NOTHING IS FOREVER 4
by
flaming muse

 

 

 

It took a while, but finally Spike's brain started to function again enough to make himself blink. He was gobsmacked by what Xander had said, and it was through sheer force of will that he didn't use every bit of vampiric speed to chase after the man and shake him until he was certain that he was telling the truth. No, no, he had made an entirely sensible and rational decision to stay away from his old life, and he was going to stick to it, no matter how much care and concern Xander happened to show him; history had demonstrated that it was when he deviated from his plans that things tended to go terribly wrong.

Making his decision hadn't been nearly as easy as he had made it sound when he had told Xander about his seemingly miraculous reappearance. When he had first opened his eyes and had realized that he wasn't actually part of the dust coating the warehouse floor, his thoughts had immediately flown to Buffy and everyone else at the school. Had he failed? Where was he? How had he gotten there? What the hell was going on? He had clambered to his feet and rushed to the door, too concerned even to register whether it was night or day. Fortunately for him, it was evening, and the moment that he had stepped outside he had known where he was. Nowhere else on earth smelled quite like Los Angeles.

So he was in LA, he wasn't dust, and, according to a sheet of newspaper that he snatched from the air as it fluttered past him, it was July.

"July?" He stared at the paper in his hand.

Two months since he had felt himself burning up in that final conflagration. The world didn't seem to have gone entirely evil, unless you counted the newest spate of reality TV shows that the networks were touting on the page that he held. The Scoobies must've done okay, then. They must've won. But why was he not a big pile of dust and why the hell was he in LA?

Spike turned to look back at the floor of the warehouse and wandered around the empty space. There were no tracks but his own, yet the dust seemed to form faint geometric shapes around where he had lain. If it was a spell, it was a long-distance one. There was no one else around.

In the middle of his imprint was something sparkling, and he reached over to pick it up. Twisted and charred though it was, it was still recognizably the amulet. He stared at it in his hand for a long moment, remembering Buffy calling him a champion when she had given it to him, remembering the pride that he had felt and also the fear. He was no champion. He knew it. He was just the best that they had had. He hoped that it had been enough.

He suddenly felt tired beyond even his many years as he pocketed the amulet. It was time to find out what had happened. Time to find his brooding grand-sire's evil law firm and see if he could get some answers. If anyone would know what had happened, it would be Angel. Then he could find Buffy and…

And what? Find Buffy and what? She didn't love him, not like he wanted, and he knew that she never would. Sure, she had come to depend on him, and he valued her trust more than almost anything she could have given him, but he was still not really a part of the team. The Scoobies didn't trust him, and they had history enough that they were smart not to start. Soul or no soul he was still Spike. He could never be one of them.

So if he went back to Buffy, what would happen? At best, he'd be the vampire in the basement or the closet - sorry, "spare room." He'd be the extra muscle, the guy who hung out in the shadows in the back of the room. With all of the other Slayers out there, Buffy wouldn't need him as her lieutenant, wouldn't need him to watch her back. He'd just be another sorry hanger-on, a groupie, someone for the new Slayers to fear and the older ones to distrust. Even the Scoobies were uncomfortable around him and saw him as an outsider regardless of his loyalty. If he was with them, he'd just watch his indifferent companions potentially age and definitely die while he existed in limbo with no life of his own but the pain of constant if subtle rejection. And that was at best.

He looked back at the geometric patterns on the floor and felt the weight of the amulet in his pocket.

"I'm not a bloody champion," he had declared to the empty room. "I'm just a bloke trying to get by, trying to do the right thing day by day. I don't know why I've got another chance at this, but I'm sure as hell not going to waste my new lease on unlife being miserable. I know I deserve punishment, but I don't have to seek it out."

So Spike had pried some of the gems out of the amulet and had sold them quietly to a demon he knew. Then he took off across the country, getting as far away from California as he could.

Sure, he had been horribly torn over not contacting Buffy, but he knew that it made sense. As much as he wanted to be by her side until the next end, it wasn't the right choice. What would it serve but creating more pain? Didn't they both deserve better? Buffy didn't need him, the Scoobies didn't want him, so what was the point in letting them know that he was alive? They probably weren't grieving now, so why bring up the past and get entangled again? They all were moving on, living their new lives. Even him.

But he had to be sure. So before he left he had made an inquiry through one of his contacts. He had to know if certain people had survived the battle. Buffy, obviously. Dawn, of course. Willow, because she and he had had more in common than they had been willing to admit and because he had always liked her. Xander, because… because they should have been friends after so many years and yet had never quite gotten there. So he had sent out his request for information and had gotten his one-word answer in reply. "Yes." They were all alive. He had allowed himself a brief, wistful smile, and then he had left town. He had not looked back.

Except now here was Xander unexpectedly showing up in his restaurant three thousand miles away, and not only did the boy - man - want to talk with him but he seemed actually to have missed him and to have regretted how things had been between them. Spike knew that letting himself come near any of the Scoobies was to be allowed briefly in and then to be rejected again as the novelty of the resurrected vampire wore off, but it was Xander, and he was here, and he of all of them, the one who had hated him the most, somehow wanted to have something to do with Spike.

A spark flared deep in the vampire's heart, and he couldn't put it out.

And so he found himself two weeks later watching Xander from across the restaurant. The young man was clearly trying to stay focused on the conversation with his companions, but he kept glancing about nervously before forcing himself to pay attention again. Spike let himself enjoy the man's familiar face for a moment before turning away to answer the questions of his staff, who always seemed to congregate around him when he was on the floor. Yet he couldn't keep himself from looking up time and time again to check on Xander, not sure whether he was hoping for the man to have noticed him or not.

The sharp flash of excitement that rushed through him as they unexpectedly locked eyes answered that question. Spike berated himself soundly when he didn't look away but was held to the spot by the intensity of Xander's gaze. Xander watched him sadly for a moment and then ducked his head, returning his attention to his plate.

Spike sighed, disentangled himself from his employees, and retreated to his office. Grabbing a bottle from the small fridge beneath his desk, he took a long swig of beer and leaned back in his chair. He tried desperately to think of nothing, to keep his so easily awoken heart from thawing, to remember all that he had built over the past two years, and to forget how achingly lonely he had been. He knew that he didn't want human friends, didn't want demon allies, didn't want anything in his life taking from him and not giving, not anymore.

And yet… and yet… he was a social creature, and he could admit that he had always been desperate for affection. Here was someone whose warm, giving heart he had laughed at so frequently and whose loyalty was unbounded, and if he wanted to be friendly with Spike then how on this earth was he supposed to be strong enough to refuse?

"I am such a git," he said as he took another sip of beer.

Here he was, a century-old vampire with more blood on his hands than all of the human serial killers in prison put together, and he was wondering how he was going to stay away from one glorified bricklayer and - don't forget - expert bowler whose open smile promised the acceptance and companionship that he had desperately craved for so long.

"By not moving out of this goddamned chair, that's how, you soft-hearted pillock," he growled to himself. "I've been down that path, and I'm not doing it again. I'm not one of them and never will be. I'm not putting my head on the block for them. Not going to bloody happen."

There was a brief knock on his door.

"Yeah?"

Anne, the assistant manager, poked her head in.

"Sorry, boss, but there's a guy here who wants to organize a private party for the night of Hallowe'en. He wants to book the whole place," she said. "Jason's busy, so I wondered if you could handle it."

"Send him in."

Good. Work. That'll take his mind off of…

Bollocks!

Xander walked through the door, his gaze everywhere but on Spike.

"Look, I'm sorry," Xander said, brushing a hand through his hair and fiddling with the manila folder in his hands. "My boss told me to take care of it, and he wanted to do it here, and I didn't know that I'd have to talk to you. I'll have my assistant take over once I've hired an assistant, but I have it down to two people so it won't be more than a week or so, and…"

"You do realize that it'll be expensive to book the entire restaurant for the night," Spike said, using his patented customer-relations voice. This was business. He could do business. The situation didn't have to get personal at all, and he wasn't stupid enough to turn down a paying customer just because of his own past weaknesses.

"The boss is flying in people from everywhere to see the building. He doesn't care about the cost," Xander replied. He set the folder on Spike's desk and backed off quickly toward the door. "There are the details. I tried to write out everything, but if you have any questions my number's on the…"

"I'm not going to bite you." Spike plastered a polite smile on his face.

Xander looked up at him, startled, and then looked away again.

"I didn't think you were. I mean, with the soul and everything, I assumed that you weren't big on the biting anymore, and…"

"Harris!"

Xander closed his mouth and met Spike's eyes.

"We've gotten off on the wrong foot here," Spike said, putting the folder back on his desk and rising to his feet. "You're obviously going to be in the area for a while, and there's no reason for us to be tiptoeing around each other. Right?"

Xander nodded.

"So don't worry about it. We'll plan your party, and you can eat here without worrying about me, and that's that. No worrying about the past. Just a friendly business relationship. Okay?"

Relief bloomed across Xander's face. If there was some sadness still visible in his eye, Spike firmly ignored it.

"Okay. Sorry. Thanks."

Xander extended his hand to shake on the deal. As soon as Spike touched the other man's skin, he knew that he had made the wrong decision. He should have run away from Xander the moment he had set eyes on him, because now his warmth shot straight from his fingers to lodge in his chest, and Spike knew all too well that his plans of distance and professionalism were, like so many of his plans over the years, shot entirely to hell.

 

PART 5

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