The chapter’s sort of a tweener, a bridge, just build up with no action or resolution, the sex without the climax, Stairway to Heaven without the solo, and I’m very sorry about that. When I got home from vacation, I just wrote and wrote and wrote until my hands were about to fall off. I’m usually very slow at writing, always too harsh on myself and repeatedly self-editing and deleting perfectly mediocre work, but everything just seemed to flow out here. When I got done, I realized that I had written way more than one chapter, and so I had to logically split it into two: the bridge and then the action. Some (hopefully) good stuff here. Spike seems to pick up his first male friend, and his name interestingly starts with an “X.” Some Watcher Council recap. It never got a chapter of its own yet because it’s a.) kinda boring b.) ruins the mystery of Spike and c.) a part of a semi-big twist I brewed up. So nyah! :D And this Spike at his most Spike-like, probably.]
Spike couldn’t really focus on the matter at hand, his mind a cesspool of whirling and twirling thoughts. And he really needed to focus here, it was now or never, all or nothing, life or death – color him cliché – he was on the ropes and about to be TKOd. He tried to straighten up and just do it like the Nike slogan, but his mind kept leaping back to the Watcher’s Council meeting.
Old stodgies...
The Council, like Giles had aptly stated before forcing him to chauvinistically abstain from becoming involved with Buffy, put him through several boring and dull tests. Some just questions on his background, some on his intelligence, some on his principles, some on his reflexes, some on his fighting ability. He especially liked the last two; when three of the Council’s biggest and most menacing bodyguards tried to jump him all at the same time with their little batons and sticks and un-black belt karate, he got a great rush that made him feel alive as he fought them off all at once and came out victorious.
He was on the edge when he fought. Spike wanted to stand as close to the edge as possible without going over.
Out on the edge you see all the kinds of things you can't see from the center.
And so he couldn’t focus. He couldn’t concentrate on this one thing that he needed so badly, more than anything in this world, more than oxygen or water or food or leprosy.
Bollocks. I can’t make this shot.
“C’mon, before my clothes go outta style,” the punk teenager heckled in an attempt to thwart Spike’s victory at this game of standard pool.
Spike tightened up, laying belly down across the pool table so he could hit the cue ball, and made a few practice strokes.
And then, with the grace of a swan, Spike sunk the eight-ball right in the hole with an inventive double-carom of the cue ball.
Spike half-grinned. “Your clothes are already outta style, mate.” He put the pool stick on the table. “I believe the wager was fifty dollars?”
The opponent grumblingly reached for his wallet and took out two twenties and a ten.
“You hustled me,” he said as he handed over the cash.
“That I did, mate, that I did,” Spike mumbled as he put the money in his wallet and walked off.
He scored the club for a friend. The indie rock band shook the room.
Didn’t Buffy say she’d be at the Bronze?
Platonic or not, Spike was never one to disappoint a lady. ’ve never once before...
Buffy took another self-conscious glance at herself in her closet mirror. She was quietly second-guessing the dark burgundy top and white skirt she decided on after almost a half hour of profound deliberation.
“Does this outfit make me look fat?” Buffy asked.
Willow laughed. “C’mon, Buffy, you’ve been at this for almost an hour. You look fantastic.”
Buffy smiled wryly at her best friend. “You’re just saying that. I don’t want to be the ugly duckling, the one everyone laughs at and asks ‘does she even own a mirror?’ I mean, Spike’s probably been with tons of beautiful women from all around Europe who are older and more mature and actually pretty and have a life and...” Buffy trailed as her eyes widened.
She made an unintelligible whine as she slouched back down to her bed. “I’m so not the confidence builder.”
Willow sat down next to her and tried to cheer her friend up. “He said he would come, right?”
Buffy smiled as she remembered the conversation. “He said he wouldn’t miss it... and he called me pet.” Her cheeks went red.
“Then you have nothing to worry about. You look great.” Willow stood up and motioned Buffy towards the door. “Let’s go. Oz will be playing soon.”
But all Buffy could think about when she left was how “fantastic” turned into “great” and how Spike would feel about her and if he would even want to dance.
Spike spotted the back of what seemed to be a depressed Xander, dressed in a casual plaid collared shirt and jeans, at a table next to a pillar, so he moseyed right on over.
“‘llo, ‘mate,” Spike greeted as he took the seat next to Buffy’s friend.
Xander sighed. “Oh, it’s dragon breathe.”
Spike looked over his unpolished nails, not looking at all offended.
Now’s as good a time as ever to straighten this kid out...
“So when did this start?” Spike asked nonchalantly.
Xander’s curiosity was sparked enough to warrant a response. “When did what start?”
“This nasty little infatuation you have with Buffy,” Spike stated flatly, still looking over his nails.
Xander colored himself shocked. “What!? I’m not infatuated with Bu—”
“Infatuation, obsession, whatever,” Spike interrupted indifferently.
There was an awkward pause as Xander couldn’t find the words to combat the blonde man because, well... he was entirely correct.
“She is quite the pretty picture.” Spike ignored Xander’s glare. “And she is the one and the only Slayer. But you don’t have to worry about me, ‘mate, because I was told to stay away. And I will. I’m no threat to you and your chance with her. So just bark instead of bite.”
Xander looked relieved at first, because Buffy being in love with someone that wasn’t him was probably his biggest fear, at least next to Nazi clowns and listening to Cordelia talk about clothes and death, but then he remembered the original subject of the conversation.
“We’re just friends, Buffy and me,” Xander said defensively with a faux-smile, trying to hide what used to be a well-kept secret between just him and Willow. “Nothing more. I’m dating Cordelia, actually.”
Spike scratched his head. “Bloody hell! This place is more bollocks up then I thought. You have a relationship with someone else when it’s obvious you’re totally obsessed with a certain blonde Slayer?”
Xander put his arms in the air. “Why am I even talking about this with dragonboy?”
“Oh, c’mon, mate,” Spike prodded with a knowing grin. “You know it’s true. I’ve bleedin’ been here a day and I can blatantly see it. When you’re around her, you act like she’s your most valuable possession, like she’s the sun and you’re a plant, like you’d let her take a ride any day of the week. She drives you crazy, and she likes to do it. Makes her get up in the morning and put on nice clothes and makeup and all.”
Xander’s eyes went evil. He was about to say something when Spike rose a finger in the air.
“Waitress,” Spike called to the passing brunette who was equipped with an empty tray in her hands.
The somewhat attractive waitress walked up to their table and smiled coyly. “You need something, sugar?”
Spike gave his best devilish grin, looking her innocently in the eyes to complete the paradox.
He saw Xander roll his eyes. Told you I wasn’t pursuing Buffy, ‘mate.
“Could I have another bottle of Jack?” Spike asked gruffly.
Xander looked openly interested, hoping Spike would be shot down and asked for his ID.
The waitress smiled, not even batting an eyelash. “Sure, sweetie. Anything else?”
Xander’s mouth fell open. Not. Even. Carded.
Spike glanced at Xander, who’s mouth was somewhere on the floor. “You want anything, Xand, while the pretty waitress is here?”
Xander was shocked, but he wasn’t stupid. He saw the sordid opportunity to thwart Spike. He addressed the waitress directly. “You do know that he’s only—”
As quick as the eye, one of Spike’s hands shot to Xander’s mouth to muffle the remainder of his statement.
Spike smiled awkwardly at the waitress, hand still over Xander’s mouth. “You’ll have to excuse my friend, he’s going through a bit of a rough time. Relationship trouble.”
Xander gnawed at Spike’s hand. Spike winced.
Wanker bit me!
“Xand’ll have a coke. And while we’re at it, get me a bottle of your lightest rum along with the Old Number Seven. Gonna be a long night.”
The waitress nodded and went to get their drinks.
Spike took his hand off of Xander’s mouth. “You tryin’ to get us soddin’ kicked out or something, ‘mate?”
Xander enunciated with his hands. “I’m not exactly the poster boy of police prosperity, but the legal age of drinking in California is—”
“Yeah, yeah, I bleedin’ know. Twenty one. Soddin’ Americans and their stupid laws. But it’s only like five where I’m from, so I figure it’s no big deal to crack a few laws that are nonexistent at home.”
Xander studied Spike’s face. “But don’t you think you’ll get a little... loopy? And around Buffy?”
Spike chuckled. “Not everyone becomes a fool when drunk, those are just common symptoms. I personally get depressed when I drink. And with news of being from a soddin’ alternative dimension and possibly the catalyst of a bleedin’ apocalypse in this one, I need some drunken depression right about now.”
Xander blinked. “That’s... well, that’s depressing.”
“S’alright,” Spike mumbled. “Let’s just wait for Buffy without killing each other in the process, yeah?”
Xander agreed not by saying or doing anything, but by ceasing any preemptive assaults.
The waitress made her return with their drinks.
Spike immediately took a healthy dose of his Jack Daniels while Xander dove for his coke.
“Hold on there, speedracer,” Spike said. “You wanna loosen up a bit or not? The soddin’ clock sprig cannot be wound any tighter in you.” He pointed to the bottle of rum. “I didn’t get this rum for me.”
Xander thought hard about the offer before he accepted. “What the hell,” he said with a shrug. “Hit me.”
“S’not blackjack.” Spike grinned wickedly and poured just the right amount of rum in Xander’s coke. He took the lime on the lip of the glass, squeezed it dry, and threw it in the concoction. “This is the Cuba Libre, the Mentiritas, the little lie.”
Xander looked completely lost.
“Known by bloody incoherent Americans as Rum and Coke.” He pushed the glass back to Xander.
Xander started to take a sip when Spike stopped him again.
“Ah-ah, Speedy Gonzales, you need to mix it first.”
Xander twirled a spoon inside the highball glass. “This couldn’t be any weirder.”
Spike raised an eyebrow. “What?”
Xander took his first sip, which quickly turned into a full-blown chug.
“I’m here with someone I openly hate, who surprisingly knows me better than most people, having my first alcoholic beverage. I’ll be fifty-eight, have one kidney, and be remembering this day with nostalgia.”
Spike bit a laugh. “That’s life for you: always cruel, sometimes ironic and always an experience.”
Xander grinned a little at that as he took another sip.
As the twosome continued to drink together in silence, an unspoken camaraderie quickly developed.
In the silence, Spike recalled the naïve drinking event with Xander like it happened years ago and it wasn’t him who orchestrated the whole sordid event but some other more evil person. He was being pretty damn reckless, with the double underage drinking offense. He was about to scorn himself when he remembered that this part of his mind came from the monks. Probably wouldn’t even bleedin’ be here right now in Sunnydale if the monks hadn’t...
Spike also tainted innocence; the same innocence that he regarded as the rarest and most empyreal commodity. He considered his actions of the highest offense and the most egregious sin. He knew that Dante Alighieri reserved the deepest part of hell for him and what he just did.
Tainting innocence.
It was inebriated innocence that Xander happily wanted ruined, yes, and that would make Spike sleep at night. But wasn’t all innocence like that? Something you had and didn’t want to have and when broken you wanted it back and could never ever get it back?
You can never get innocence back...
Xander broke the comfortable silence. “So why aren’t you and Buffy...?” He sounded “loose,” like Spike wanted him to be, and not all sensitive and angsty like he was before. But did he look a bit drunk? I thought he could hold more than a little girl...
“Watcher forbid me,” Spike shot back tersely. “But I dun’ really wanna talk about me. I wanna tell you something very important. I think you fall under this category and it would really help if you knew.” So you can bleedin’ finally get over Buffy and get on with your life he didn’t add.
Xander stared at Spike. “What?”
Spike drank the final drops of his Jack Daniel’s Tennessee whiskey, capping it off, before he began. “Too many guys have the silly notion that a woman will complete them or make them feel alive or make everything better. It’s all complete bollocks.”
Xander looked perplexed.
“You need to know, ‘mate,” Spike said, putting the empty bottle of Jack on a passing waitress’ tray, “that a woman will not complete you as a human being. You need to complete yourself, because in the end you’re the single solitary architecture of your life. Everyone’s got their problems. Don’t assign a girl yours.”
A haze of gloomy silence overtook the table again.
Xander refilled his coke with the pitcher on the table and made the Rum and Coke drink again himself.
“That’s kind of bleak,” Xander concluded finally.
Spike made a small, melancholy smile at the kid’s straightforward observation. “Yeah... it kinda is.”
In Buffy’s mind, the plan was perfect. Earlier in the evening she had consulted Oz for the absolutely most sensual dancing song his band could play. They nailed one down, and Oz agreed to play it on Buffy’s cue. With the help of the song to alter the ambiance, Buffy would ask Spike for an innocent little dance. And, then, Spike would get his reward for saving her.
Yes, I really did just leave it at the door. Don’t kill me. My head wouldn’t look good on your wall, it really wouldn’t. :( Expect a ton of action next chapter, which is already complete as far as the first draft is concerned, still needs to be edited to hell and back, though. Reviews = muse, as always. I love them and cherish them and they give me the inspiration to write and also make me feel all warm and fuzzy As I Lay Sleeping at night. And I realize I just reconnected my death via Faulkner’s glorious novel so I’ll just leave now. V_V