NOTHING
IS FOREVER 3
by
flaming
muse
Xander frequented Spike's restaurant at least once a week for the next month,
though he never ate there alone again and he never spoke with Spike. The vampire
made sure of that.
Spike kept a close eye on him but was careful to stay
out of his sight. He did allow himself the luxury of memorizing the strong lines
of Xander's face, which were somewhat more mature than he had remembered and
only slightly marred by the eye-patch that he now wore so comfortably, but he
refused to let himself be drawn in again. That way lay only pain, and he bloody
well had learned his lesson. He wouldn't get involved with humans, particularly
Scoobies, not in any way other than taking their money and perhaps their blood.
Not again.
Spike was relieved to realize after seeing Xander come in with
his co-workers a few weeks in a row that the man was in fact making no attempt
to search him out other than to cast curious glances around the restaurant once
in a while. Those glances probably weren't even for him. If the vampire was in
some small way disappointed by that fact, he refused to acknowledge it. Instead
he focused on being relieved that he wouldn't have to move on again now that he
had finally made a small place for himself.
So it was with some surprise
that he heard his name being called a few weeks later by that very same
laughter-filled voice that he heard increasingly frequently in his unsettled
dreams. Of course, this time the laughter was not mocking but full of cheer and
perhaps more than a bit too much alcohol.
"Spike!" Xander called again,
and the vampire turned away from the hostess stand where he was checking on the
next night's reservations to face his old - well, they were never friends, were
they? - to face Xander, the young man who had taunted him for so many years and
who seemed finally to have escaped the Hellmouth for good. It was too bad that
he had escaped to Boston to taunt Spike with old memories, but...
"Did
you have a nice meal?" he asked with professional courtesy, pitching his voice
to include the rest of Xander's group.
"Yeah, the salmon special was
excellent," Xander said. His eyes were bright with his intoxication. "The
mustard-dill sauce made my toes curl. You should put it on the regular
menu."
"Thank you for the suggestion. Enjoy the rest of your evening,"
said Spike, turning back to the leather-bound book.
"No, wait, Spike. I
want to talk with you."
"About what? The restaurant business? 'Cause
that's all that I can see that we have in common."
"Well, yeah, actually,
that would be interesting," Xander said with a smile. "I mean, why'd you pick a
restaurant of all things, and why did you come to Boston, and...?"
"Your
friends are waiting," Spike said pointedly. "Don't let me keep
you."
"Damn it, Spike!" Xander moved in closer, his good humor suddenly
gone. "Why won't you talk to me?"
"I was under the impression that we
were talking."
"Look, tomorrow is Saturday. I don't have to work.
Let's get together and talk."
"About what?" Spike asked sharply,
trying to keep his voice low so as not to disturb his customers. "What is there
to say? Are you going to try to coax me back into the Scooby fold? Do you need a
lapdog while you're in Beantown? Just give it up, Harris. I'm not interested."
He turned his back on Xander, found the information that he needed in the book,
and was surprised to find his exit blocked by the broad chest of the other
man.
"No Scoobies, Spike. No lapdog. Just us," Xander said quietly. "You
know me. I've always been honest with you. I won't lie and say that I don't want
to know what happened to you, but I want to know what's going on with you
now more. Come on. One conversation. I'll buy you a
beer."
"Saturday is a busy day for us," said Spike, hating himself for
feeling his resolve wavering under the kindness and concern in Xander's
expression. "I should be here." Not that his highly-efficient staff couldn't
take care of any problem, but spending all of his waking hours at the restaurant
kept him from thinking about the void that was the rest of his unlife,
so...
"Then I'll come by. When's good? Two?"
Spike called himself
a thousand kinds of fool as he nodded, drawn by Xander's compassion. He knew
that he was setting himself up to get burned again, but what was the harm of one
beer and a few tall tales for old time's sake?
Idiot, he
thought.
"Great. I'll see you at two. G'night," said Xander. At Spike's
nod, he rejoined his friends and wandered off with them into the
night.
I'm such a stupid git. I'm never going to bleeding learn, am
I? Spike thought miserably and went back to work.
*
Just
before two, Xander descended into Cold Comfort and asked the hostess to tell
Spike that he was there. The lunch crowd had thinned, but the restaurant was
still mostly full, and the staff was busy taking care of their customers. It
took a few minutes for Spike to arrive, and Xander watched his progress across
the restaurant with interest.
The vampire appeared to be in his element,
sleek and striking in his plain black t-shirt and jeans, and his staff scurried
around him, asking questions and taking instructions. He was wholly at ease as
he directed them, and Xander was suddenly struck with how gloriously masterful
Spike must have been when he took over the vamps in Sunnydale. As quick with a
smile as he was with a sharp word, he seemed to know exactly what to do to get
people to do his bidding.
The staff are like his underlings,
Xander thought. Human underlings, yeah, but looking up to him for everything
anyway. They know what's expected of them, and they are all scrambling for his
attention and approval. Just like vamps, except that there's no growling or
anything, and the staff aren't blood-sucking demons... Wait, are the staff
vampires? Or other kinds of demons? Just what kind of place is
this?
"Come on back," Spike said to Xander as he reached him. He
turned around and walked toward the rear of the restaurant without waiting to
see if he was being followed.
Of course, Xander trailed after him without
hesitation, though he glanced warily at the staff as he passed.
They
walked by the entrance into the kitchen and turned into a darkened corridor
beyond it. Spike opened a wooden door about halfway down the narrow hallway and
ushered Xander inside. As soon as the door closed the sounds of raised voices
and clanging pans were no longer audible.
"Have a seat," Spike said,
gesturing to a long leather couch along one wall and sliding into the matching
chair behind his paper-covered desk. "Just give me a second to finish up with
these invoices, and I'll be with you. There's always more bloody
paperwork."
Xander used the moment of silence to look around the office.
It wasn't large, but the furniture was comfortable and the lights soothing.
Bookshelves lined two walls, while a large painting hung above Xander's head
opposite the desk. He couldn't see the design without being obvious about
turning around, but he could tell that the colors were dark and rich. Behind
Spike were four panels of the same lit stained glass as in the main part of the
restaurant, and the multi-colored light shone over Spike's fair hair as he bent
to his work.
In the corner by the door was a coat stand, and on it was
the short leather jacket that Xander had seen Spike wear that first
night.
"Finally gave up the duster?" he asked.
Spike looked up
from the papers in his hands.
"No. It's at home. Wouldn't do to scare the
customers." He scrawled something across the bottom of the page before placing
it on one of the piles on his desk.
"So you said something about a
beer?"
"Wouldn't say no," said Xander.
Spike leaned down, and
Xander heard the clink of bottles. The vampire pulled two beers out from behind
his desk, removed their caps, and handed one across to his guest.
"Your
own private stash? The job drives you to drink, eh?" asked Xander, taking a sip
and settling back on the couch. With the vampire looking at him over the expanse
of the desk he felt a bit like he was on a job interview.
"Sometimes,"
said Spike. He leaned back with apparent casualness. The stillness that had
seemed to come naturally after the return of his soul was in full force, and his
eyes seemed old, fathomless as they fixed on Xander. Unlike the Spike that
Xander first knew, who never stopped talking, this one appeared to be unwilling
to open his mouth. Combined with the guarded mystery in those eyes, the vampire
was entirely unnerving.
"So, uhh...," Xander began, searching for
something to say. He trailed off uncertainly.
"You're the one who wanted
to talk, mate."
It was incredible that one glance from those cerulean
eyes could erase Xander's now usual ease at conversation and turn him back into
the bumbling loser who went to Sunnydale High. It was stupid. He talked to
people all the time. Why should Spike be any different?
He took a deep
breath and tried again.
"Yeah, but I didn't know that I'd have to direct
the discussion."
Spike shrugged.
"No problem with me if you want
to drink your beer in silence."
"Maybe we should start with world
affairs," Xander said. "Boston politics? The Red Sox?"
"Don't keep up
much with that sort of thing," Spike said blandly, the corners of his mouth
turning up in a hint of a smile. Damn him, he was enjoying Xander's
discomfort!
"What about demon politics? Hey, do demons have baseball
teams?"
"Not baseball, no, though there is an interesting variation on
football that doesn't use an actual ball..." Spike smirked.
"Never mind.
I so haven't missed the icky part of the Scooby life."
"Don't
worry; only the first couple of rows get spattered with gore, and you'd never be
able to afford those seats anyway. They're in high demand."
"Now there's
a visual that I really didn't need. Why don't you tell me about your
restaurant?"
"I didn't realize that this was an interview. Will there be
an article about me coming out in the next Wankerswear Weekly?"
"I'm just
interested. How long have you been here? Was it difficult to start up?" Xander
asked.
Spike set his bottle down atop his desk with a hollow
thunk.
"Just tell me what you want, Harris," he said, his calm demeanor
becoming somewhat frayed around the edges.
"What I want? What makes you
think I want something?"
"We're not friends. We never have been friends.
We weren't even the sort who would have a beer together. So what do you want?
The miraculous story of my reappearance so that you can run off and tell the new
and improved Council of Watchers? Or does your building have some demons that
need to be squashed? Or maybe your drains need to be cleaned. What the bleeding
hell do you want?"
Xander was taken aback at the coldness in Spike's
eyes. Sure, they had asked for his help a lot, but that wasn't the only reason
that they dealt with him... was it?
Of course it was, Xander
reminded himself. There hadn't been time for anything else by the time that
there could have been something else.
"Maybe I'm trying to turn a new
leaf," Xander said. "I mean, we could have at least been drinking
buddies, at least during those last months against The First. Maybe I'm trying
to make up for past mistakes."
"Or maybe you and the rest of you Scoobies
just hate to let anything or anyone go. You were happy to see me dust and gone,
but now that it turns out that I wasn't so gone as previously assumed you lot
want to suck me back in and use me until I'm dust again. Or do the Watchers want
to do experiments on me? Does Giles have something else he wants to stick in my
brain?"
A flare of anger rose in Xander's gut.
"And how have I
shown anything other than interest and concern for your well-being now?" he
asked. "Have I interrogated you about how you got back? Have I told my friends
about you? Have I bothered you in your own restaurant? Have I asked you to kill
one damned thing? No. I've left you alone, as you so obviously want, and I
haven't told a single person about you, even though I am going crazy with the
news. Not because I want to use you, but because you were dead, and I
mourned you, - hell, I even missed you! - and now you're here, and
I want to enjoy that fact."
Xander's words suddenly ran out, and he
looked everywhere but Spike.
"But I get that you don't want to have
anything to do with me," he said after a moment of utter silence in the room.
"You're right; we weren't friends. I get that you don't want to be. Why would
you? I'm sorry that I've bothered you. I can't promise that I won't come in here
again, since the food is damned good and my coworkers like coming here, but I
won't try to talk to you anymore."
He set his bottle down carefully on
the small table next to the couch and got to his feet. He dared one last look at
the vampire, one last opportunity to look into his bright blue eyes. Spike sat
there, unblinking, his face a mask of... something. He had always carried his
emotions on his sleeve, on his face, but Xander couldn't read him this
time.
"You probably won't believe me, and why would you, but I really am
happy that you're okay, Spike," he said quietly and left the office.
PART 4
