PART 26 - You must be Joking
There were at least two things that Garfield the Cat
and Xander Harris had in common. Both loved eating Pizza and both hated
Mondays. *Wait a minute, wasn’t Garfield
a Lasagna-freak?* A voice in Xander's head seemed to object to the
comparison. But he was too gloomy and weary to argue, even with himself, as he
drove onto the parking lot. *Home, sweet home!*
He wasn't in the best of moods. Work had been hectic,
with the need to fire one of his crew for sloppy work, and the necessity to
re-do part of the guy's work from scratch. That would slow down the overall
completion of the current assignment for at least a couple of days. Bye bye
bonus! Unless everybody put in some extra hours. Starting as of today. Which is
why he was late.
He had counted on the extra money. Anya liked
expensive presents, and not just for her birthday. Wow, he had never realized
before that it was so costly for a woman to smell nice. The first time he had
checked out perfumes the prices had made him stagger…
While he was not quite as fascinated *ok,
obsessed* with money (acquiring, having, saving, or simply counting it) as Anya
was, Xander tended to think twice before spending it - a habit leftover from
his teen days. His folks had never been very generous or conscientious when it
came to handing out pocket money. Still, he was quite prepared to spend money
on Anya, *now that I can actually afford to* - it meant expressing his
feelings towards her in a language she easily understood. Talking, really
talking, well that didn't always come easy, not even with outspoken Anya.
Because Alexander Harris, the guy with the funny jokes
and the quick wit was actually very good at keeping things to himself...
"Did
you hear about the three faggots who attacked a woman?
Two held
her down while the third did her hair."
The main reason why work had been unusually
unpleasant had been his own nervousness. Somehow he had felt like he was
running a gauntlet. He KNEW he hadn't changed visibly over night. *For
'night' read 'weekend'* No one knew that he had had sex with another man
and that he was fantasizing about doing it again, whenever he allowed his mind
to wander. The same way none of his crew knew that he spent most of his spare
time roaming the cemeteries slaying vampires or sitting in the Magic Box
researching the manifold manifestations of evil. But he still felt as if he had
had the word 'gay' tattooed on his forehead.
"Did
you hear about the gay tennis pro?
He blew his
rival off the court."
Not that he felt very gay - there were enough strong,
hunky and good-looking men working on the construction site, but the mere
though of having sex with one of them... *Eeew.*
Why did one of the guys working under him - *Figuratively!!!*
- have to be a raging homophobic? Before this confusing weekend the man's jokes
about gays hadn't bothered Xander. Much. But today? It had seemed the jerk was
never going to shut up.
"Why
was the homo fired from the sperm bank?
Because he
was caught drinking on the job."
*Very funny!*
"Why
did the gay man get a job at the loading dock?
He loved
taking deliveries in the rear."
And those were the mild ones.
Finally, it had become too much. Xander had been so
fed up with the man, he had sent him to work at the farthest end of the site,
where he didn't have to listen to any more spiteful remarks about 'rear
deliveries', 'brown meat', 'farts' or other unpleasantries.
But the damage was done. The memories of this
exciting weekend, that had felt like ride on a roller coaster, with its ups and
down, its eagerly anticipated plunges and unexpected twists and turns, had
suddenly turned sour. Xander had felt sleazy, dirty and dishonest.
*Boy, what a turn-off.*
He sighed, turned off the engine and was about to get
out of the car when he saw his neighbor, Mrs. Hambley, walking her dog. He
ducked behind the wheel before she could see him. He so didn't want to discuss
naked men in his apartment. *Eeep, singular. A. Naked. Man. Bad enough.
Phew.*
He waited another minute, then he entered the
building.
“How can you make a faggot scream twice?
Fuck him real hard. Then wipe your
dick off on his curtains.”
He inserted the key, fervently hoping that he'd have
the apartment to himself, that Anya would still be at the shop, despite the
late hour. All he wanted was a bit of quiet, a nice hot shower and a hot meal,
if possible, perhaps a beer or two, if Spike had left any...
Spike.
The last thing Xander wanted to see when he came home
was, in fact, the first thing he saw. Spike.
The blond vampire was standing behind the kitchen
counter, holding the phone to his ear and talking animatedly.
"...Yeah sure, I think I can make it." He
was smirking. "No, don't worry, I will, just once... oh right, hold on a
sec, yeah, here he is... you wanna talk to him?"
Xander dropped his tools and strode towards the
kitchenette, reaching for the receiver. The blond held on to it, bending out of
reach.
"Sure, Ahn? Right... will do, luv. Ta Ta."
He pressed the button that killed the connection and turned to Xander.
"Anya says ‘hi’. Scooby meeting tonight. She'll see us at the shop in an
hour."
Spike found himself smiling at a pair of furious
brown eyes.
Xander slammed his keys on the counter, with more
force than necessary.
"Hey mooch, what are you still doing here?"
Xander asked. "Does your crypt have termites, or something, or did you
just forget how to get back to that smelly, dusty, grave-type place you call home?"
"What?" Spike asked, totally thrown by the
young man’s obvious hostility. But then his face became blank. He pursed his
lips and nodded once. Without another word he picked up his duster and walked
to the door.
*Oh god, did that just really come out of my
mouth?* Xander thought, appalled at the spite in his own words. “Spike,” he
stammered, “I… I’m sorry, I didn’t mean…”
Spike halted, half turning towards Xander. For a
moment it looked as if the vampire was about to say something but then he just
made a dismissive gesture. The next moment the door closed behind him with a
soft click.
As Xander was still staring at the closed door, with a
strange feeling that made him sick to his stomach and which tasted a lot like
guilt, the microwave beeped. His dinner was ready.