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Title: Laughter
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
chocgood84
Pairing: S/X
Rating: PG-13
A/N: Post "Gift", spoilers for that ep.
Disclaimer: Not mine, don't sue.
A gentle breeze pushed a few empty soda cans and a plastic bag across the empty street, the cans making a jingling sound that reminded Xander of wind chimes. He could smell the sea’s presence in the breeze, and he breathed it in, savoring the scent-taste of freshness and salt and the remnants of the day’s earlier sunshine.
He’d been walking around Sunnydale aimlessly since the afternoon. Still had no clue where he was going. He just knew he needed the freedom to roam, needed to feel the warming March air in his hair and on his flesh. It was cooling now, but it still felt good to him, felt fresh and pure.
He smiled to himself, remembering a night like this that now seemed it was lifetimes ago. It was Buffy’s first year here in Sunnydale, and they were all looking forward to the school year being over. Out in search of the usual vamp or demon, the three of them, Buffy, Willow, and himself, had followed this same route. The air had smelled exactly the same, had felt so right back then. Lifetime ago.
So far behind him now, those days. Days of lusting after Buffy and getting naughty with Cordy in the broom closets all over Sunnydale High. Sunshine and laughter – that’s what Xander remembered the most from those days, laughter. No matter what had happened, it seemed like they could all come back together if they’d only laughed. They hadn’t realized how free they were back then, had had no clue that things would change so much.
And then Anya had happened. It was nice for a while, having someone there that wanted him so much. But in the end, that had been the problem – she’d only wanted him. Didn’t need him. Didn’t love him – not really.
She’d left this afternoon; said she couldn’t stand it anymore. He never touched her anymore, barely even looked at her. She said he’d changed after Buffy had…He’d changed after Glory. She said he wasn’t the same man, wasn’t enough for her. Said she loved him – would always love him; she just needed more. Needed laughter.
She was right, and he’d admitted it, even if only to himself. He couldn’t blame her, really. Hadn’t tried to stop her, hadn’t yelled or begged. Couldn’t even joke about it. No laughter, there. They both knew it was over, had been for a long time. At least one of them could go and live. Not Xander, though - he’d given up on laughter, given up on life.
Xander just kept picturing the night that Buffy had breathed life back into the world, had saved them all. Over and over in his mind, he saw her jump, saw her fly and soar like a bird for just a moment. Saw that look of peace and finality on her face as she just let it all go. He knew wherever she was now, she had to be happy. She’d given her life again, and this time even Xander couldn’t bring her back. The first time, years later they had laughed about it. What was there to laugh about now? Maybe that was the punch line – the joke was on them.
Willow had said something about a spell, something to bring Buffy back. She said she could do it – needed his help. That was the first time in their lives that Xander had wanted to physically hurt her. Had wanted to slap her, wanted to scream and yell and try and make her understand. Buffy was dead, for christsakes. She’d died saving them. At least now she could be in peace, could be happy. Who were they, who was Willow, to think they could change that. Buffy deserved her happiness. Didn’t one of them deserve to be happy?
Xander kicked a glass bottle against the asphalt curb, delighting in the satisfying clink and scratch as it cracked and burst.
Xander remembered more of that night – the look on Giles’ face and the tears that had flowed freely there. Willow’s shock and Tara’s words of remorse. He remembered mostly Spike, though. The sound that had come out of his throat at seeing Buffy’s…body. It had been more human and yet more unnatural than anything Xander had ever heard before. He hadn’t known that vampires could cry…would cry, until that day.
Spike hadn’t even realized the sun was rising, didn’t notice himself starting to smoke. The only thing he had known was loss. The only thing he knew was the pain and the emptiness they all felt. That was the first time Xander had ever thought about Spike as a person, had ever found a common bond between the two of them.
In the months since, they’d bonded more and more over memories of Buffy. Memories, cheap whiskey drank straight from the bottle, and even cheaper weed smoked by the pound. Nights of drunkenness and sluggish words had turned them from bitter enemies to lukewarm acquaintances and eventually to understanding friends. To Xander, Spike wasn’t just a vampire anymore – he was a person. With feelings, thoughts, worries, memories, and laughter. Listening to Spike laughing had been the only thing getting him through the past couple months. Something warm and tender in those somehow timid chuckles and fierce snickering. Something more, there…
That’s why Xander wasn’t surprised when he looked up to find himself standing outside of Spike’s crypt. The wind here was silent, it brought no scent, no whispers, no phantom memories. There was only silence, only stillness here, as it should be. Seemed like with Buffy gone, the world of demons and apocalypses had slipped away. Then again, it felt mostly that nothing was as it used to be.
Xander’s hand raised, poised to strike against the heavy iron door. He remembered the first night he’d come here after Buffy had…gone. Remembered that Spike hadn’t answered. Xander had gone inside to find the vampire sitting in that ratty old armchair. He’d held a half-empty bottle of Jack in one hand and a smoldering joint in the other. his eyes were fixed on the blank television, but he wasn’t there, not really. Just like Xander, he kept going back to that night trying to understand how it happened. Trying to understand how things had gone so wrong, how they had all lost her. He’d noticed Xander standing at the door after a few minutes but didn’t speak. He only offered the bottle, which Xander had accepted. This, too, seemed like so long ago – but at the same time it felt like only a night had passed.
The funny thing about time, the joke of the clock was that it cared not for physics or calendars. It was in control of itself, and sped up or slowed or reversed itself when it felt the need. Lately, though, it seemed like time had lost control of itself, spinning forward and backward with even more recklessness and less care for anyone than usual.
The door swung open before Xander could strike it with his fist. Spike’s face loomed in the darkness, welcoming and understanding. He didn’t look well – his cheeks were more hallow than they had been once upon a time, his lips were dry and cracked, his eyes sunken and his ribs showed through his exposed flesh. Xander supposed it was a caricature of himself. Jack and Mary weren’t exactly at the top of the food pyramid, but really? Who cared?
Spike stepped back, allowing Xander to pass. As Xander walked into the darkness, he remembered something that Anya had said this afternoon, before she left.
“Spike,” he asked, his voice tired and dry.
“What’s it, pet?” Words just as dry, just as tired.
“Am I ironic?” Xander wondered.
“We’re all ironic, pet. Why?” Spike grabbed the bottle of false courage and threw himself down into the chair, swigging from it. Held it out to Xander.
“Anya said I’m the most ironic man she’s ever met,” he explained, taking the bottle and gulping heavily at the rancid stuff. He took a pack of smokes out of his pocket and tossed them to the vampire.
Spike wasted no time, tearing the cellophane and foil off and plucking out a brown-filtered wand. The scent of menthol and tobacco swelled in the room, making Xander’s eyes water a little. Spike lit it, inhaling deeply and holding it for a moment. He let it out slowly, staring at the ringlets and waves of smoke as it floated upwards.
“Did she, now? Why would she say a thing like that?” Another drag, and he took the bottle back. Xander shrugged off his jacket and plopped down on the thrift-store couch they’d stolen and hauled into they crypt. As much as Xander was here, they’d decided one chair wasn’t going to do it.
“She said that I’m the man with all the jokes, but I haven’t truly laughed. Said I wasn’t funny anmore.” Xander remembered that she’d hit the nail on the head, and he’d taken a stabbing breath when she’d said it. The truth always hurt.
“Can see that, Xander,” Spike passed the cigarette to Xander, who took a heavy drag on it, enjoying the burn in his chest as the menthol made its way to his heart and back. He loved that burn, loved the sensation of pain and pleasure as it soothed him and killed him at the same time.
“She left, today…for good.” He muttered, handing the cigarette back and pulling on the bottle again.
“Good,” Spike retorted, blowing several smoke rings into the hazy air. He started laughing softly, the sound getting deeper and louder moment by moment.
“What’s funny, Spike?” Xander peered over at the vampire who was practically doubled over in laughter. Somehow that didn’t bother Xander, though – he knew the vampire wasn’t laughing at him, knew he wouldn’t.
“You’re bird, who used to be a vengeance demon, left you because you weren’t funny enough? Oh, pet, that’s rich!” Spike slapped his knees, dropping ash all over himself.
Xander felt a somewhat familiar tugging in his chest. Didn’t even recognize the sound coming out of his throat until he felt his stomach and lungs contract painfully. Laughter – he was laughing for what felt like the first time in years. And it felt good.
“I guess that is funny, isn’t it?” Xander asked between gasps, clutching at his stomach and trying not to throw up or piss himself.
“Too right, it is!” Spike howled.
“Know what else she said that was funny?” Xander wondered, staring at Spike through tear-stained eyes.
“What was that, pet?” Spike asked, his eyes seemingly alive for a moment. It had seemed like there was a spark there – something Xander hadn’t seen in a long time.
“She said I spent so much time here that I might as well start fucking you,” Xander managed to choke out around whistling laughter. He was laughing for a while before he realized he was the only one laughing.
Spike stared at him, seriousness and bitterness gracing his classic features. Blue eyes looked black and sharp cheekbones seemed dull.
Xander stopped laughing.
“S’not so funny, pet…” Spike said, his gaze falling to the floor, the bottle of whiskey long forgotten.
“Sure it is,” Xander whispered, turning towards Spike, grabbing the bottle back from the vampire’s limp grasp.
“Why so?” Spike asked, voice low and soft, disappointment and loss making their way into the words.
“Because I told her that’s what I wanted,” Xander said honestly.
Spike’s eyes found Xander’s, seeking truth, seeking confirmation.
Suddenly, Spike’s shoulders started heaving and bouncing, and his face turned from anger to laughter as that melodious sound escaped from the vampire again. That music that was honey and silk, water and wind – it was what Xander needed, what he craved.
Xander began to laugh along with the vampire, and he realized how free it felt. How it was what he wanted to hear all the time now. The laughter that made him feel better, that made it okay, made the pain ease. Laughter that was the only thing that could shake the nightmares and the memories away. Was his life now.
----------
The End
Author:
chocgood84Pairing: S/X
Rating: PG-13
A/N: Post "Gift", spoilers for that ep.
Disclaimer: Not mine, don't sue.
A gentle breeze pushed a few empty soda cans and a plastic bag across the empty street, the cans making a jingling sound that reminded Xander of wind chimes. He could smell the sea’s presence in the breeze, and he breathed it in, savoring the scent-taste of freshness and salt and the remnants of the day’s earlier sunshine.
He’d been walking around Sunnydale aimlessly since the afternoon. Still had no clue where he was going. He just knew he needed the freedom to roam, needed to feel the warming March air in his hair and on his flesh. It was cooling now, but it still felt good to him, felt fresh and pure.
He smiled to himself, remembering a night like this that now seemed it was lifetimes ago. It was Buffy’s first year here in Sunnydale, and they were all looking forward to the school year being over. Out in search of the usual vamp or demon, the three of them, Buffy, Willow, and himself, had followed this same route. The air had smelled exactly the same, had felt so right back then. Lifetime ago.
So far behind him now, those days. Days of lusting after Buffy and getting naughty with Cordy in the broom closets all over Sunnydale High. Sunshine and laughter – that’s what Xander remembered the most from those days, laughter. No matter what had happened, it seemed like they could all come back together if they’d only laughed. They hadn’t realized how free they were back then, had had no clue that things would change so much.
And then Anya had happened. It was nice for a while, having someone there that wanted him so much. But in the end, that had been the problem – she’d only wanted him. Didn’t need him. Didn’t love him – not really.
She’d left this afternoon; said she couldn’t stand it anymore. He never touched her anymore, barely even looked at her. She said he’d changed after Buffy had…He’d changed after Glory. She said he wasn’t the same man, wasn’t enough for her. Said she loved him – would always love him; she just needed more. Needed laughter.
She was right, and he’d admitted it, even if only to himself. He couldn’t blame her, really. Hadn’t tried to stop her, hadn’t yelled or begged. Couldn’t even joke about it. No laughter, there. They both knew it was over, had been for a long time. At least one of them could go and live. Not Xander, though - he’d given up on laughter, given up on life.
Xander just kept picturing the night that Buffy had breathed life back into the world, had saved them all. Over and over in his mind, he saw her jump, saw her fly and soar like a bird for just a moment. Saw that look of peace and finality on her face as she just let it all go. He knew wherever she was now, she had to be happy. She’d given her life again, and this time even Xander couldn’t bring her back. The first time, years later they had laughed about it. What was there to laugh about now? Maybe that was the punch line – the joke was on them.
Willow had said something about a spell, something to bring Buffy back. She said she could do it – needed his help. That was the first time in their lives that Xander had wanted to physically hurt her. Had wanted to slap her, wanted to scream and yell and try and make her understand. Buffy was dead, for christsakes. She’d died saving them. At least now she could be in peace, could be happy. Who were they, who was Willow, to think they could change that. Buffy deserved her happiness. Didn’t one of them deserve to be happy?
Xander kicked a glass bottle against the asphalt curb, delighting in the satisfying clink and scratch as it cracked and burst.
Xander remembered more of that night – the look on Giles’ face and the tears that had flowed freely there. Willow’s shock and Tara’s words of remorse. He remembered mostly Spike, though. The sound that had come out of his throat at seeing Buffy’s…body. It had been more human and yet more unnatural than anything Xander had ever heard before. He hadn’t known that vampires could cry…would cry, until that day.
Spike hadn’t even realized the sun was rising, didn’t notice himself starting to smoke. The only thing he had known was loss. The only thing he knew was the pain and the emptiness they all felt. That was the first time Xander had ever thought about Spike as a person, had ever found a common bond between the two of them.
In the months since, they’d bonded more and more over memories of Buffy. Memories, cheap whiskey drank straight from the bottle, and even cheaper weed smoked by the pound. Nights of drunkenness and sluggish words had turned them from bitter enemies to lukewarm acquaintances and eventually to understanding friends. To Xander, Spike wasn’t just a vampire anymore – he was a person. With feelings, thoughts, worries, memories, and laughter. Listening to Spike laughing had been the only thing getting him through the past couple months. Something warm and tender in those somehow timid chuckles and fierce snickering. Something more, there…
That’s why Xander wasn’t surprised when he looked up to find himself standing outside of Spike’s crypt. The wind here was silent, it brought no scent, no whispers, no phantom memories. There was only silence, only stillness here, as it should be. Seemed like with Buffy gone, the world of demons and apocalypses had slipped away. Then again, it felt mostly that nothing was as it used to be.
Xander’s hand raised, poised to strike against the heavy iron door. He remembered the first night he’d come here after Buffy had…gone. Remembered that Spike hadn’t answered. Xander had gone inside to find the vampire sitting in that ratty old armchair. He’d held a half-empty bottle of Jack in one hand and a smoldering joint in the other. his eyes were fixed on the blank television, but he wasn’t there, not really. Just like Xander, he kept going back to that night trying to understand how it happened. Trying to understand how things had gone so wrong, how they had all lost her. He’d noticed Xander standing at the door after a few minutes but didn’t speak. He only offered the bottle, which Xander had accepted. This, too, seemed like so long ago – but at the same time it felt like only a night had passed.
The funny thing about time, the joke of the clock was that it cared not for physics or calendars. It was in control of itself, and sped up or slowed or reversed itself when it felt the need. Lately, though, it seemed like time had lost control of itself, spinning forward and backward with even more recklessness and less care for anyone than usual.
The door swung open before Xander could strike it with his fist. Spike’s face loomed in the darkness, welcoming and understanding. He didn’t look well – his cheeks were more hallow than they had been once upon a time, his lips were dry and cracked, his eyes sunken and his ribs showed through his exposed flesh. Xander supposed it was a caricature of himself. Jack and Mary weren’t exactly at the top of the food pyramid, but really? Who cared?
Spike stepped back, allowing Xander to pass. As Xander walked into the darkness, he remembered something that Anya had said this afternoon, before she left.
“Spike,” he asked, his voice tired and dry.
“What’s it, pet?” Words just as dry, just as tired.
“Am I ironic?” Xander wondered.
“We’re all ironic, pet. Why?” Spike grabbed the bottle of false courage and threw himself down into the chair, swigging from it. Held it out to Xander.
“Anya said I’m the most ironic man she’s ever met,” he explained, taking the bottle and gulping heavily at the rancid stuff. He took a pack of smokes out of his pocket and tossed them to the vampire.
Spike wasted no time, tearing the cellophane and foil off and plucking out a brown-filtered wand. The scent of menthol and tobacco swelled in the room, making Xander’s eyes water a little. Spike lit it, inhaling deeply and holding it for a moment. He let it out slowly, staring at the ringlets and waves of smoke as it floated upwards.
“Did she, now? Why would she say a thing like that?” Another drag, and he took the bottle back. Xander shrugged off his jacket and plopped down on the thrift-store couch they’d stolen and hauled into they crypt. As much as Xander was here, they’d decided one chair wasn’t going to do it.
“She said that I’m the man with all the jokes, but I haven’t truly laughed. Said I wasn’t funny anmore.” Xander remembered that she’d hit the nail on the head, and he’d taken a stabbing breath when she’d said it. The truth always hurt.
“Can see that, Xander,” Spike passed the cigarette to Xander, who took a heavy drag on it, enjoying the burn in his chest as the menthol made its way to his heart and back. He loved that burn, loved the sensation of pain and pleasure as it soothed him and killed him at the same time.
“She left, today…for good.” He muttered, handing the cigarette back and pulling on the bottle again.
“Good,” Spike retorted, blowing several smoke rings into the hazy air. He started laughing softly, the sound getting deeper and louder moment by moment.
“What’s funny, Spike?” Xander peered over at the vampire who was practically doubled over in laughter. Somehow that didn’t bother Xander, though – he knew the vampire wasn’t laughing at him, knew he wouldn’t.
“You’re bird, who used to be a vengeance demon, left you because you weren’t funny enough? Oh, pet, that’s rich!” Spike slapped his knees, dropping ash all over himself.
Xander felt a somewhat familiar tugging in his chest. Didn’t even recognize the sound coming out of his throat until he felt his stomach and lungs contract painfully. Laughter – he was laughing for what felt like the first time in years. And it felt good.
“I guess that is funny, isn’t it?” Xander asked between gasps, clutching at his stomach and trying not to throw up or piss himself.
“Too right, it is!” Spike howled.
“Know what else she said that was funny?” Xander wondered, staring at Spike through tear-stained eyes.
“What was that, pet?” Spike asked, his eyes seemingly alive for a moment. It had seemed like there was a spark there – something Xander hadn’t seen in a long time.
“She said I spent so much time here that I might as well start fucking you,” Xander managed to choke out around whistling laughter. He was laughing for a while before he realized he was the only one laughing.
Spike stared at him, seriousness and bitterness gracing his classic features. Blue eyes looked black and sharp cheekbones seemed dull.
Xander stopped laughing.
“S’not so funny, pet…” Spike said, his gaze falling to the floor, the bottle of whiskey long forgotten.
“Sure it is,” Xander whispered, turning towards Spike, grabbing the bottle back from the vampire’s limp grasp.
“Why so?” Spike asked, voice low and soft, disappointment and loss making their way into the words.
“Because I told her that’s what I wanted,” Xander said honestly.
Spike’s eyes found Xander’s, seeking truth, seeking confirmation.
Suddenly, Spike’s shoulders started heaving and bouncing, and his face turned from anger to laughter as that melodious sound escaped from the vampire again. That music that was honey and silk, water and wind – it was what Xander needed, what he craved.
Xander began to laugh along with the vampire, and he realized how free it felt. How it was what he wanted to hear all the time now. The laughter that made him feel better, that made it okay, made the pain ease. Laughter that was the only thing that could shake the nightmares and the memories away. Was his life now.
----------
The End
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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~Nebula
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Thanks, hun!
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I also like the way Xander is nostalgic for their early high school years; every time I watch those early seasons' eps, I'm struck by what you mentioned here. There's such joy and lightheartedness and child(not "ishness", but just the happiness of being one, ya know). *small sob*
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Thanks, darling:)