NOTHING IS FOREVER 5
by
flaming muse

 

 

 

Xander's cell phone rang somewhere in the midst of the disaster area that was his new apartment, and he dug through the piles of boxes and bags to find it. Finally he located it under a rolled-up area rug, and he flipped it open.

"Alexander Harris."

"I'm so sorry to bother you, Mr. Harris," came the voice of Cassie, his new assistant, from the tiny speaker. "I know you're moving in today, but the main office just called and said that there's some paperwork you need to sign ASAP."

"First of all and not for the first time, please call me Xander." He checked his watch and then brushed his sweaty hair back from his forehead. "Secondly, I've got some furniture being delivered within the next hour, if they can be trusted *this* time with their estimate, and I can't get over there anytime soon. Can you send someone over with them?"

"Right away. I'm really sorry to bother you."

"I'm moving into a new apartment on a horrible rainy day with no phone hookup, an elevator that has stopped working twice today for no reason, a superintendent who doesn't seem to want to fix it, and a furniture delivery that is four hours late. A couple of signatures is no problem at all. You have my new address?"

"Yes, sir."

"Great. Thanks, Cassie."

Xander hung up his phone and shoved it in the pocket of his ratty jeans. There was no sense in losing it all over again.

He was back in the bedroom trying to shove his garment bags full of clothes into the cramped closet when there was a knock on the apartment door.

"Come in!" he yelled, struggling to get the tangled hangers to hook onto the already sagging wooden bar. Since he had gone into management, he had had to purchase dozens of suits, shirts, and slacks, and it looked frighteningly likely that they would be too much for the cheaply-built closet.

"Another thing I'll have to fix," Xander muttered, stuffing the bags inside and pulling the hinged door shut. The knob came off in his hand, and he questioned for not the first time the wisdom of taking an apartment because of its proximity to his work and not because of its amenities. He tossed the knob onto the ground next to the closet. "Tomorrow."

"I would have thought that years of life in Sunnydale would have taught you never to invite just anyone into your home," a voice drawled from the doorway.

There stood Spike, calm and collected in a button-up black shirt and jeans. His duster, the one that he had worn for so many years, was somewhat damp but in its proper place on his lean frame. He looked as perfectly composed as Xander felt sweaty and rumpled.

"I thought you were the furniture delivery people," Xander said stupidly. He wiped the sweat from his eyes with the sleeve of his faded Sunnydale High t-shirt.

"As you see, I am not," said Spike. *Spike*, who was in his apartment, in the doorway to his bedroom, talking to him.

"What are you doing here? Isn't it day? Not that the whole sunlight thing ever seemed to stop you from going wherever you wanted, but..."

"Have you looked outside? It's raining so hard I thought about taking an ark. And I came over because I have things for you to sign." Spike reached into the pocket of his duster and pulled out a roll of papers.

"Shit, Cassie asked *you* to be her courier?"

"Well, the paperwork is for me, so this way I can take them back to the restaurant with me and fax over the copies to your boss for his records."

"Right. Let me find a pen." Xander managed to tear his eyes away from the remarkably aesthetically-pleasing sight of Spike in his doorway and looked around at the chaos. "Uh... it might take a minute."

"Here." Spike pulled a slender silver-colored pen from an inner pocket of his duster.

"Wow, that's nice," Xander said as he accepted it. He unrolled the papers against the wall and scrawled his signature in the marked spaces.

Spike shrugged and leaned his shoulder against the doorjamb.

"I nicked it from some bloke I ate back in the 80s. Hasn't given me any trouble. Not like him; he screamed bloody murder... well, until the actual bloody murder."

Wrinkling his nose, Xander flipped to the next page that needed his signature. He guessed from the overly bland tone of Spike's voice that he was just trying to get a rise out of him. The thought that Spike was willing to put even that much effort into the conversation made a warm little ball of something form in his stomach.

"Are all of your possessions trophies?" Xander asked. "Coat, pen..."

"Nah. If I like something then I stick to it. See no need to change."

"Hence the bleach and leather look decades past the seventies."

"As I said, if it works..."

Xander handed the papers and pen back to Spike.

"Sorry to drag you over here for that," he said. "Especially since it's kind of your sleep time, right?"

Spike shrugged again.

"I was up."

"Still keeping weird hours?"

"I don't need much sleep."

"Yeah, you never did," said Xander. "Hey, I got a letter from..."

"So, new place?" Spike asked quickly. "I like the decoration. Very chaotic-minimalist. I hear it's a big trend in New York."

Xander laughed and allowed the conversation to be turned away from things past. Anything to keep Spike there. Xander's fingers itched to touch him, to confirm that this vision in black leather was really in his apartment, but he forced himself to be calm.

"Thanks. I'm calling it tornado-chic."

Spike smirked and nodded back toward the living room. "It does have that cows-and-trailers-hurtling-through-the-air look. Need more manure, maybe."

"I'll keep that in mind. God, I'll be glad for the couch and the bed when today is over; I'm already exhausted, and I really don't want to sleep on the floor."

"Besides that, it's easier to seduce the ladies when there's a bed to fall into. You've got to have priorities, mate."

Xander laughed again, this time more nervously.

"I'm not big on seducing the ladies," he said.

"What? Don't tell me you can't find any more demons to show an interest in you. You're employed, not entirely repulsive to look at, and you don't smell nearly so bad as you used to..."

Xander flipped Spike the finger and returned his grin.

"Actually," he said, using the hem of his shirt to wipe the sweat from his face, "it's kind of funny, but it turns out that I'm not so big on the ladies at all, demon or otherwise."

As he released the shirt to fall back over his stomach, he met Spike's gaze, and his mouth went completely dry. For just a moment, there was a flash of *something* in Spike's eyes, something dark and primitive and very, very compelling, and then the smirking veneer fell back into place.

"Is that right?" Spike asked, examining his nails. Xander noticed that they were unpolished but were bitten to the quick.

"Yeah. And how I figured it out is a funny story that I *so* won't be sharing right now."

"Well, I imagine blokes like a nice bed, too."

"Actually, I've found that we're not nearly so picky," said Xander with a weak grin. He desperately wanted to get off of this topic of conversation, but he didn't want to say the wrong thing and end the uneasy conversation entirely.

Spike just raised an eyebrow.

"Uh... I mean, we seem to be less bothered by icky substances and unromantic settings. We're more... uh... practical, I guess."

Xander wasn't sure if he was relieved or disappointed when his cell phone rang and interrupted his ramble.

"Just a sec," he said to Spike as he pulled his phone out of his pocket. "This had better be the delivery guys."

It was indeed the delivery guys, and they were extremely annoyed to find that the elevator in Xander's building was out of order.

"If you'd gotten here a couple of hours earlier it would have been working," Xander snapped after a few minutes of whining. "Just take the stairs. It's only three flights."

He ended the call and shoved the phone into his pocket.

"Was it really working earlier?" Spike asked.

"The elevator? Off and on. So it might've been."

"And you're going to make them carry a sofa up to the fourth floor?"

"Yep. And my bed. They're nearly five hours late, with no explanation or apology. Want to have a beer and watch?"

Spike looked around the room and then back at him. His surprise was evident.

"You've got beer?"

"I may like to fuck guys, Spike, but I am still a man. I have no dishes, no furniture, and no phone, but I do have beer."

Spike blinked and nodded.

"Right, then. On to the entertainment."

The deliverers, knowing full well that they were at fault and perhaps a bit cowed by the tone of Xander's voice, began the slow process of lugging the furniture up to Xander's apartment.

Spike and Xander leaned against the counter that separated the kitchen from the living room and watched for the first few trips, but Xander's inherent kindness soon overcame his annoyance and he pitched in to help get the bulky king mattress up the stairs.

Even Spike shrugged off his coat and helped when the movers had trouble getting the couch around the corner of the hallway and into the apartment. He took the weight of the sofa with ease and lifted up his end high enough that they could make the turn.

"Thanks for that," Xander said somewhat breathlessly after the delivery guys finally left. "I don't think we would have gotten the couch in here without you."

"I was worried that I'd never be able to leave if you lot got it stuck in the doorway."

"Yeah, and I don't even have cable yet." Xander wandered into the kitchen and opened the refrigerator. "Want another beer?"

"Wouldn't say no. At least there's a place to sit now."

"I'm afraid to try it. I might not get back up again." He twisted the caps off of the bottles and handed one to Spike over the counter.

"It looks..."

Xander's phone rang again, and he set down his beer.

"Sorry," he said. "It's probably Cassie. I'll just be a sec. Why don't you try out the couch?"

Spike wandered over to the sofa, which currently sat kitty-cornered by the front door in the only clear bit of floor, and lowered himself down onto the deep, molasses-colored cushions. He sat at the edge for a moment and then leaned back comfortably and spread his arms along the rear cushions.

It took a second for Xander to remember what he was doing as he took in the graceful, black-clad figure reclining on his couch. Spike looked totally relaxed and absolutely, unquestionably fuckable.

*Fuckable? No, no, not fuckable. He's *Spike*. Okay, yes, he's drop-dead gorgeous, but he's also actually dead. And, you know, doesn't want anything to do with me. And he's probably still in love with Buffy. And he's...*

The phone rang again in his hand, and Xander turned away slightly before he flipped it open.

"Alexander Harris."

"Hey, Xander! Is your apartment all homey yet or are you still in the disaster phase?"

The sound of Willow's voice made Xander grin, but he lost the expression nearly before it could reach his lips as he saw Spike stiffen out of the corner of his eye. The vampire's lips lost their slight smile, and he rose swiftly to his feet.

Without a word, Spike placed his bottle on the counter and grabbed his coat.

"Wait, you don't have to...," Xander said, but Spike was already over the couch in a fluid leap and out the door.

"I'm sorry, Xander, am I interrupting? Do you have someone there?" Willow asked.

"No, I..."

"Do you have friends helping? Or maybe someone special? It is someone special? I can call back tomorrow. Or next week? Do you want me to call back next week?"

"It's okay. He left. There's no one here now."

"But there *was* someone there?" Willow asked. He could hear her smiling and knew that she'd be poking him in the arm if she were there.

"Yeah, but..."

"I knew that Boston would be a good place for you to meet people. Is he cute?"

"Willow! It was..." *Spike? A friend?* He couldn't say either. Xander let out a disappointed sigh. "No one. It was no one."
 

PART 6

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