PART 27 – Always does
MONDAY
Xander briefly considered going after the vampire,
but the thought of acting out what might easily turn into a noisy quarrel
within earshot of his neighbors stopped him.
Instead, he took Anya's casserole out of the microwave.
*He'll be
back,* he told himself. *It's
not like I never insulted him before.* A thought that did nothing to make
him feel better. He ate a few bites, but there was a painful knot in his
stomach, so he soon put the fork down and headed for the bathroom.
*Wow,
looks like Spike actually cleaned it. Sort of. Points for intent rather than
thoroughness.* He stared
into the mirror. "So, this is what a total jerk looks like," he
muttered. His reflection agreed. Something caught his attention. *A jerk with a hickey?* He took off his
sweaty T-shirt and leaned closer to get a better look. *Oh Spike, you idiot! How am I supposed to keep this from Anya? It's a
miracle she hasn't seen it already!*
He touched the bruised and discolored skin, watching
mirror-Xander do the same. He was neither surprised nor shocked when his body
responded to the memory of Spike's lips with instant arousal.
If life on the Hellmouth had taught Xander one thing
it was that life was too short to lie to yourself about important things. You
could lie to others or keep a secret, but you should never kid yourself.
Otherwise you invited misery into your life, which, once invited, was harder to
get rid of than a stray dog. *Look at
Buffy, she lost the ability to smile even before she died. She's so firmly
entrenched in denial country...* He
shook his head. *And this is so not about
Buffy!* he reminded himself.
He had faced quite a few truths so far: Like the
truth that Buffy didn't love him and never would. *She's a Slayer, I'm a loser, not a match made in Heaven - or on a
Hellmouth.* The truth that he had no particular skill to contribute to the
fight against evil. *No mutant Spider
around to give ME Peter Parker superpowers.* The unexpected discovery that
Anya didn't just want to 'interlock bodies' with him but that she actually
loved him. *Loser boy teaching an
ex-demon all about worldly success, how rich is that?* Or the truth that
the prospect of marriage scared him to no end. *Cause I'm not sure the Harris family carries the marital bliss
gene...*
In light of these other truths Xander had come to
terms with, the fact that Spike made him hot wasn't all that monumental.
Neither was the realization that he actually felt more than simple lust for the
man. It just took getting used to...
* * *
"Where's Spike?" was the first thing Anya
asked when Xander walked into the Magic Box an hour later. He had just kissed
her over the counter and then looked around, hoping to see the bleached wonder
sulking in some corner.
"He's not here?" he asked, full of
apprehension. "He left before me..." he petered off uncertainly.
"Well, not waiting for non-punctual vampires,
here," Buffy decided. "He'll turn up. Always does."
"Yup, he's a bit like, you know, a boomerang,
you can toss him out but he'll always come back," Willow added.
"More like Malaria," Buffy said with a
shrug.
"Like we need his brains anyway," Xander
heard himself join in. *Oh no, my mouth
is on autopilot again!* he thought. *Do
we always sound this spiteful, when it comes to Spike?*
"I think he's smart," Anya chipped in, and
got surprised looks from the rest of the group.
"He is," Xander conceded, actively trying
to practice saying nice things about the vampire, even though Spike wasn't
around to appreciate the effort. "But for someone that smart he sure does
some dumb things, sometimes." *Oops,
backslide.* And when he felt the surprised glances redirected at him, he
giggled nervously (finding that he sounded uncannily like a hyena. *Bad memory. Bad memory.*). "Don't
we all?"
Buffy made a face, but let the matter rest.
They settled down with coffee and a stack of books to
research yet another instance of
"Want-to-end-the-world?-Welcome-to-the-Hellmouth!", that this Monday
had thrown at Sunnydale and its defenders.
However, Xander found it unusually hard to
concentrate on apocalypses, omens and monsters. All he could think of was just
how much verbal-abuse-of-Spike had become an ingrained habit. And the look on
the vampire's face... well, the memory was imprinted on the Xander brain. ‘Hit
by a truck’ was putting it mildly.
*Maybe I
should go and check if he's in his crypt? Apologize to him. Have hot and wild
make-up sex - Oops! Where did that come from?* Except
that Anya wouldn't let him roam the cemeteries at night (rightly so), and
taking Buffy along on THAT particular mission wasn't such a bright idea.
In the end, he and Anya drove directly home.
Xander noticed straight away that Spike had been back
at the apartment while they had been out. For when he checked the balcony, the plastic
sacks with the vampire's loot were gone.
He changed into his blue satin PJs, buttoning the top
up a bit further than usual to hide Spike's little memento of passion. Then he
went to bed. When Anya came into bed after him, smelling of coconuts, he pretended
to be asleep.
TUESDAY
On Tuesday morning, after wake-up sex but before
work, Xander quickly stopped by the cemetery only to find Spike's crypt devoid
of vampires, friendly or unfriendly. The opening in the ground that led to
Spike's lower level had been covered with a heavy stone slab. He called Spike's
name, but there was no response. Either the vampire didn't want to see him or
he wasn't in.
Xander couldn't think of many other places for the vampire
to sleep the day away. The fact that Spike wasn't resting in his crypt made him
strangely nervous. *Spike probably did
what Spike does best: beat something to a pulp and then killed a bottle of JDs
somewhere,* he tried to reassure himself. *He'll turn up. Always does.*
Xander would have liked to investigate further, but
he couldn't afford being late for work and drove off in a hurry.
Work was just as annoying as it was on Monday. Extra
hours peppered with foul language, just what he needed. *With some people, don’t you just wish you had a remote control to turn
them off? Or maybe just mute. I would
love a mute button right about now.*
Tuesday night was dedicated to more research and to
bandaging some injuries Buffy had sustained while fighting an Egyptian mummy
and its golem bodyguards. Xander silently added a 'check' to his mental list of
'monsters we haven't seen yet but are bound to encounter sooner or later.' *Can’t wait for the
Granting-three-wishes-to-Construction Workers-Genie…Or maybe the
Here’s-A-Million-Dollars-Demon.*
Still no Spike.
*He’ll
turn up. Always does.*
WEDNESDAY
On Wednesday morning Spike's crypt looked exactly
like it did the day before. No trace of the vampire. In fact, Xander didn’t even smell a hint of smoke. This time,
Xander had taken Anya with him, after telling her about the way he had insulted
the vampire.
"You know, just because he is a demon," she
had complained, "it doesn't mean it's alright to hurt his feelings. Demons
are people, too, at least some are."
"What about all the things he’s called ME?"
he had said. “Remember the ‘glorified brick-layer’?”
“Not lately, though.”
“Not lately,” he had admitted.
They took the time to search the place more
thoroughly. The mausoleum looked downright bare. The TV was gone. Radio, books
and knickknacks likewise. Only the larger pieces of furniture were still there.
Xander checked the fridge (which was empty) and was
startled by the fact that four photos were stuck to it with magnets. One was an
old crumpled black-and-white picture of Drusilla. One showed the Summers women:
Joyce, Buffy and Dawn. One, which was slightly out of focus, showed Xander and
Anya sharing an ice cream cone on a Ferris wheel *Hey, I remember that night. Spike was there?*, and
finally there was a snapshot of all the Scoobies, Giles included. It looked
like it had been taken at the Bronze on Tara's birthday, to which - of course -
Spike had not been invited. But apparently he had been there, lurking as usual.
*I bet
none of us keeps a photo of HIM around…* The
guilty knot in Xander’s stomach tightened. He pocketed the photos, deciding to
keep them safe until the vampire’s return.
*He'll
turn up. Always does.* It was like a chant. Would it
work if he repeated it often enough?
Why were all of Spike's personal things missing? Or
were they merely stored on the lower level?
Xander wondered if he should leave a note asking
Spike to call him. *Get a grip, he's only
been gone three days,* he told himself.
“He'll turn up. Always does,” Anya said with her
usual optimism.
The day dragged on. The evening came. No Scooby-ing,
as the slaying of the mummy had averted the descent of the Biblical plagues on
an unsuspecting Sunnydale.
Plenty of apocalypse-avoidance.
Not enough Spike.
THURSDAY
On Thursday night, Spike was still AWOL. Finally,
Xander asked Buffy to check out Willy's to inquire about the blond vampire's
whereabouts.
"Why would I wanna go looking for Spike?"
Buffy asked. She didn't mention that she had stopped by Spike's crypt twice
since Tuesday, irritated and intrigued by the vampire's inexplicable absence.
"Cause he's... you know, part of the team, in a
way," Xander babbled, "It's just... we could do with his help. And
he's been quite, you know, reliable lately, he’s not all ‘goody-two-shoes’ or
anything, I know, but I've kinda gotten used to having him around, and..."
"What Xander is trying to say," Anya
interrupted, "is that Spike is..."
"He's a friend!" Xander finished her
sentence. *There! I said it!*
"Oh?"
Buffy said, evidently surprised. "Isn't life full of surprises...that make
me want to gag."
Willow smiled, "You and Spike are friends?
Officially? As in, you do the buddy thing, hanging out together and talking
about boy's stuff? Oh, I’m glad to hear it. I mean, not so much the Spike part,
but the part about you being friends with someone, even if he's, well, you
know, undead. How did it happen?"
"Officially? Nah, I never actually told
him..." he said, fully realizing now that perhaps he should have. *Idiot!* "You know, we manly men never really talk about all that
mushy stuff. But we played a few games of pool last summer, Anyway, last
Friday, when you had your girl’s night, Spike and I watched some Monty Pythons,
and we talked about... stuff... and bingo, it sort of hit me that he's...
well..." he didn't know how to finish the sentence. He had seldom felt so
inarticulate. “I kinda miss him,” he
said, but was quick to add, “a little.”
“Weirder things have happened. I mean, we are sitting
on a Hellmouth,” Buffy sighed and left.
An hour later Buffy returned with the information
that Spike had climbed into his deSoto and driven off towards L.A.
"When was that?"
"Monday night."
*He’ll
turn up. Always does. But what if he doesn’t?*
FRIDAY
On Friday, Xander exploded. *No, not literally!*
When, during lunch-break, that irritating homophobe
cracked another vicious joke, something in Xander snapped. He took the man
aside. "Okay buster, listen carefully, cause I'll only say this once. I
don't like your attitude or your sense of humor. Keep'em to yourself. If I hear
one more crude joke about gays, faggots, pansies, queers, homos or whatever you
call them, one more joke, I'll fire you faster than it takes to say 'fuck you',
do I make myself clear?"
"I don't believe this," the man raised his
voice. "You can't be serious. You can't fire a man 'cause he tells a joke
or two!"
"You better believe it," Xander said, aware
of the fact that his entire crew was watching the exchange. "One more
lapse of good taste and you are out of the construction business."
"What do you care? Ooh that's it," the man
shouted, "You're one of them. Hey guys, Harris is a faggot! Shit, the
fucking pansies are everywhere!"
There was a stunned silence.
"No, I'm not, but I'm beginning to think that
you might be," Xander said. "And even if I were, it would be none of
your business."
The man scoffed. "You can't fire me. This is a
free country, I can speak my mind like the next man. Freedom of speech and all
that. You know, the whats-it-called? Declaration of Independence."
"It's the Constitution, you moron. But don't
worry, you'll have plenty of time to look it up. Get the fuck off my site.
You're fired."
"You haven't heard the last from me, Harris.
This isn't over!"
"Library," Xander said. "It's the
place with all those books. You know, li-brar-y!"
"Fuck you, Harris!" he said as he grabbed
his lunchbox and stormed to his truck.
"And what are you all gawking at?" Xander
asked his crew. "Get back to work, will ya? Show's over."
He grinned. He felt much better, already. Now all he
had to do was make up with Spike.
*And if he
doesn’t turn up on his own, I’ll make him!*
With that decision made, the painful knot in his
stomach eased noticeably. The rest of the day passed quickly enough.
Eventually, Xander wished his crew a good weekend and climbed into his car. On
his way home he stopped at a sex shop to buy a tube of lube. *Just in case.*
At
home Xander picked up the phone. If Spike had really gone to L.A. maybe his sire
or grandsire or whatever knew how to reach him. Time to give Angel a call.