Archive of Our Own

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Gigabytes (1/7)
Title: Gigabytes 
Chapter: 1/7
Pairing: Spike/Xander
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: I'm not Joss
Summary:  A new story in the Biteverse. Xander begins aging a decade each night. Can Spike and the others find the cause and fix it before it's too late?
A/N: Uses the hc_bingo  prompt aging. Banner by the amazngly talented sentine , and beta work by the wonderful silk_labyrinth . The fic is complete and I'll post a chapter per day, travel permitting.

Gigabytes

Thirty

“How come I never get to play the bad guy?”

Spike gave him a look that clearly meant “Duh!” even if Spike was too English to say it out loud. “Vampire?”

“So? I’m a werewolf. That’s scary too.”

“Yes, pet,” Spike said condescendingly. “But right now you look like a nice, ordinary one-eyed bloke. If you’re furry you can’t talk to the wankers. And if you change long enough to frighten them and then switch back so you can speak, you’ll be naked and I’m not letting them ogle my boy.”

Xander grumbled but he couldn’t fault Spike’s logic. He didn’t really want to be naked in front of a bunch of Fienar demons either. He wondered what you called a gang of Fienars. A herd? A pride? A gaggle, maybe. They did have feathers and sort of honking voices.

“Oi, Fido!” Spike bopped him lightly on the head. “Focus, mate.”

“Sorry.”

“Sorry won’t save your tail if you’re woolgathering and the Fienars attack. Stay on task for just a bit.”

“You sound like Mrs. Barone.”

“Who?”

“My sixth grade teacher. She was always ‘Stay on task, Xander,’ and ‘Come back to earth, Xander,’ and ‘You’re going to need to know about dangling participles someday, Xander,’ which was totally a lie, by the way.”

Spike chuckled and pulled the van to a stop in a dark parking lot, empty except for a pair of battered old Toyotas. “Mrs. Barone was right, love. You do tend to wander.”

“I thought you liked it when I wandered,” Xander said, sounding petulant even to his own ears

“I do. But I don’t fancy you getting torn to pieces. Fienars have these claws—”

“Yeah, yeah. Nasty demons, blah blah blah. I get it. I promise I’ll pay attention if they try to disembowel me, okay?”

Spike cupped a hand on Xander’s neck. “Good. And when we’re finished with this lot, we’ll have a lovely run in the hills and you can find something to sink your teeth into. That’ll stop you from feeling out of sorts.”

Xander sighed. “I’d rather sink my teeth—or other parts of my anatomy—into you.”

Spike waggled his eyebrows. “That can be arranged.” He clapped Xander’s knee and then climbed out of the van. Xander followed him across the parking lot, still grumbling under his breath.

The Fienars had their hangout in a strip mall, in between Kelly’s Pool Supplies and an H&R Block. The sign over the demons’ place claimed that it was an insurance office. Hell, maybe it was an insurance office. Even demons had to make a living somehow. Spike paused at the door until Xander caught up with him and then barged in with Xander at his heels.

The inside looked just like an insurance office too, with plasticky chairs and cheap paintings of bland landscapes and stacks of outdated magazines: Field & Stream and Family Fun and Insurance Times and People with Michael Jackson on the cover. The only unusual things about the place were the feathers scattered here and there on the floor, like someone hadn’t cleaned up very well after a pillow fight. The receptionist’s desk was unattended—no big surprise at one in the morning—but a few seconds after Spike and Xander entered, a half-dozen Fienars emerged from behind an orange partition. They had beady reddish eyes and they smelled like burned carpet. Xander had to suppress a sneeze as the demons waddled closer.

Spike strode forward, placing himself between Xander and the demons, then vamped out and snarled at them.

One of the Fienars faced him. It was probably the leader—it was bigger than the others and its feathers were shinier. “Explain your presence!” it demanded.

“You know exactly why I’m here, tosser. You and your feathered friends are fouling the nest a bit, yeah?”

The Fienar glared. “Cease these insults forthwith!”

Spike swaggered forward another step. “Fine. I’ll just rip your face off, then.”

The Fienar squawked and raised its taloned hands. That was Xander’s cue. He stepped quickly in between them, hands up placatingly. “Hey, hey, guys. Let’s not be hasty. Can’t we all just get along?”

The demons on either side of him continued to glare at each other, but Spike retracted his fangs and the Fienar unruffled its feathers. The other demons looked at their leader and then relaxed a little.

“You have entered our place of business uninvited and—”

“I know,” Xander said. “And we don’t even want insurance, although maybe we could talk about it some other time. You have no idea how hard it is for us to get coverage! But tonight we’re here ‘cause you guys have been thinking of turning to the dark side, and we want to stop you before you cross that line.”

“Bollocks,” Spike growled. “We’re here to shred you to bloody bits.”

Xander put a palm on his lover’s chest. “Sorry,” he said to the head Fienar. “He takes his work really seriously.” Then he turned to face Spike. “Chill, okay? Let’s at least give them a chance to cooperate before we go all Hulk on them.”

Spike snarled again, managing to look remarkably scary despite his human face and not-so-big stature. Knowing that the Fienars couldn’t see his own face, Xander gave Spike a small smile. He looked serious again when he turned back to the chief goose-demon. “William the Bloody’s not exactly known for his patience, guys. If I were you I’d play nice, fast.”

The Fienar looked back at its underlings and they all conversed in their native language, which sounded like a massacre on the farm. After a few minutes of heated interchange, the chief faced Spike and Xander again. “What is it you desire?”

“Every bit of rubbish you were using to blackmail those poor chits,” Spike said, because apparently the Fienars had been gathering dirt on a band of Harpies (who were, Xander had learned, way prettier than the name implied) and they were using the info to extort money out of the Harpies. Which was bad, Xander had been told solemnly by Angel and Kyna and Wes, because the Harpies were good guys—well, good gals—and actually performed a public service by cleaning up roadkill. Ew. The Harpies had begged for help, and somehow Spike and Xander got volunteered.

The biggest Fienar scowled at them both until Spike stepped forward. The feathered demon fell back a little. “Very well,” it hissed. “But you must pledge not to molest my brethren.”

Molest? Xander tried to imagine having sex with one of these things. Yuck. Spike must have known what he was thinking because he whacked Xander fairly hard in the bicep. To the Fienar, Spike said, “Fine. We’ll leave you lot alone, so long as you hand over the goods and keep your beaks clean. But if we hear bad news about you again we won’t be so merciful.”

The Fienar nodded jerkily and honked something at one of his pals. That demon—its feathers were kind of scraggly and sad looking, and Xander figured it was at the bottom of the pecking order—waddled back behind the partition. It returned a few seconds later carrying a laptop, which it handed over to its boss. The boss, in turn, passed it to Xander, who tucked it under his arm.

“If the shite isn’t on that machine….” Spike growled.

“I assure you. The materials you seek are there,” the Fienar replied.

Spike gave them all a final warning sneer, Xander waved at them, and then Spike and Xander left.

As the van rumbled back down the road, Spike reached over and put a hand on Xander’s knee. “See? You made a brilliant good cop.”

“Hmm. But I would have been fine as bad cop, too. I wouldn’t have had to talk or shift to human or anything. Just, you know, look all rabid and grandmother-eating.”

“Or you could just piss on their rug.”

Xander humphed slightly and turned towards the window, although there was nothing interesting to see. After a few silent minutes, Spike squeezed his knee. “C’mon, love. What’s been eating you? Besides me, of course. You’ve been grouchy for weeks.”

“I have not—” Xander began, but then he stopped. Because he had been grouchy for weeks, and he knew it.

“Pet?” Spike asked. He pulled the van over to the curb and cut the engine. He squirmed sideways a little and tugged at Xander’s arm, drawing him around so they were mostly facing each other again. “What is it, Xan? Is it the poof? I swear, I’ll kick his fat arse—”

“It’s not Angel. Angel’s fine. Well, as fine as he ever is.”

“It’s his Slayer, then. She has you running about for their bloody wedding—”

“That’s no big deal. I don’t mind.” And that was true. Yes, Kyna had him building various altar things in the restored ballroom, and as soon as he’d get one built she’d change her mind about it. And at the same time he was supposed to be remodeling four adjacent rooms into Kyna’s and Angel’s new suite, complete with floral curtains and gold-colored bathroom fixtures that made him gag. But it was no big deal. It kept him busy, and it wasn’t like he was going to be stuck living in that decorating nightmare.

Spike sighed, and Xander knew he was trying his best to be patient. “What is it then? Is it me?”

“No!” Xander caught at Spike’s hand. “It’s not you. It’s….” He squeezed his eye shut. “I found a gray hair.”

Spike’s face scrunched up in confusion. “Reckoned Anya was the one with the bunny phobia, Xan. Wolves generally fancy eating the furry little things.”

“Hair, Spike! On my head!” Xander yanked at a handful to demonstrate.

Spike leaned in very close and peered at Xander’s scalp. “Don’t see anything but brown, pet.”

“That’s because I pulled it out.”

“Then why all the fuss?”

“Of course you wouldn’t understand, Mr. Eternal Youth. I pulled that hair but soon there will be more.”

Spike shrugged. “I expect you’ll look very distinguished. But if it bothers you so much, dye it.” He grinned. “Or you could bleach it blond. I’ll let you share my bleach, even.”

“The color of my hair is not the point!” More than a hint of a growl escaped with those words.

“Then what in all hells is your point?”

“The point, Spike, is that I’m getting older. And some day—if I don’t get killed by a demon first—I’ll be old. And you won’t.” He crossed his arms and looked out the window, away from his lover. But of course he could still hear Spike sigh.

“Knew this was bound to come up eventually. Xander, it doesn’t matter. I love you. You’re a right treat now, but that’s not why I love you, and I won’t love you any less when you’re gray and wrinkled and stooped and eating dinner at 4 pm at Hometown Buffet. I’ll love you every minute I have you and when I don’t have you anymore…well, then nothing will matter.” His voice went a little hoarse at the end and Xander turned to look at him.

“What about when I can’t keep up with you anymore? When you’re still…still a world-saving superhero…and I’m hobbling around on plastic knees and collecting Medicare?”

“Then we’ll cuddle on the sofa all day, watching telly and complaining about Angel.” Spike laced his fingers behind Xander’s neck and brought their heads together. “Love’s never forever, Xan, not even among immortals. We could be together a thousand years and it wouldn’t be enough for me. So let’s enjoy whatever time we do have, yeah? Spend it shagging and fighting and laughing, and that’s the best we can do. Best anyone can do, I reckon.”

Some of the tightness in Xander’s chest eased. He knew Spike was right. He had so much now, so much more than he’d ever dreamed of, really; it was selfish to wish it would never end. He snuffled a little. “’Kay.”

“Good boy.” And Spike chuckled a little. “I expect Angel and Kyna will be having a similar chat soon. Or perhaps first they’ll have the conversation where she realizes it’s very unlikely she’ll be a mum.”

“Oh. Shit. You think he’ll turn her someday?”

“Dunno. A Slayer who’s a vamp—an interesting idea. Don’t know that it would take.”

“Like me.” Because they’d talked about this once or twice, when Xander had been wounded in one fight or another, and the consensus was that trying to make a werewolf into a vampire was just asking for disaster. Spike wasn’t willing to risk Xander like that, and Xander wasn’t especially eager to take that risk.

“Nobody’s like you, Xan.” He threaded the fingers of one hand through the hair on the back of Xander’s head. “You’re one of a kind.”

Xander sniffled again, because that’s what happened to him when Spike went all schmoopy and Williamish on him. “At least promise me when I’m gone you’ll find someone else really quick. You don’t do well on your own, Spike.”

Spike snorted. “Oh, no worries. I’ve a whole stable of pretty boys and girls just waiting for you to kick it.”

Xander reached over and tickled Spike in that secret spot on his side, where nobody but Xander knew he was ticklish. “Well, you could wait until my corpse has cooled, Fangface.”

Spike grabbed at Xander’s hand and kissed the knuckles. In a tone that was suddenly very serious, he said, “You’re the last for me, love. If you go before I do, well, that’s it.”

“What do you mean ‘that’s it?’”

“‘By a sleep to say we end the heartache and the thousand natural shocks that flesh is heir to – ‘tis a consummation devoutly to be wished.’”

Xander blinked at him. “Suicide? You’ll kill yourself?!”

“Already dead, love. Twice over. Death doesn’t scare me.”

“But—”

“Xan, let’s not. I love you. I’ll make bloody certain you’re around a good long time and I’ll be with you and that’s all that’s important. All right? Please?”

Xander paused for a minute and then nodded. There wasn’t any point doing this now, and he did feel a little better. “Okay.”

Spike smiled with relief. “Fancy that hunt now? We’ve several hours before daylight. We could drive up the coast and—”

“Nah. Let’s just go home and make sure the laptop has that crap it’s supposed to. And then I’m thinking a good old dose of carpe diem for both of us.”

Spike lifted an eyebrow. “Does that dose involve nudity?”

“Most definitely. And probably foul language.”

They kissed, briefly but fervently, and then Spike started up the engine and pulled away from the curb.

***

There was a note for them on the whiteboard in the Hyperion lobby. The whiteboard had been Kyna’s idea, a convenient way for them to communicate, and all the men except Wes had grumbled about it. But Angel shut up right away when she reminded him that they wouldn’t need the whiteboard so much if he could figure out how to work a cell phone properly. Xander rarely carried a phone—no pockets in his wolf pelt—and Spike wouldn’t bother to answer his unless it was Xander calling him. So whiteboard it was.

The note was written in Kyna’s curly script and it stated that she, Angel, and Wes had gone to Santa Barbara to investigate reports of a malicious haunting. They didn’t expect to return until after sunset the next night.

“We’ve the place to ourselves,” Spike said, grinning. “I can nick some of the poof’s whiskey and—”

“Let’s just head upstairs, okay? We smell like birds, and our mattress is ever so much more comfy than wherever you were thinking of shagging down here.”

“Spoilsport.”

Xander grabbed Spike’s right hand—the left was holding the laptop—and pulled him up the stairs, all the way to their suite on the fourth floor. Xander had just put the finishing touches on their rooms a few weeks ago and the place was pretty close to perfect, although he’d probably still tweak a thing or two here and there. They had an enormous bathroom—as big as a standard hotel room—with a separate shower and a tub big enough for two. Xander had surprised Spike with a heated towel rack and had been thanked rather athletically for it. Their bedroom included a Cal king bed and north-facing windows with shutters, just in case. They had a kitchenette. Nothing too fancy but with all the basics, including a table big enough for guests. Wes joined them for dinner a couple times a week, and most Tuesday nights so did Kyna and Angel. And there was a spacious living area, with a huge flat-screen TV and two incredible couches. They’d tried hundreds before they’d settled on these. There were also several shelves to house Spike’s ever-expanding book collection and a desk with the computer they shared. It felt like home.

Xander really hoped no bad guys came to blow it up again.

Spike set the Fienars’ laptop down on the kitchen table and pulled Xander into an embrace. “You haven’t had a proper dinner tonight.”

“I had that burger on the way.”

“Like I said, no proper dinner. We’ve some steaks in the fridge, though. I’ll fry one up for you.”

“I thought you had other plans.”

“Oh, I do. But I reckon you ought to have a bite to eat now so I can have a bite to eat later. Wouldn’t want you to faint on me.”

Xander licked at Spike’s neck, exactly in that spot he knew drove his vampire crazy. “Somebody’s got a pretty high opinion of himself, thinking he can make me pass out.” He dug his teeth slightly into tender skin and Spike shuddered against him.

But then Spike swatted his ass and pushed him away. “Dinner first,” he said firmly.

“Is that my alpha speaking?”

“It is.”

“That mean you’re in the mood to top tonight?”

“Could be,” Spike responded with a leer.

“Fine. Then hurry up with that steak.”

Spike snorted and pushed Xander down onto a kitchen chair, then walked toward the cabinets and started to bustle around. Xander watched him happily. For some reason it gave him particular pleasure when Spike got all domestic. A couple weeks ago he’d walked into the suite to discover Spike pushing a vacuum around their floor, and that had ended up with two ruined shirts and one small stain on the area rug.

But after a few minutes Xander started fidgeting with the things on the table—salt and pepper shakers, a couple of paper napkins, a pen advertising DWIGHT LAM DDS, FAMILY DENTIST. But his hands inevitably made their way to the laptop and, as Spike hummed to himself and chopped vegetables for a salad, Xander opened the case and pressed the power button.

The Fienars’ wallpaper was a photo of a waterfall over mossy rocks. He’d expected something more exotic. Microsoft Windows 7 for Demons, maybe. There were only a few folders on the desktop, most of them with strings of what looked like random letters but were probably something meaningful in Fienarese. Fienarish. Whatever. But one of the folders was labeled in plain English: Harpies. Xander wondered exactly what kind of stuff you used to blackmail Harpies. He double-clicked on the folder.

Several files were revealed. Again, they were labeled in gobbledegook, so he chose one at random and double-clicked again. Something opened—it wasn’t a Word or Excel document and it wasn’t a web page, and that was about the limit of his computer knowledge. This thing made the screen go black like computers used to in the Dark Ages of DOS, with strings of greenish figures running across them. “Kinda like Matrix,” he muttered, and then yelped in surprise as the laptop jerked away from him.

But it was only Spike, who had yanked the computer away and was now scowling down at him. “What the bloody hell do you think you’re doing?”

“Just looking.”

“Likely as not to erase the files and create huge problems for us all. Pet, if you want to surf YouPorn, use our computer instead.”

“I wasn’t doing anything,” Xander protested. But Spike snapped the laptop shut and, with a final glare, set it on top of the fridge. Xander would have pouted more, but then Spike brought over a plate full of food and it smelled absolutely wonderful.

“Eat,” Spike said, setting the dish in front of him.

“Aren’t you gonna have some?” Xander asked, cutting eagerly into the slab of beef.

Spike pulled out a chair, flipped it around, and straddled it. “Nah. I’ve my stomach set on something tastier by far.”

“1981 Chateau de Harris?”

“Eighty-one is an excellent vintage.”

Xander grinned and chewed and swallowed. The steak was excellent—cooked enough to be just barely warm in the middle, with Spike’s garlic-free spice mix sprinkled heavily on top. He wasn’t as enthusiastic about the salad, but his alpha was watching him carefully, making sure he finished it all. “Want to keep you healthy,” Spike explained as Xander made a face over a tomato. “Keep you with me as long as we can.”

Oh. When he put it like that.... So Xander finished his salad and washed it down with the glass of wholesome milk Spike had poured for him and then, when he was officially a member of the clean plate club, he gave Spike his best wolfish grin. “I feel fortified,” he announced.

“Do you now?”

“Eight essential vitamins and minerals. Everything a growing vamp needs.”

“’M growing, all right,” Spike said, standing up and rubbing at the denim over his crotch.

Xander snorted with inelegant laughter and Spike mock-growled at him. “Laughing at your alpha, are you? I reckon someone’s earned himself a bit of punishment.” Spike’s eyes were sparkling.

Xander jumped up. “Gotta catch me first!” And he ran.

He was aiming for the door but, as he knew would happen, Spike got there first and grabbed him around the middle, then heaved him over one shoulder. As Xander pretended to struggle, Spike swatted his ass a few times and carried him across the room and into the bedroom, dumping him onto the bed.

There went another shirt, this one shredded right off Xander by Spike’s strong hands. Xander hurriedly kicked off his shoes and wiggled out of his jeans before they got ruined too. He liked this pair. As soon as he was bare, Spike flipped him over and slapped at his ass. A brief and interesting interlude followed, during which Xander managed to get Spike out of his clothing too, and Spike decided he should kiss better the red marks he’d made. But in the middle of all that fun Xander suddenly realized he was kind of tired, so he was a little relieved when Spike finally sank into him—first his cock, then his fangs—and they both climaxed, and then Xander spooned behind Spike and Spike pulled the blankets up and they both fell soundly asleep.