Chapter Text
Spike closed his eyes and took a long, deep breath, and as he let it go, he felt some of the foulness of the past sloughing away. Not all of it; not even most of it, but some. The last hour wasn't something he'd want to repeat, but still … it had cleared the air.
But when he opened his eyes again, Riley was looking at him strangely.
Spike frowned. "You okay?" he said.
Riley didn't reply, but scanned the room. His gaze rested for a moment on the two cigarette butts and corresponding piles of ash on the floor, then he seemed to be considering the signs of struggle: the furniture in disarray; the Bible, like a broken-backed bird, its pages coming away from its spine; the poker on the floor among the remains of a vase; the broken lamp.
A cold hand touched Spike's heart. Riley didn't seem to want to look at him any more.
"So, Spike. When are you planning to stop treating me like an idiot?"
"What?" Spike said. The hand tightened its grip. "I'm not –"
"You played me," Riley said, looking down at his clenched fists. "The two of you. You and Angel together, you played me."
Spike felt his stomach drop six feet through the floor. "No, Riley, that's not what happ-"
"So what happened then?" Riley looked him in the eye, demanding, begging for an honest answer.
But now it was Spike's turn to avert his gaze. In a low monotone he said, "We fought, he won. Like always. He nearly dusted me. Thanks for the save."
"Right," Riley said. He looked around in exasperation. "So, you had a big fight, stopped for a cigarette break, then went at it again? That how it was?"
Spike felt sick. The half-truth had trapped him, and now he had to lie for real. He bit his lip. "I smoked those before he arrived."
Riley snorted out a cynical laugh. "So how come the room is trashed but the ash from your cigarettes is still in nice neat piles?" He turned away. "Nice try, but no cigar." He ran a hand through his hair. "God, I thought you might like it rough, but this …"
That stung. "I don't, okay?" Spike struck back. "I don't like it rough. Just never had any bloody say in the matter. And when did you turn into Sherlock bleedin' Holmes?"
"You smoke after intercourse," Riley said.
With that single sentence, Spike was accused, tried and convicted.
"'S not the only time," Spike muttered.
Riley blinked hard, and Spike was mortified to see tears shining in his eyes. That twist of guilt in his guts was getting familiar.
"You know, sometimes I wish I was as dumb as people think I am," Riley said. "You fought – okay, I can see that. I believe it. But that was just –" His voice faltered. He dashed a hand across his eyes. "That was just foreplay to you wasn't it? You fought, you had sex, you smoked, then you … what? Set up that little scene to make a fool out of me?" He shook his head. "I couldn't have beat Angel, you said so yourself."
"You caught him by surprise." Spike said. He pursed his lips.
"Don't feed me that crap, Spike, it was way too easy. No one gives it up like that – hands you their life on a plate – and you know it."
"Just be thankful you beat him," Spike said sourly. "I never have."
"Beat him? Bullshit. He wanted me to think I beat him." Riley sliced the air with his hand. "And what hurts worst, so did you."
Spike could hear Riley's heart, and it was racing. "No, it wasn't like that, Riley, please …"
Why was he lying?
Spike hardly knew who – or what – he was trying to protect, he was curled around it so tightly; that aching tender place deep inside, where he was ever and always a victim: that was what he didn't want Riley to see; where he didn't want Riley to go.
The reason Angel felt the need to offer his life in payment.
Because he had muzzled and chained and incarcerated Spike in that place, and part of Spike would always be there, however hard Riley might try to free him.
Now Riley was striding over to him, and as he came he was rolling his sleeve up over his bicep – over the mark he'd made the night before – and scratching it bloody. "What did this mean to you Spike? Huh? What was all that about?"
Riley gripped the back of Spike's head and pressed the mark against his mouth, and Spike had to fight to stop himself dropping fangs and sinking them in.
"Is this all I am to you?" Riley said. "A food source? A walking blood bank?"
Spike turned his head away. "No –"
Riley jerked Spike's head back and away, releasing him: his action laden with contempt. "You seemed pretty friendly with your 'rapist'. You hate him so much, why didn't you let me kill him?"
"It's … complicated." That sounded pathetic even to Spike's ears.
Riley shook his head. "Not good enough. And when's your next assignation, eh, Spike? Was he planning on turning up wherever we happened to be? I come back here, my bridges goin' up in smoke behind me, again, and you … you … and he …" Riley's voice cracked with emotion, and he turned his face away.
Spike hadn't known there was any part of his heart left unbroken until now. It was tearing him apart to see what he was doing to Riley, but all he could offer was, "Like I said, it's complicated –"
"And I'm simple?" Riley said. His face flushed. "Is that what it is? I'm too stupid to understand?"
"No …"
Riley passed a hand over his eyes, his mouth. His voice dropped almost to a whisper. "You lied to me, Spike – after you promised …"
He was shaking his head again, in helpless incomprehension.
They stood like misplaced statues, each alone in his misery: Spike, unable to find any words; Riley, waiting in silence for something – anything – that would make him understand.
But there was nothing.
Riley broke first.
"I can't …"
He threw his hands wide then let them drop to his sides. "Doesn't matter. Just be out of here before Angel gets back. Or don't. Whatever."
He strode down the hallway towards the front door.
Dragged along by his gravity, Spike caught hold of his arm. "Riley, please …"
But Riley shrugged him off and went on out into the daylight, where Spike couldn't follow. He steamed down the path not looking back and Spike just stood watching, paralysed with fear, unable even to speak.
It was bright outside; only a single cloud across the sun.
His man was at the gate.
He gave a cracked and choking cry, "Riley!"
~~
His face set in miserable resolve, Riley turned back, to see Spike stepping out of the shadow of the porch and into the daylight. Spreading his arms in crucifixion, Spike looked up at the sky, tensed every muscle in his body, and closed his eyes.
The edge of the cloud was silvered – the full sun would be on Spike at any moment.
Riley yelled out, "Get inside!" but Spike didn't even blink.
Even now, there were curls of smoke rising from Spike's upturned hands and face, and the tops of his arms; even his shoulders which were covered by his tee shirt. Riley launched himself back down the path, crashed into Spike and landed on top of him, just inside the front door. The smell of charring flesh told him just how close it had been.
He sat up astride Spike, took in his singed hair and reddened skin, and caught him a stinging slap across the face. "What the hell was that?"
Spike was taking shallow, panicked breaths, but he was as obstinate as ever. "Why d'you care what I do now?" he said. "'M just a bloody vampire, who's used you, drained you, lied to you, wrecked your brilliant career in demon correction –"
"Stop that. Stop playing me!" Riley grabbed Spike by the shoulders and shook him; looked desperately into his eyes for some clue. "Was it all a lie? What do you want from me? I've given you everything. Everything I've got. I trusted you, Spike, but you still don't trust me. You don't trust me –"
Almost berserk, he slapped Spike again, hard, then gasped and covered his mouth with the offending hand.
But Spike looked up at him without complaint: disturbingly accepting of his punishment. He took Riley's hand and pressed it to his cheek. "I do trust you Riley, with my life, I swear it. Do what you want with me, anything, but please for God's sake stay. Chain me up, gag me, hit me, do what you want …"
Riley shook his head. "That's not what I mean, and you know it. That's just physical. You don't trust me … with what I want." His face crumpled. "With your heart …"
~~
Why would Riley want anything so worn and broken? How could he show this man that he already had it in the palm of his hand?
Spike sat up and reached to touch Riley's face, but Riley flinched; wouldn't look at him.
"I trust you, Riley. I do. But there's things … things I don't want to remember … Can't say 'em out loud, not to you, not to anyone. Things I can't trust myself to think about … I can't tell you everything, however much I want to, however much I trust you. It just … it hurts too much."
"I bet you could talk to him about them," Riley said miserably.
"I don't have to," Spike said. "He's responsible for most of them." He closed his eyes, trying not to remember his countless capitulations; pleas for mercy or for relief. "Nearly started on me again today. Stopped himself, mostly …"
Now Spike felt Riley's hand touch his face. Kid wanted to trust him, but Spike knew he wasn't making it easy for him. "Please, Riley, I'm beggin' you – at least let it … scab over a bit before I talk about it?"
Riley gripped Spike's shoulders, as if to squeeze the answer out of him. "So … you can't tell me … what that little charade back there was for?"
Spike floundered. He wanted so badly to make things right, but it was true, what Riley'd said; they had played him, hadn't they? But not for the reasons Riley thought. He'd been an agent of healing; a salve to their wounds, not their fool, though that was how it must look.
"I'm sorry, mate, it just – happened that way. We fought. He won. That's the truth. He nearly lost it, but then he – I dunno, had some kind of epiphany or somethin'. Said he was sorry. Then you came in, and … I don't know why we acted out like that." Spike shook his head. "It just felt right."
"Well, it felt all wrong to me," Riley said.
Riley loosed his hold, and as Spike fell back to the floor he felt a stab of pain; hissed and clutched at his ribs.
Still suspicious, "What's the matter?" Riley said.
"Wanker broke my ribs. Again." Gritting his teeth, Spike hauled himself to his feet and leaned against the wall for support. "Bit rough for foreplay don't you think?"
Riley went to him and felt his ribs, seeming to do so with more professional care than affection. "Wait here, I'll get my med-kit," he said, turning towards the door.
Spike snatched at Riley's arm; didn't want him going out of sight.
Riley pushed his hand away. "Don't come running outside after me again," he said. He almost sounded bored. "I'm coming back."
"Promise?" Spike said quietly.
Riley sighed. "Promise," he said.
Even more quietly, Spike said, "Sunnydale or Iowa?"
A muscle ticked in Riley's jaw. "Don't push it Spike, I'm not in the mood."
Spike lowered his gaze, and – chastened – let him go.
~~
When Riley came back, he was cool, efficient, and shuttered.
But here; still here.
He lifted Spike's tee-shirt, and wrapped some wide bandages around his chest to stabilise his ribs. Neither of them said a word during the procedure. Spike kept his eyes lowered rather than see the fearfully businesslike look on Riley's face.
When he was satisfied with the job he'd done, Riley systematically packed his kit away and stood up. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm tired," he said with brittle courtesy. "I'll need to get some sleep if we're going to be driving far tonight. I suggest you do the same."
Afraid to speak in case he fucked things up again, Spike just nodded.
Then Riley went into to bedroom, threw himself down on the bed, and fell almost instantly asleep.
Spike heaved a deep and painful sigh of relief. Riley was staying. There was time to sort this out.
He went to the bed and looked down at Riley as he lay, sleeping; his jaw set in an angry line; his brow, fretful; his hands, crossed on his chest like a patriarch lying in state. Fearing to wake him, Spike fought the urge to kiss one of those hands. Instead, he lay down on the floor at the foot of the bed, and tried to get some sleep as Riley had told him to.
~~
When Riley awoke, it was getting dusk. He sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed. Spike was lying awkwardly near his feet; lying on a stone floor, with his bones broken, just like he had been in the Initiative cell.
Riley felt a stab of guilt.
At least this time, Spike had been patched up.
Neither of them was in the best shape of their lives. Riley couldn't believe he'd hit Spike – twice. Maybe he was suffering some kind of withdrawal from the 'vitamins' he was no longer taking. Good job he'd brought them with him; might need to come off them a bit at a time. But there was no excuse for it, no matter how upset he was, or how scared he'd been for Spike.
He still wasn't sure where they stood, or what was going on in that messed up head of Spike's; but perhaps it was better just to get moving; leave the post mortem for later. All he knew for sure was that he loved Spike: enough to leave him, if that was what Spike wanted. But Spike didn't want him to leave, that was plain as day.
Good enough.
He leaned down and patted Spike on the shoulder. "Time we got going," he said.
Spike opened his eyes, and relief shone in them. "Whatever you say, mate."
They went out to Riley's SUV without another word. It was packed to the roof, and so was the roof rack. Spike raised an eyebrow. "Loaded for bear?"
"Had to be. Don't know where we're going yet, and who or what – if anything – will be coming after us."
Spike nodded, and they got in.
~~
They'd been driving for about an hour, when Spike said, "We agreed never to meet again."
Riley turned to look at him, but Spike was still staring at the road ahead. "You and Angel agreed?" Riley said.
"'S right."
Riley supposed he should be relieved, but he couldn't help digging. He wanted to get the worst over. "So that was – what? A 'goodbye' fuck?"
"No!" Spike said. "We didn't do anything. Not like that. I told you, he tried …"
Riley looked across again, but Spike studiously refused to meet his eyes.
"I know I said this before but it's true, Riley. It's complicated. I say things, he says things … we set each other off, then –"
"You're not blaming yourself … for today?"
"No." Spike looked at his fingernails, then bit at them thoughtfully. "Well, partly," he said. "If I'd kept my trap shut instead of goadin' him … He came to kill me alright, but instead of talking him down when I had the chance, I did the opposite. Then it all kicked off …"
For the first time since he'd met the vampire, Riley thought he looked his age. There was a wistful sadness in the set of Spike's jaw, the slump of his shoulders. It must be hard, saying goodbye to someone for the last time, after an acquaintance spanning a century and more. After that length of time, he imagined even old enemies might start to look like old friends. And it looked like Angel was one of those guys who, whenever he was around, everything was always about him.
Wasn't Spike's fault.
The bitter dregs of his anger began to be left behind them, with the white lines on the road. He took his right hand off the wheel and laid it on Spike's thigh, and Spike tentatively placed his own over it and twined their fingers together. He looked like he was choking back tears.
With his free hand, Spike managed to get out a cigarette and light it, without having to relinquish his hold on Riley.
"You can tell me as much, or as little as you want to, Spike. I can wait."
Spike smoked. He still looked sad.
When the cigarette was gone, he fell asleep with his head resting against the side window.
~~
When Riley parked up and cut the engine, Spike blinked awake. He glanced nervously across at Riley, who smiled and said quietly, "Hey."
Still a little afraid to speak, Spike nodded acknowledgement. He looked out of the window, and when he saw where they had pulled in, it was a bit of a shock. He'd been expecting Riley to stop at some seedy motel on the outskirts of wherever. What he definitely hadn't expected was to have the front door of a swanky hotel held open for him by a liveried doorman. He'd have been less surprised to see a white rabbit in a waistcoat inviting him in.
The fellow looked through him without displaying any emotion known to man, then took Riley's travel bag to the polished maple reception desk without a word.
There, a young receptionist with a slightly knowing air – 'Jason', according to his nametag – completed the formalities. Riley made sure they were given a double room where smoking was permitted. It wasn't the cheapest one either, but that didn't stop Jason saying, "And as one of our valued customers, I'm pleased to offer you a complimentary upgrade." He looked exceedingly pleased with himself.
Spike's eyes widened but Riley was un-phased. "That's great, thanks."
"And if there's anything you need, anything at all, you only have to ask."
"Well, actually …" Riley glanced at Spike and then leaned closer to Jason and whispered something to him.
Spike's eyes widened still further, but Jason nodded as if he dealt with similar requests every day. "I'll have some sent up within the hour," he said. "Will room temperature be alright?"
Riley nodded.
Jason took an imprint from one of the credit cards from Riley's wallet, and called a bellboy in macaroni to show them to their room.
Spike said nothing throughout the proceedings. All this felt very odd. Sure, he'd stayed in posh hotels on someone else's dollar before now, but then it was a dollar he'd swiped. Now he was here by right, and he couldn't help expecting security to drag him from Riley's side and escort him from the premises.
His filthy boots sank silently into the plush carpet.
Only when the bellboy had finished showing Riley where everything in the room was, and how it worked, and left – with a reasonable tip – did Spike say, "Riley, are you sure you can –"
"Afford this? Don't worry. Military pay isn't the best in the world, but I haven't had time or cause to spend much of it over the years." Riley looked almost shy. "Or anyone I wanted to spend it on."
Spike cocked his head and smiled, as the warmth of Riley's oblique compliment spread though him. "Still … you didn't have to –"
"After what you've been through, you deserve to sleep somewhere decent," Riley said. "And anyway, we both need rest, and time to think. I have some ideas, but I need to work them out, and this is a better place than most."
So Spike went to explore the room, leaving Riley making notes on the hotel's watermarked stationary.
Half an hour later, Jason appeared at the door with a flask of blood on a silver tray.
~~
Spike loved getting things for free. Not just lifting stuff. Better than that, was being given things, whether he deserved them or not. A century and more he'd spent taking stuff – whatever he wanted, from just about whoever he wanted to take it from – but it was a still more wondrous thing to be given something freely.
Like the complimentary champagne in the ice-bucket on the occasional table in the corner of the bedroom.
Like the fabulous basket of bath bombs, massage oils, shower gels, hand-made soap, face packs, body scrubs and whatall in the bathroom.
Yeah, he knew; Riley's credit card was paying for those things really, but still …
Like the chocolates they found on the pillow when they'd finished in the bathroom and taken refuge in the huge bed.
Like this thing … this thing that Riley was doing to him. Didn't deserve that either …
Didn't deserve to be lying in this bed – the most comfortable bed he'd ever lain in, or got laid in – waiting for the other glass slipper to drop and shatter on the floor, so he'd never know whether it would have fitted or not. But it was already way past midnight, so maybe in the morning his coach would still be a coach, and maybe he wouldn't be raking cold ashes out of the grate, while Angelus and Darla and even Drusilla cackled about the ball they were attending tonight, without him.
Didn't deserve that careful soaping and lathering Riley had given him just now that left him warm and aroused, and allowed him to hope that maybe he was halfway to being forgiven.
Didn't deserve to have his wrists tied to the headboard, with the slimmest of cords he could have broken in a heartbeat if he'd wanted; just there to remind him that he didn't have to do anything.
Nothing at all.
Didn't deserve Riley's hands on him, waking every part of him, calling his heart out of hiding again …
Didn't deserve that look on Riley's face; oh … maybe he did. There was sadness there as well as love.
Angry with himself, he felt his demon rise, and saw that look of sadness dismissed by one of fierce pride as Riley watched his unicorn transform into a lion beneath his touch; a lion held back by no prohibition, but only threads of silk and bonds of love.
Spike said what was on his mind. "I don't deserve any of this."
But Riley shook his head. "You don't have to," he said.
He pressed a kiss on each of Spike's eyelids in turn, and Spike's astonished heart expanded; at last he allowed himself to really believe … he was loved.
"You don't have to deserve stuff, to get it," Riley murmured. He let his hips dip so that his cock brushed teasingly against Spike's, and Spike arched and flexed to get more of it. Riley lowered himself further, pressing his smooth forehead against Spike's ridged brow.
"You didn't deserve to get vamped. Didn't deserve … whatever happened after –"
A moan arose in Spike's throat and he closed his eyes, for fear that he might set something on fire, the pain still burned so bright within him.
"– and I didn't deserve to be lied to –"
Spike turned his face away, but felt Riley's hand on his cheek, turning him back. Then Riley kissed him on the mouth, and cut his lip on Spike's fangs but didn't flinch or pull away, and soon Spike was there with him again.
"But you know what Spike? No one gets what they deserve. The pluses and minuses never add up or balance out." Riley glanced down between them, then ground their hips together a little harder. "So I suggest you just relax, lie back, and take what you're given."
Oh; he definitely didn't deserve this.
~~
At lunchtime the next day, Riley picked up the battered business card Spike had given him and dialled the number. His heart was pounding painfully as he waited for it to be answered.
"Angel Investigations, we … um … help the helpless."
The voice at the end of the line sounded old, and tired, and pretty damn helpless itself.
"Angel?"
"Yeah."
"It's Riley."
"Oh." There was a pregnant pause. "Is Spike –?"
"He's fine. But I need … we need a favour."
"Name it," Angel said. "Anything."
Well, that was … expansive. "It's nothing big," Riley said. "But it could attract unwanted attention to your people."
"I'm used to unwanted attention," Angel said. "Go on."
"I'm resigning my army commission. At least, I hope they'll accept my resignation, considering I'm already AWOL – and I don't want to give away our location until I have my discharge papers in my hand. You're not on their radar, so I was hoping that if I ask for the documents to be sent to the main Post Office in LA, poste restante, maybe you or one of your people could collect them for me. Just in case they put the Post Office under surveillance to try and take us in. I guess you might need to get fake ID in my name."
"Not a problem." There was a pause. Angel was evidently taking notes. "What if nothing comes?"
"I think they'll let me go. I've asked for it to be an honourable discharge, but I haven't made that a condition. I think my CO would rather not risk the publicity of a court martial. I've got stuff on them they'll want me to keep quiet about." Riley rubbed his jaw. "I'll call you again in a week to check, but I'm expecting a positive result."
"What do I do with them when I pick them up?"
"Post them on, care of Riley Finn, F-I-double N, at the poste restante in Kansas City? I'll pick them up there."
"Sure. Consider it done." There was another pause; maybe Angel was considering the fact that Riley had given him another mail drop rather than a proper address.
Riley decided to fill the silence. "I know you let me win on purpose," he said. "I don't have the beating of you."
"Oh." This time the silence at Angel's end of the line was a perplexed one. "Is that a problem?"
"No. Well, yeah, kind-of. I don't get it. I mean, I'm glad you didn't kill me but … just so you know; if it was meant to tell me something … I don't get it."
"Spike'll explain it. When he's ready. It shouldn't take him long, he likes to talk."
Riley nodded, as though Angel could see him. "Well that's good, because I like to listen."
"Good. And Riley?"
"Yeah."
…
"Take care of him."
Angel sounded like someone had crushed the life out of him, but even so, Riley thought he detected the hint of a threat. He wondered whether, given a hundred years, he might start to understand vampires.
"Don't need you to tell me that," Riley said.
"I kind-of guessed you didn't," Angel replied. Then line went dead.
~~
Afternoon Tea and Room Service were, in Spike's opinion, both fine institutions, and ones with which he was happy to re-acquaint himself.
Riley didn't understand the rituals but he was willing to learn.
They poured boiling water. They stirred. They brewed. It was leaf tea, so they strained as well. Milk in first, of course. Sugar lumps with little silver tongs to pick them up.
Spike watched the bubbles swirling on the surface of his tea.
Might as well get it out there.
"Angel felt he owed me an apology – big time," Spike said. "That was why he didn't fight back. Why he was ready to die on my word."
There was a chink as Riley laid his teaspoon carefully in the saucer.
Feeling the full glare of his attention Spike had to look away.
"He wanted to clear things up between us. Let me end him, or give him a free pass. Clean slate kind-of deal." He shot a glance at Riley.
"Offering to give up eternity – that's a pretty big apology," Riley said. He looked a little shaken. "What he must have –"
Spike shook his head slightly. "Don't even think about it," he said. "It'll make you crazy. You know the bones of it, so just leave it at that, yeah?"
Riley nodded. "If that's how you want it."
But Spike could see he was still puzzled. "Okay, whatever it is, spit it out, mate."
"I still don't understand," Riley said. "Why he didn't just let you kill him? Why wait until I got back?"
"Wasn't about you – but it wouldn't have happened without you. Couldn't have." Spike looked up at Riley now, trying not to resent the truth of what he was about to say. "He'd never have been able to submit to me in person. Not like he could to you."
"Because ...?"
"You're human. And he's not your sire."
~~
Riley felt the tightness in his chest slowly releasing its grip. Things still seemed pretty opaque, but what Spike said made a kind of sense.
"So – this is us now, right?" Riley said. "Together? You're not gonna change your mind about me – get bored? I mean, after the life you've lived so far … I'm not the most interesting guy in the world –"
"Well, your marketing strategy needs some work," Spike said, chuckling. "But don't fret about it. Said I love you didn't I? I don't say it unless it's for keeps."
Encouraged, Riley went somewhere else that angels feared to tread.
"What's going to happen, Spike? When I'm old, and you're still … mid-twenties or whatever you are. What's going to happen to me? To us? I keep thinking, when I'm middle-aged, when I'm old, when I'm dead – that guy, Angel, he'll still be young. If he still wants you, he could come and find you. He's got forever to do it. He'll find you and take you back. I couldn't bear it – if I was going to die, knowing that he'd show up and you'd end up back with him again … like we'd never been."
"It won't happen, I promise you that. Iowa Promise."
"But you two go back such a long way -" Riley said. "And what if he tried to force you?"
~~
Spike shook his head. "He won't force me. Not now, not any more." He laid a hand on Riley's. "Don't worry. We'll work it out. And anyway," he added cheerfully, swiping a cherry off the top of one of the cakes on the stand in the middle of the table. "I might fall on a picket fence next week, or get decapitated by a combine harvester."
Riley made a face.
"I'm just sayin'. We can't live our lives wondering what'll happen next year or in the next fifty years."
Truth was, he didn't want to think about it. The last hundred years seemed to have flown by, and Riley probably had another … what? … fifty years – seventy, if he was lucky. In loving a human, Spike knew he was setting himself up for potential heartbreak. But it would be worth it.
"But –"
"I'll be with you," Spike said. "For as long as you want me. And you never know, there might come a time – when you don't want to feel old – maybe you'll want to join me, in the blood. Sitting in the shade's not so bad, if you can see the light on the fields."
He poured another cup of tea, letting the kid think about it; but Riley looked worried, so he added, "Not sayin' that's what I want. I'm not gonna trade you in for a younger model, if that's what's worrying you. But I could turn you … one day … if you wanted."
"No … I … it's not that I think it's so bad, being like you. I just don't think it's for me … the whole eternity thing."
"Well, if you change your mind …"
"I might," Riley conceded. "Don't think so somehow though. I'm a farm-boy at heart. Cycle of life and death seems natural to me. Seems right. But I might …"
"And if you don't –" Spike paused and lit up a cigarette: "– well, maybe when you've gone, I'll decide to take a last walk in the sun after all."
Riley took both of Spike's hands in his. "Don't say that," he begged Spike.
"It's my life Riley," Spike said. "If I have to accept your death, you should be able to accept mine."
~~
When the sun went down, Riley paid the bill and they headed out to the SUV.
"Am I gonna get to drive this atrocity at some point?" Spike demanded.
"Sure you are. But not if you insult it." Riley stroked the top of his vehicle. "It gets sensitive."
"Fine. You take first stint driving, and I'll try and get in its good graces by not putting my feet on the dash."
"You do that." Riley smiled goofily and held open the passenger door. "So, get in Thelma."
Spike looked at him suspiciously. "You've been waiting all day to say that, I'll wager. Besides, if I have to be one of those two, dibs on Louise. Susan Sarandon rocks. No-one even remembers the other chick's name."
Riley laughed. "Out of us two, which of us is packing a weapon?"
"You took a gun into the hotel?" Spike said, boggling.
"More than one, actually."
"Right then!" Spike raised his hand in mock-surrender. "No argument, I'm Thelma."
They drove.
Spike found a radio station playing 'Radar Love'.
Riley had never heard it before.
"Gonna have to work on your musical education, mate."
"Please do," Riley replied with a grin.
~~
Their knees bumped together companionably as they felt the miles slide beneath them.
Riley turned and shot an uncomplicated smile at Spike, and said, "I think you're gonna love my mom."
Was that a trace of fear he detected in Spike's eyes? He felt a glow of satisfaction starting in the pit of his stomach.
"I'm gonna meet your mum?"
"Sure. You'll love her."
"I doubt the feelin'll be mutual," Spike said, looking worried.
"Sure it will. She loves to take in strays."
"Hey, I am not a –" Spike pointed a reproving finger at Riley, then smacked him on the back of the head.
They drove on into the night.
~~
They collected Riley's discharge papers two weeks later, in Kansas City. The grounds for his discharge were cited as 'emotional instability'. He wasn't going to make an issue of it. At least now, it looked like they weren't going to be actively pursued.
It was safe to head for home.
Epilogue
It was getting near Christmas, and Clem was feeling nostalgic. Sentimental demon that he was he was missing Spike, even though the tetchy old vamp had only stayed with him the one day, had run off without saying goodbye, and never even left an address. So when Clem went into Willy's for a drink after doing some Christmas shopping, he was overjoyed when the eponymous bartender handed him a postcard that was waiting for him behind the bar. It bore an Iowa postmark, and the picture was of a cornfield.
"Clem.
Thanks for everything, mate.
I owe you one.
And by the way – we're not in Kansas anymore."
It was signed with a picture of a railroad spike, and a squiggle that might just have been a kiss.
~~ FIN ~~