voices anymore is ‘cause he’s cured. Soul’s all stuck fast.”

“W-what?” Angel sat, thunderstruck by Spike’s analysis.

“Well, sure, be all dramatic about it,” Willow groused, pouting at Spike.

It had taken awhile to convince Angel that he wasn’t threatened by happiness anymore, Xander recalled. There had been quite a celebration that night, with Angel’s beaming face the star attraction. Spike and Angel had made several toasts, to souls, to Slayers, to evil blood, and if Xander had heard them correctly, to severed heads.

And now, he was about to go find Spike and offer himself. Well, at the least body portions of himself. In order to figure out what Oz wanted him to figure out. Xander knew that coming from Sunnydale meant you’d never qualify as normal, but he decided this was a new level of bizarre even for him.

With a deep breath, he walked out of his room, and headed down the hall. He stopped in his tracks at the sight of Spike and Angel, mouths fused together, fumbling into Angel’s bedroom. Well, this definitely put a new twist on the situation, Xander concluded.

He knew he should turn back, but his body had other ideas. If one sexy vampire was good, wouldn’t two be even better? His rebellious cock seemed to think so, and his common sense couldn’t muster enough fear to turn him around. He found himself in front of Angel’s door, knocking quietly. The door opened, and a disheveled shirtless Angel motioned Xander inside.