An Accidental Meeting

by
Tisienne Blue

Part Three

Two months… two months of constant work on the bar at Veritas, two months of drinks with Spike, talks with Spike… two months of Spike snarling at any other demon who approached, and wasn’t he happy about that? He’d had no idea of how many demons lived in Los Angeles, much less how many of them were apparently single and looking, with gender being less important to them than he would have thought.

Less important to most of them, he told himself with a sigh before returning to his thoughts.

It was amazing, he figured, that he hadn’t noticed the demons before, but then again, he’d been establishing his business and that had meant long, hard hours in his workshop with only the occasional foray out—mostly to meet with the few clients who couldn’t come to him due to work or time constraints.

In the last two months, he’d had his eye opened to the fact that demons didn’t necessarily want or need a Hellmouth… and that apparently, neither did he when it came to drawing them like flies.

Fortunately—or unfortunately, Xander wasn’t sure which—the bar was pretty much done. He’d be able to get paid and walk away… go back to his quiet life and live it demon-free again.

Well, for the most part, anyway, because there was no way he was giving up Spike. Not unless the vampire made him.

“Hey, Spike,” he called out, stepping back to look at the careful carving he’d just finished, “What do you think?”

The vampire looked up from the book he’d been writing in and chuckled as he stood. “ ‘s a good snake, mate,” he said after a moment of examining the area his friend was indicating, “Like th’ way ya did th’ scales. Delicate-like. Shows your talent an’ such.”

Xander flushed hotly, as he always did when Spike complimented him. Since when did Spike’s opinion matter so much to him, anyway? How had it happened? How had he gone from being glad to see the blond wasn’t dust to wanting… exactly what he shouldn’t want, and from exactly the person who would never be willing to give it to him?

It was a mystery… and one he’d have to think about later. As usual.

For the moment, though…

Xander sighed and shook his head. “Thanks, Spike. I… thanks.”

He truly adored that he could make his human blush, Spike admitted silently while smirking on the outside. Hell, he loved it that Xander actually seemed to enjoy spending time with him, which was exactly why he’d pestered Lorne into giving him a key to the club. Couldn’t leave the bloke there all by himself every day, after all. Not with as many bloody demons as there were who wanted the man, fuck knew why.

It wasn’t as though Xander was any great prize, after all. He was just another annoying, sarcastic, irritating… bloody wonderful human. Toned and tanned, strong from working all day—and sometimes into the night—lugging slabs of wood about, manhandling power tools…

Bloody hell, just let it go. Bloke’s amazin’ an’ I know it. Also know he’s got little interest in shaggin’ a demon, much less a male one.

And wasn’t that the truth.

“So, mate. Stickin’ ‘round for th’ poems tonight?”

Xander shrugged slightly, gathering his tools as opening time drew closer. “Might as well, I guess. It’s not like I have dates breaking down my door or anything,” he admitted, straightening and arching his back as he stretched out the kinks of working bent over for the last four hours. “Hey, speaking of breaking down doors, how’s Deadboy doing? Need me to make you a battering ram so you can get him the hell out for a change?”

It still pissed him off no end that Xander kept asking about his Sire. It pissed him off almost as much as the fact that sodding Peaches kept asking when the bloody former-Scooby would be paying a visit to the house. Not that he was ever going to let that happen.

It didn’t matter that the human was more accepting these days. Didn’t even matter that he was so obviously straight. He was Spike’s human, and he’d for damned sure take better care of him than Angel’d done with his bunch.

There wasn’t a bloody chance in or out of Hell that he’d let Peaches get near Xander and maybe talk the bloke into doing something stupid. Harris still had that hero-complex, after all, even if he didn’t like to admit it these days.

“Peaches can stay there an’ rot for all I care,” he snarled, replying to the question sharply. “Don’t need ya ta make me anythin’; especially not somethin’ that’d be more for his benefit than mine!”

And repeated blinking probably looked really stupid with just one eye, Xander realized, but that didn’t stop him from doing it. “What the…?” he said with a sigh before finally shrugging. He’d hoped that showing some concern for the vampire’s Sire would… maybe open a door or something, but Lorne had been right. Spike changed moods more than that Hilton girl changed clothes.

Thinking of Lorne seemed to summon him and Xander found himself grinning as the demon sashayed into the club, laden down with shopping bags. “Good hunt?” he said with a laugh, seeing the club’s bartender Duncan slip in behind Lorne, similarly burdened. “Dear Gods, Lorne! Do you even have a credit card that’s not maxed out?”

The red eyes were smiling even as the Pylean replied. “Xander! Thank the Powers! You’re used to manual labor. Help me with these bags! I swear, they shouldn’t let me out without a keeper.”

Xander laughed, his eye crinkling at the corner. “I thought that’s what Duncan was for?” he teased, taking most of the bags from Lorne and a few from Duncan.

The bartender groaned playfully. “You try it, Xander. Tell him not to buy something and somehow he makes it seem like he’s buying it for your benefit. It’s… scary.”

The three of them were still laughing as they passed through the swinging door into the kitchen, then up the stairs to the second floor where Lorne had his rooms.

* * * * *

“Tell me they’re not still completely oblivious, boss,” Duncan begged after Xander had headed back to the bar. “Please. Because I swear, much more of that tension between them and something’s gonna blow one of these nights.”

Lorne sighed and shook his head, even as he agreed. “And not in the good way, cutie. It’s amazing we’re not in Egypt, with as much swimming in denial as those two are doing.”

“Can’t you just…” Duncan screwed up his face and did something with his fingers that looked bizarre even to the Pylean.

“What? Suck on a lemon and claw their eyes out while telling them to fuck off in sign language? Don’t think that would work, sexy.”

The bartender rolled his eyes and sighed. “I mean, can’t you like… do something? Something mystical. Open their eyes or something.”

Red eyes closed despairingly for a moment before opening slowly again.

“I interpret, Duncan. Empathy, fate, that’s my schtick. I can’t make things happen.” He frowned deeply. “Unless I go without sleep for a month or two, but trust me, that never ends well.”

“Well, shit.”

“Shit indeed, puddin’ pop. Now try on those leather chaps we got you, hmmm…?”

* * * * *

As much as it irritated Spike that Xander always asked after his Sire, it amused him no end that the human always settled himself as close to the stage as possible for the Poetry Nights and completely ignored the ever-increasing number of assorted demons who tried to attract his attention.

Of course, that only proved his theory that the man wasn’t interested in getting involved with any sort of demon; not even for a quick shag… no matter what the bloke’s history seemed to imply.

In fact, the only demon the brunette had gotten involved with deliberately had been Anyanka, and that after she’d become human.

Still, as long as his human was looking to him, he couldn’t complain too much. The bloke was a friend. A good friend, and… that wasn’t something Spike had had many of so far in his existence.

So yeah. He was amused that his bloke ignored everyone around but him… and Lorne, but the green bloke was no threat; not since he’d taken up with that bartender, anyway.

And if the vampire sometimes—most times—found himself reciting his poetry to a certain one-eyed human by the stage, well… that was his right, wasn’t it?

He was the poet, after all. He could look wherever he bloody well liked.

* * * * *

If he hadn’t been so sure that the last thing Spike was was same-sex oriented, the poetry he always seemed to recite while staring right at him would have been sending Xander some seriously mixed signals.

Of course, Spike was an artist, and… he obviously just wanted an opinion on whether his words were too sappy or bloody or… whatever.

And when the blond nearly purred words like ‘strong and dark, panting in the night, calling for me with your purity, with your arms, toned and tanned, begging with silent glances for the depth of my kiss, of only my kiss where I take you and pierce you and wallow in the pleasure of your scent, my warm one’… Well, Xander just swallowed hard and smiled while digging his fingers into his own thigh to distract himself from the immediate, nearly visceral physical response.

God, he’s killing me… and he has no idea. That much he was sure of, sadly enough.

So of course he sat and listened, had a drink or three; pretended to be entirely unaffected.

What else could he do, after all? Spike was his friend. And his friend was so not gay.

* * * * *

“So… headin’ home, mate? Or do ya want ta hit a few after hours clubs?”

Xander chuckled and shook his head quickly. “No, no clubs, buddy. I told you about the plasma TV, right? Well, it was delivered this morning, so I have a date with a satellite.”

The vampire blinked. “Th’ new plasma? Ya got it? Bloody hell! Lorne must be payin’ ya right well, yah?”

He blushed and scratched under the strap of his eye patch where it crimped his hair in the back. “Well enough. So anyway, I should…”

Spike sighed softly. “Right, then. Not sure what you’re plannin’ ta watch at two in th’ bloody mornin’, though.”

Brown hair swayed slightly as Xander cocked his head and came to a decision. “I don’t know either, but… I’ve got some Smithwick’s and some Boddington’s. Uh, you interested?”

He almost bit his lip as he watched the surprise flood the vampire’s face, but he didn’t want to look too hopeful, after all. Of course, he knew that if Spike gave it any real thought, he’d know that the only reason Xander would have those brands of beer was for him, but…

“Brilliant, Xan,” Spike said with a grin, “Never been ta your place. Hope it’s better than th’ basement, yah?”

One eye rolled as the brunette laughed. “It’s even better than your old crypt. You know, aside from not having anywhere near the number of ‘ornamental’ cobwebs.”

“I’ll have you know those cobwebs were very chic among a certain set…”

“Yeah. A certain set of dead and dying, maybe. Come on, Souly. You’re driving.”

“’Course I am, ya daft bugger. Not allowed ta drive after dark, are ya? Depth-perception, ya said… not that ya were ever very bloody deep or anythin’—even with two eyes…”

And Xander couldn’t help smiling as they snarked and insulted each other as they left Lorne’s club. It wasn’t the same as the old days, but…

It was better. Much better.

They were friends.

Part Four

As it had turned out, the only thing on that was worth watching—according to Spike, and as he was the guest, his choice ruled—was some sort of poker thing.

It was an education for Xander, seeing as the only variety he’d ever played had involved cookies, and clearly hadn’t gone according to the rules.

“Damn! I knew a straight was better than a pair! I lost two boxes of Thin Mints on a play like that!”

Spike couldn’t help laughing. “Musta been playing with Slayer for that one. Chit had the best bluff-face I ever saw, yah…?”

Xander sighed and slumped a bit closer to the blond on the couch.

“Yeah… she fooled all of us, didn’t she?” he finally said, entirely unaware of the bitterness that tinged his voice… and the sorrow.

The blond found himself blinking repeatedly and doing his damnedest not to demand more information. He’d known that Xander hadn’t spoken with Buffy in a while—simply because while the human sometimes mentioned Red or the Bit or even Watcher, he’d never said a word about Slayer-Number-One. Still, he’d assumed it was because they both were busy, rather than due to any falling out between them.

Bollocks. Can’t just pretend he didn’t say it. My bloke’s more than smart enough to notice that.

And as that was true enough, Spike chose to simply make an inquisitive sound deep in his throat, all the while hoping the human wouldn’t react badly. “Hnnnnhhh…?”

Apparently, Xander realized, he either trusted Spike enough to finally talk about this or he just needed to vent after going on five years of keeping silent.

Oh, Willow knew what had happened, and so did Dawn and Giles. But the rest of their common ‘friends’ merely thought that Xander had punked out and abandoned the fight because he was scared or something. At least, that was the impression he’d gotten afterwards when most of them wouldn’t even return his phone calls.

“You know I was in Africa, right?” he said, even though he’d mentioned his time on the Dark Continent more than once. “Well, there was this thing. And when I say ‘thing’, I really do mean ’thing’.” He chuckled mirthlessly.

“It was just me and Jason then. Had been for… oh, I guess six weeks or so. We traveled around looking for Slayers because that was my job… and every once in a while, we’d come across something bigger. Something… bad. And we’d… take care of it. But this time… well, this time was the worst, y’know?”

The brown eye closed as Xander remembered.

“Okay, you have to understand, Spike. Jason was American.” Another laugh caught in his throat before escaping bitterly. “Actually, he probably still is. I mean, last I heard, he wasn’t dead or anything. But anyway.” He sighed.

“We ran into each other—literally—in a bar in Cape Town. Uh, that’s in South Africa. He was a grad student then, working on his thesis.” Xander frowned slightly. “Something about mystical places and how their supposed energy affects the people in the area.” He shrugged. “ I didn’t get it even the fiftieth time he tried to explain it, but what did I care? Then we actually went up Table Mountain.”

Spike arched a brow and forced himself to take a swallow of his beer rather than do what he wanted to, which was to snark at the human. Of course he knew where Cape Town was. The World Cup was scheduled to be there in 2010, and… he did love his football.

“And?” he murmured, shifting a few inches closer still.

Xander’ brow furrowed deeply. “And to make a long story short, Jason learned that ‘mystical places’ really do exist. That they’re not just superstition and nonsense… and that acting all superior to the ‘uneducated’ because they believe and act with caution in those places can lead to multiple claw marks from things that even a desperate man can’t pretend are just wild animals.”

Spike snorted, somehow bothered by the small tone of affection in his bloke’s voice when he spoke of the idiot. “Yah, well. Guess th’ prat had ta learn sometime, yah?”

Another sigh. “It wasn’t like that, Spike. He just… didn’t know. And then he did and…” A small smile crossed Xander’s lips, this time without the underlying regret. “Turns out, Jason had been studying martial arts since he was a kid, and once he healed up, well… let’s just say that he wanted some vengeance.”

“I finally had to tell him why I hadn’t freaked out when the things on Table Mountain attacked… why and how I’d known what to do to stop them.” Another smile, this one full of fond remembrance. “I told him about the Slayers, Spike… and Sunnydale. Hell, in the end, I told him about Anya and Angel and you. About how I really lost my eye. And he… was in.”

And that was true enough. Jason really had been in. He’d abandoned his research and chosen to go with Xander when he’d left Cape Town, and Xander had to admit that he’d hoped for just such a thing. It was why he’d stayed there long enough for the blond man to heal, after all.

Still, he wasn’t about to say that to Spike.

“So you made yourself a bloody friend,” the vampire nearly snarled. “Good on ya, mate. Don’t see what that has ta do with…”

“What? Buffy?” Xander snapped, cutting the blond off as his eye opened to shoot a glare at gold-flecked blue, “I’m getting to that, you bleached moron. Ever heard of patience?”

And suddenly Spike realized he was acting like a jealous boyfriend , and as Xander wasn’t gay, that wouldn’t do. “Right,” he answered as calmly as he could manage, “Sorry, mate. Th’ suspense is killin’ me.” He let himself look confused for a moment before going on. “Uh, not in th’ literal sense, o’course…”

What could Xander do other than laugh then?

“Oh, of course not… although it would be kinda cool if that was suddenly a new method of dusting vamps. Vamps other than you, I mean. Like… start telling them a joke or something and just stop and wait for them to implode, right?”

Spike’s eyes rolled as he congratulated himself on making his boy laugh again… for real, this time. Still, that didn’t finish the story, and Xander’s comment—while not ever likely to become real—actually described the way the vampire was feeling. Like he might just disintegrate into small, ashy particles if he didn’t hear the rest while the bloke was in such a chatty mood.

“So what happened, pet? After th’ bloke decided ta join in th’ Slayer-search-an’-good-fight?” he nearly begged, his free hand sliding across the small space between them to rest against the side of Xander’s thigh innocently enough that he thought the boy wouldn’t notice.

Xander shrugged slightly. “We traveled for a while. Did our thing. Found a few Slayers and sent them to whatever city was nearest after I called and arranged for a Watcher to meet them there. Sometimes the girls took their families; sometimes not. And sometimes the rumors we thought meant ‘new Slayer’ actually meant ‘really old demon’… and we handled it. We handled it right up until the last time.”

The sudden and startlingly obvious waves of anger, anguish and pain rolling from his boy’s body had Spike’s hand leaving the cushions and pressing comfortingly against the top of one shaking leg. “Tell me,” he murmured. “Tell me, Xan. Been holding it in long enough, whatever it is, yah?”

Bloody hell… what am I doing? Rubbin’ his soddin’ leg? Bloke’s goin’ ta catch on right quick, he is… an’ then ditch me for some new ‘buddy’ what can keep his hands off, and never mind that I’ve resisted touchin’ him as anythin’ but a friend for bleedin’ months now!

The brown eye closed again and Xander forced himself to breathe through the unintentionally arousing pressure on his thigh. There was no way Spike was doing anything other than trying to steady him, after all.

And if I don’t get a handle on my body’s wacky reactions to him, he’s gonna run home to Angel and never want to even talk to me again, so… stop it, little Xan! No getting hard!

And oddly enough, just the thought of not seeing the vampire again had ‘little Xan’ returning to his dormant state. Huh. Good to know.

“We were just outside Nairobi. There was a village there that we’d heard was being bedeviled by one of its own.” Xander sighed. “Understand, Spike. This was Africa. It’s not like… Raccoon Holler, West Virginia, okay? I mean… technology is so far behind there when you’re outside of the major cities. So rumors and whispers were all we had to go by.”

Spike swallowed hard as Xander turned his head and speared him with that one eye. “Y-yah…” he whispered, the hand around his bottle of beer tightening enough that he could hear stress-fractures starting to form. “Got that, pet…”

A slow nod and half-smile later, Xander went on.

“We went in looking for a Slayer. What we found was approximately six feet and four hundred pounds of fast, vicious evil. And the rumors were right. The villagers were being bedeviled. Or they had been, because there weren’t any left.”

He swallowed hard, pulling his gaze away from Spike’s.

“Jason leapt in before I could even warn him. I knew what a Frewiloi demon was, and I knew better than to kill the male first. But he didn’t give me a chance. And he got… flung. Flung almost a hundred feet by the impact of its primary tentacle alone.”

A soft sigh that would have been a sob even two years earlier left Xander’s lips.

“It wasn’t until I’d killed the buck nearly fifteen minutes later—after Jason failed—that I noticed where he’d landed after that tentacle-swipe.” Another long, hard swallow. “But I managed to get him out of there and into my jeep. I kept him quiet. I had to gag him, but I did it… and then I called Buffy.”

“Oh… bloody… hell…” Spike whispered, knowing exactly where his bloke’s friend had ended up. Frewiloi demons weren’t a terribly fastidious bunch, but there was one thing they were known for above all others.

They killed en masse and ate the limbs of their victims. Then they dug a pit and piled the torsos inside it before laying their eggs, which would hatch within days and begin to feast on the remains.

In the larval stage, Frewiloi demons looked almost exactly like human infants. Human infants with very large, sharp teeth and jagged claws.

It was no wonder Xander’d had to gag his friend after a quarter of an hour in a growth-pit.

“Y-yeah,” the human stuttered, “but you’re not… getting the worst part, Spike.”

Xander drained his nearly-full beer in one long, desperate swallow.

“Think about it. I killed the buck. I dragged my… Jason from the… that place. And then I put us both in my car, Spike, and I drove away!” Do you… see… where this is going?”

And fucking hell, he did. Finally, he got it.

His boy had saved the lackwit who’d chosen to help him and the Frewiloi bitch had followed them.

Of course she had. They’d killed her mate and had likely harmed at least some of her hatchlings.

And she wouldn’t have cared even slightly about destroying anyone she came into contact with during her pursuit…

“Fuckin’ hell… I remember that! CNN passed it off as a plague, right?” he whispered, awestruck.

“The W-watcher’s C-c-council has f-far reaching h-h-hands…” Xander managed to mumble before he clenched his entire body tightly, holding the rest of his breakdown… in. There was a reason he’d never wanted to even think about that time… and it was his own fault that he’d thought enough time had passed that he could manage to talk about it.

“Jason never really recovered,” he whispered a good ten minutes later, his voice strained and hoarse from swallowed sobs. “Buffy came with ten other Slayers. They killed the bitch and then went back for the larvae…and she wanted to know why I had a ‘civilian’ doing ‘my job’ without the right information and I… lost it.”

And with that, he lost it again, the built-up—years built—betrayal finally spilling forth.

“She said it like I wanted it to happen! Like I knew! She said I was using him, using Jason as my stalking horse or some such bullshit! Because I could never have a relationship that worked; never have anyone who loved me enough to just jump into the fray and try to protect me. And maybe she was right. I mean, she pointed out all my other sad-ass romantic choices, right?”

Xander was sobbing out loud now, his eye streaming constant tears.

“P-preying Mantis lady… Ampata the soul-s-sucking mummy-girl… Cordelia… F-faith… and I’m not counting Willow because… well, because. And then what? Anya. So why should J-jason have been any d-different, right? But he was! He d-did leap in and t-try to s-s-save me, and…” he cut himself off with a loud, deep whimper.

And just like that, Spike found himself with a lapful of shaking, breaking Xander Harris that he’d pulled there himself.

He also found himself within an inch of calling upon a vengeance demon to make things right.

His arms closed tightly around the shaking form and held on while his mind… oh, his mind was fully engaged with thoughts of what he was going to do to Slayer when and if he ever ran into her again.

How dare she treat his boy like nothing?

How dare she make him feel so lost and alone?

And what in the bloody hell had she been talking about, anyway?

Sure, the boy’s dating history hadn’t been stellar. It wasn’t like that could have been a shock to her, unless…

And suddenly he understood so much more than he’d ever expected to.

Buffy had been furious that Xander had brought a bloke she didn’t know into the fold… had let him in on their ‘secret’, yes.

But she’d been even more bothered by the fact that it was a bloke… and that Xander had been sleeping with him and hadn’t told her.

So she’d reacted as she usually did, back in the day.

She’d hit him with the old ‘I’m mad at you and I’m not gonna stop being mad until you say you’re sorry a few times and buy me a latte and then things will be fine and it’ll all be forgotten’ thing. She just hadn’t figured on Xander walking away.

“Oh, pet…” he whispered, his hands running slowly up and down the brunette’s spine slowly, “Oh, pet…”

It was a bloody tragedy, really, which was why Spike didn’t press the advantage his bloke’s suddenly visible vulnerability gave him.

Instead, he merely moved his lips against soft, dark hair, murmuring words that he hoped would be soothing.

“Not your fault, luv… promise ya that. Did what ya should… tried ta do your job, pet…”

And God only knew when sunrise was, but…

Spike took a quick look around Xander’s house and couldn’t help smiling just a bit.

Black-out curtains drawn tight over every window he could see… the awning he remembered over the front door when they’d first gotten there… and he was willing to bet that the trend continued in the rest of the house, though he wasn’t curious enough to disturb his sleeping boy just then.

Instead, he shifted them slowly—just a bit at a time—until they were lying on the couch, Xander pinning him to the cushions.

His hands resumed their slow strokes, fingers sliding up under the hem of Xander’s t-shirt every now and again as he murmured softly, repeating his earlier words.

“Not your fault, luv… nothing ya coulda done diff’rent… good bloke, ya are…”

And finally, Spike fell asleep as well, still speaking to his bloke’s spirit.

The End