New Year's Resolutions: part ten

New Year's Resolutions: part ten
by Josie_h
Notes

Deciding that caution was the better part of valor, the decision was made (post *independent* shower) that they did indeed need a visit to Spike’s abode at some point that evening – if only for the clothing, blood and ‘a laptop run’ – but should wait out the rest of the daylight in the hotel.

Pondering the need for new linen in his room, but not necessarily relishing the thought of being there as the other was removed, Xander was struck by a sudden idea. ‘High tea’ in the style of the Savoy, London, was offered in the small but elegant dining hall of the hotel and could not have been more timely or, Xander mused, more appropriate.

They were seated at a tiny two person table in the back corner of the ornate room. Still adorned with seasonal finery, there was also the obligatory chandelier, antique Edwardian style chairs, white linen and silver settings, and the appropriately stuffy Maitre D’ who seemed relieved that Xander was actually a guest when they arrived with no ‘prior booking’. The quiet tinkle of classical music from a miniature grand sitting in the bay window on the opposite side of the room enhanced the ambiance perfectly.

The tea of the afternoon was a choice of ‘Lady Grey’ or ‘Pekoe’, the position appropriately private, and the three tiered silver stand of food mid table ‘to die for’ as far as the now ravenous Xander was concerned. Bottom plate - assorted finger sandwiches; mid plate - delicacies in French patisserie style; and crowning glory - a plate of what Spike insisted were three enormous ‘scones’ and tiny crystal bowl of strawberry ‘jam’ (though Xander swore they were ‘biscuits and jelly’ but wasn’t in the mood to argue).

Accepting yet another refill of well brewed, piping hot tea, Xander noticed his dining partner whispering something to their young, and genuinely English, waiter. Shortly after, a small bowl of thick pure cream arrived on the table, along with a bottle of vintage Madiera and two crystal glasses.

“What the……?”

“No good doin’ things half measures pet.” Spike said, then leaned across the table and sang/whispered conspiritously:

"Have some Madiera, m'dear?
You really have nothing to fear..
I don't want to tempt you. That wouldn't be right.
One shouldn't drink spirits at this time of night.
Have some Madiera, m'dear.....
It's really an excellent year.
I don't care for Sherry, and one cannot drink Stout,
and Port is a wine I can well do without!
You see, it's strictly a case of 'Chacun a son GOUT....'
Have some Madiera, m'dear?"

“And could you be more ‘ancient British singing guy’ at this moment? In what *way* am I more informed by that?” Xander looked appropriately puzzled then grinned, as Spike lightly kissed then sucked the top of his ear, and withdrew.

Spike sat back, winked and grinned wickedly – obviously having the advantage over his companion regards what Xander now assumed, was the ‘rest of the words’!

Xander looked affectionately across at the refined features of probably the only person in the room who could truthfully compare the current menu to that of the Savoy in its early days, and had no doubt that Spike had eaten there more than once (though eaten who was perhaps more the point). Despite his current joy at finding his former ‘hellmouth’ lover, it was still to early to tell what the exact status of the ‘relationship’ was….. but assumed it to be ‘going quite well’ apparently.

Since earlier the previous evening, it was apparent to both parties at the table had, by mutual consent, focused their ‘rediscovery’ of each other on the more physical matters ‘at hand’. Yet Xander had begun to worry that they still had not ‘talked’.

*Behold folks - teenage girlie man, where’s Dawn when you needed her! Deep and meaningfuls, so not my forte.*

Despite the inner thoughts, food was still a priority. Xander reached for a minute ‘citron’ tart, and took another three of the tiny white sandwiches, dutifully avoiding all the ones with ‘green stuff’ in them.

He had tried one of that ‘color’ earlier, therefore providing Spike with great amusement, when, after the first bite of the ‘cress’ filled delicacy, he declared, with some determination that no person had the right to put grass in between bits of bread and pass it off as food – even if the crusts had been cut off!

Spike on the other hand, had openly enjoyed all the cucumber ‘fingers’ on offer. Then went on to devour the two tiny asparagus rolls decorating the middle of the sandwich plate, whilst expounding the virtues of county cricket along with the wonders of ‘bowling maiden overs’ and ‘good leg spinners’.

Xander really wasn’t listening by the time Spike started on some fielding position called ‘silly mid on’. Opting instead to nod and smile, whilst simply enjoying the rich sound of Spike’s deep voice and attempting to contrive a method of touching legs under the table without being too obvious.

Sometime after a glass and a bit of Madiera, Xander found himself ‘fortified enough’ to ask at least an easier one of the plethora of questions he’d composed in his head the previous night.

He twisted ‘his’ rings habitually, realized what he was doing, stopped, and asked:

“Hey so… you’re NonPerson?”

“Yeah”

“Did you figure it was me?”

“Not exactly MI6 pet, I mean ‘Xanman’? “ Spike gave Xander an incredulous look, took a deliberately slow sip of tea, then picked up his glass of Madiera again.

“Yeah but the internet, not exactly up with the ‘I’m the only one with that name’ clause?”

“Showed your hand with the feedback eh pet”

“Wha? How”

“Oh ‘cmon luv. I spent how long listenin’ to your lot, destroy the English language in old Sunnyhell. ‘S obvious innit… you write it, I get a feelin’, do a bit o’ the old ‘Net’ Sherlock and voila.”

“So you knew I was going to be there at the Common?” Xander now shifted a little uncomfortably in his seat.

“Only hoped pet… just needed to see you is all. Never meant…..’ Spike looked up at this point, noting with some distress, that the message being received was *not* the one he was trying to convey, and quickly amended.

“Hell Xander…. Luv…It had been so long – and you might have … family(?)… or …. And I just didn’t know how to say. But I needed to see you, and wanted …..but….” He trailed off, looked at his hands, now furiously plucking at some imaginary piece of lint on his napkin. Then looked up, begging for some indication of understanding, if not forgiveness.

What he received in return, was a message of such deep concern and love that he struggled to contain his tears.

*’S becoming a bloody habit!*.

Spike inhaled loudly then foiled his own thoughts with an easy, “So you like my stories pet?”

“Ummm yeah. God Spike I’ve been reading your stuff for months! It’s great – always suspected it might by a Hellmouth survivor but never…” He stopped again, looking up with yet another pained expression.

“Oh hell pet, let’s do this proper – c’mon”

Decision made and the better part of two hours of ‘high tea’ now, very literally, under their belts, Spike grabbed his friend’s hand, tucked what remained of the Madiera under his arm, and threw a generous tip on the table before departing.

Spike noted that it was already dark as they reentered the suite; that the room had indeed been cleaned; and that his companion had taken on the demeanor more befitting of a whipped puppy.

He switched on a couple of lamps and sat the dejected human on the bed.

“C’mon pet, there’s plenty o’ night hours to explore, let’s you and I clear the air yeah?” With that Spike dropped the bottle he’d been carrying onto the dresser and took Xander with a firm kiss that resulted in them both lying fully clothed on the covers of the now ‘made’ bed.

“Right. You all comfy ‘n listenin’? Cause I will not be repeatin’ meself. Clear?”

Despite the harsh words, Xander turned his head to see a predictably tense and vulnerable expression in the face beside him.

Seeing Xander turn Spike switched his gaze to the ceiling and waited.

“I do really need to know Spike.”

With that, Xander afforded the storyteller the courtesy of rolling onto his back and not looking at him, instead grabbed his friend’s hand – as much for his own comfort as any intent to calm the vampire, as painful memories were obviously to be revisited.

“Amulet. You remember, I wore it. Took out the First’s Army and burned me from inside to dust. Hurt like hell.”

Xander inhaled sharply, this part he had already pictured in his worst nightmares, but he remained silent.

“Yeah well, turns out the amulet had big mojo or some such, and I ended hauntin’ me old sire ‘round three months on. Best I could manage for a good while was moving a cup or two.”

“So, sorry to ask Spike, but, you were a ghost?”

“Well not technically ‘cording to the Texan chit, good sort she was too….” And again Spike trailed off for a few moments, then continued his account.

“Anyway got the body back – mojo again – ended up fighting for the white hats.

“Din’t know what to say to you lot, big finish an all – be a shame to try and top that.

“Andrew found out – poncy watcher in training or some such. ‘parently didn’t share that I was around with the wiccan mob, so figured I’d keep stum ‘n ‘all.”

Spike slowed, wondering if he could avoid the next part “You hear ‘bout the old boy?”

“Only that you guys took on most of the demons from Giles’ ‘big ‘n nasty’ file in one hit.”

“Yeah well them ‘n some. ‘One more time into the breach’ and all that rot.”

“ M’ sire copped a dragon talon. Nothing we could do after that ‘cept make the time we had…count.” At this point, Spike’s words broke. Xander rolled to face his friend, reached over, and pulled the slim shoulder until the vampire faced him.

Using the same hand to continue to pet and calm, he urged the speaker to continue, “And?”

Spike’s face screwed up in the anguish at the still raw memory “There was nothin’ I could do, nothin’…. And then he begged me to… and I couldn’t.. not….. and everyone else was dead….. and he was in *so* much pain.. I killed him, oh god, I *had* to kill him… he wanted and…..” Spike’s hand flew up to cover his face and he rolled entirely until heart broken sobs were muffled by both his own protective limb and the ample pillows.

Xander could do nothing but to move closer to his friend until their bodies were touching then continue to stroke Spike, offer meaningless words of comfort…..and wait…..

Eventually, the figure rolled back, his hand rubbed across wet eyes and slightly runny nose. The now tired looking, red rimmed blue eyes fixed on Xander as he whispered, “Dru dusted bit later, d’no how….”

“Oh Spike….” Xander brooked no argument this time, gathering the ‘man’ into his arms, some minutes later loosening the grip and asking “But Boston?”

“Sire ‘n I came back here, this side‘s where he landed back in the day…. bloody Irish heritage, snow in winter, that sort o’ thing… woulda gone all the way ‘cross the puddle ‘cept… Oh Xan, I missed you too…..but sire and then I couldn’t ……..” Spike’s voice broke again, as he gave in one more time to Xander’s loving embrace.

Xander acted as he had the previous night. He held his friend tight, and rocked him, and stroked the long hair while the man cried himself out. The difference was, that they were lying on a comfortable bed, and that Xander had joined his friend in the ‘hysteria’ this time. He shed tears for Spike, for what the vampire had suffered, for all they had both lost, and for their significant, but before now, unshared grief.

In the end, it was Spike who broke the hold first, moving his hand to run fingers through the dark ‘executive cut’, and pet the trim beard that had grazed more just than his chin last night (not that he was worried!) …..

“Ahh, luv, ain’t we just the pair?” He whispered, continuing to caress and stroke quietly, then resolved to wait.

The Xander he saw now, the beautiful man facing him, with tears tracking from one eye and scars of war obvious, was the summation of all the good Alexander Harris’s he had known: the abused boy, the ignored Scooby, the injured soldier, the loyal friend, the shamed groom, and the grieving lover. This coupled with so much more: the respected professional; the confident adult; the private person; and the unreserved lover. Spike was so proud of the man before him and despite his emotional state, tried to convey the message in his touch.

He caressed the face again, gently wiping away moisture from the good eye and touching lightly across the eyebrow of the one lost.

Xander roused, rolled onto his back and reached over to the friend who still stoked his arm.

He opened a now clear chocolate eye, ”Hey…”

“Cm’on pet. Let’s you ‘n I find a bar… and me a decent pint of O pos… No need for reasons now, ehh mate?”

Xander allowed himself to be pulled up, and genuinely relished the walk to the Fritz Bar – making an idle comment regards their two day journey to the same.

The bar itself was congenial and busy, Spike slipped out of Xander’s touch, only to return minutes later with a self satisfied grin. His human partner for the night, understood that necessary supplies had to be obtained, but was still a little nervous.

As the ‘anonymous black truck’ was seen pulling away from the back entrance to the club, Spike returned to their end of the bar, leaned over to his friend, attempted a lascivious grin and growled “Fancy dessert, luv,”. Xander would have been somewhat thrown but for the ruined ‘Big Bad’ impression radiating from the set of blue eyes that seemed to sing their gentle adoration and need for him.

By 2am, they were ‘back in the building’ at Back Bay, with both ‘gents’ encouraged by ‘dessert’ but apparently needing sleep.

Despite his five bag ‘bootie’ (3 pints of ‘good stuff’ and two of animal) obtained from a rather shady ‘contact’ early in the night, Spike seemed determined that they keep any references to his dietary needs to a minimum, while Xander insisted that he had no need for anything but a soft mattress and a hug (both of which seemed readily available).

As they stripped naked on their respective ‘sides’ of the large bed, the beautiful figure watching Xander broke the silence “There’s always tomorrow for hard stuff yeah? For now, why don’t we just hold on luv. Figure I just need to ‘hold on’….”

Xander, dived under his side of the down coverings, found the speaker willingly to consider just such an ‘amorous embrace’ idea, then was rewarded for his ‘mild abandon’ by the much adored, naked and hard body of Spike pressing flush to his.

A long relaxed kiss later, Xander pulled his cooler companion into a spooned hug and both succumbed to slumber. It was not until three the next afternoon that Xander had the opportunity to wonder at what could only be described as collective fatigue.