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
