It had all seemed such a good idea when he started out, lounging comfortably in the extra-wide first class seats of the transatlantic 777 – seats that folded flat down like a real bed he’d discovered within minutes of take-off, and then up again… and down and... The stewardess had politely reminded him that, really, it was best to keep the seat in the upright position until the seatbelt lights were extinguished… sir. He chose delicacies from the parchment pages of the sumptuous in-flight menu, watched them being cooked by a white-suited chef, and washed down the lobster timbale with champagne and the filet mignon with well-chilled cola. He had his own TV and a huge choice of movies and the most up-to-the minute computer games. And he was pretty sure the vanity bag with its collection of neat little bottles of expensive toiletries, toothbrush and razor was his to keep – but just in case he stowed it secretively in his hand luggage, because really, it was very cool. Yes, Andrew decided, he could get used to this life-style; although he had been kind of disappointed that they wouldn’t let him on the flight deck.
But the further east he travelled, the smaller the planes became until now he was strapped into a small prop plane that rattled ominously, pitched and yawed alarmingly and smelt of wet dog and boiled cabbage. His reminder to the steward (who turned out to be the co-pilot) that he was a first class passenger earned him a raised eyebrow and a packet of peanuts well past its ‘best before’ date. The plane suddenly hit an air pocket and dropped sickeningly, every one of its aged rivets protesting loudly, and Andrew huddled miserably on his narrow, hard seat and prayed. When they had landed and finally bumped to a halt and he and his luggage had been deposited unceremoniously on the worn tarmac, he had to fight the urge to throw himself onto the ground and kiss it vehemently. Picking up his bag, he limped painfully over to the terminus building.
The immigration official looked at Andrew laconically. He slowly returned his gaze to Andrew’s passport, and studied it while chewing thoughtfully on the edge of his huge and bristling moustache. He looked back at Andrew. Andrew smiled nervously. “Wolfram and Hart.” The man’s voice was deep and rumbling, his English heavily accented.
“Yes,” Andrew squeaked.
The man nodded slowly. “So, what is it we have done to deserve three people from Wolfram and Hart to visit us in so short a time, huh?” He shrugged. “One, she go, another she come.”
As Andrew hadn’t the first idea who ‘she’ might be; he decided an ingratiating smile was probably the best answer. The smile slowly faded in the face of the immigration official’s steady stare. The man picked up a stamp and looked at it thoughtfully. “I do not like Wolfram and Hart. I do not like what they do to my town, to my people. But – my superiors they say you must pass.” The stamp thudded down on Andrew’s passport venomously. The official looked up at Andrew with hard, expressionless eyes. “You make no trouble, OK?” He handed back the passport. “Have a nice day.”
Andrew picked up his bag and fled.
If the flight had been rough, it was nothing compared to the taxi ride to the hotel. Initially impressed by the huge black Mercedes, Andrew settled down for the trip on the worn leather seats with a relieved sigh. Any sense of relief was quickly dissipated when they lurched out onto the road. Either the car had no brakes, or the driver was reluctant to use them. Instead he preferred to dodge around any obstacles at breakneck speed, one hand on the steering wheel, the other holding a mobile phone to an ear, while deeply involved in a heated argument with whoever it was had called him. Their erratic progress wasn’t helped by the big car’s lack of suspension, and its alarming habit of swaying sickeningly around corners and crashing painfully into potholes. Once again, when both he and his luggage were deposited outside the hotel, a white-faced Andrew again had to fight the urge to kiss the ground.
The heavily made-up, elderly woman at the large desk peered at him carefully. “You are with Wolfram and Hart?” She sounded less than convinced.
“I’m a colleague of… of…” Andrew hesitated, not entirely sure of the correct term of address, “Comrade Spike,” he managed eventually.
"Comrade!" The woman gave a snort of laughter. “The vampire?” She looked Andrew up and down critically. “His other colleague was prettier.” She shrugged. “You want room?”
“Umm… I guess…” Andrew hesitated.
“You want adjoining room, yes? Make pretence, like the pretty one, huh?” She smiled indulgently and shook her head. “That one – he has much appetite!” She held out a key. “You want I change the sheets?”
Andrew blanched. “Erm… I think… probably… yes.” The woman shrugged again, muttering under her breath in her native tongue. Andrew swallowed nervously. “Do you know if he’s in his room… maybe?”
“I am his keeper?” The woman glared at him.
“No! I just…” Andrew was suddenly feeling very lost and very lonely and very far from home.
At his stricken look, the woman relented slightly. “He is out. Is a big town. Many bars. He could be anywhere. Wait. I do room, you rest, I tell him when he get back.” She turned away. “Now, I get sheets.” She disappeared into a back room to the accompaniment of much muttered, grumbling complaint. Andrew stood uncertainly in the silence of the empty entrance hall and waited. A car drew up outside. There was the sound of good-natured conversation, and then retreating footsteps. Andrew sighed. A few minutes later, the door of the hotel swung open. A tall, black haired man crossed the entrance hall without glancing in Andrew’s direction and climbed the stairs quickly. Andrew watched him, sighed again - and waited. He looked up at the darkened portrait on the wall behind the desk. The heavily-jowled man in the uniform of some long forgotten army glared down at him disapprovingly. He looked away quickly. Thrusting his hands into the pockets of his trousers and whistling tunelessly, he strolled as nonchalantly as he was able back across the marble floor to the hotel doorway and stepped outside.
Funnily enough, it was warmer outside, despite the night frost that was beginning to form on the parked cars and the windows of the deserted shops. A few heavily muffled people walked briskly past, heads down, faces hidden. Andrew huddled miserably in the hotel doorway, shivering in his unsuitable suit, and waited. He was just wondering what the first symptoms of hypothermia might be, and whether frostbite was the cause of his numb big toe, when a familiar leather-clad figure, blond hair shining in the weak light from the streetlamps, appeared from a side road.
“Spike!” Andrew’s natural joy at seeing Spike was massively compounded by his earlier feelings of loneliness. He ran down the street and flung his arms around the stunned vampire.
“Oh, bloody hell!” Spike tried in vain to detach Andrew from around his neck. “What the hell are you doing here? Will you let… go!”
“Spike!” Andrew’s face was buried in Spike’s neck, and he wasn’t showing any signs of letting go. “I’m so happy to see you!”
“Andrew!” Spike’s struggles to escape became more frantic.
“Oh, how sweet!” A deep rumbling voice, heavy with menace, sounded from behind them. Spike and Andrew turned as a large, bulky, warty-skinned demon stepped out of the shadows. “So, the vampire has a boyfriend? Well, isn’t that nice.”
“What’s that?” Andrew whispered nervously to Spike.
Spike sighed heavily. “That is a Kvaryl demon who’s been followin’ me for the past half hour and who I suspect is just a little pissed off at me beating up his boss yesterday. I was just waiting for him to get close enough – element of surprise an’ all.”
“Oops.” Andrew grinned at him weakly. “I guess I just messed up your plans.”
The demon gave a growling laugh. “No matter, little one. Your boyfriend there never stood a chance anyway.”
“Oh, yeah?” Spike squared up to the demon, body naturally poised for fight, head tilted in challenge. “You think? You wanna go ask your boss about that one?”
The demon laughed again. “The chieftain is old, and grows slow. Clearly his time has come if he can be taken in combat by a…” the demon paused, “…pedik.”
“Well, maybe you’d like to try and do better, huh?” Spike raised his hands and gave the demon the come on. “Feelin’ lucky? C’mon… Oh, what the…?” Spike gave a groan of despair as Andrew leaped forward to take up position between him and the demon.
“No-one calls Spike a pedik… whatever that is. I’ll bet it’s insulting. It is insulting right?” Andrew looked up at the demon who nodded bemusedly. “You want Spike; you have to come through me.” He struck a pose – a less-than-elegant imitation of Bruce Lee in a travel-wrinkled suit.
Spike took hold of Andrew’s shoulder. “Andrew, for fuck’s sake! This isn’t a game!”
“It’s OK! I’ve been training!” Andrew refused to be budged. “I am not afraid of you,” he told the demon. “I am the black tiger. I have learned to ride the wind. Fear me,” he growled with something approaching menace.
The demon laughed. “Ha! Your kozel, she has spirit, no?”
Spike looked despairingly at Andrew, then shook his head – well, worst that could happen was Andrew’d be knocked out with the first punch and then he’d just have to step in and tidy up. And just maybe it would teach him a lesson. “OK. Go to it.” He folded his arms and leaned against a wall. “Knock yourself out.”
The demon grinned hugely and took a step towards Andrew. “I will enjoy this,” he growled.
The look of defiance on Andrew’s face was rapidly overtaken by a look of sheer terror as the big demon got closer. He swallowed hard, fought against the urge to huddle on the ground with his arms over his head and wished he was somewhere else. “That’s enough, demon!” he howled, and raised his fist.
Even with his finely tuned vampire senses Spike barely saw the punch coming. Fist met jaw with a bone-crunching thud that made Spike wince. He pushed himself away from the wall and stood looking down at the crumpled body of the demon in stunned silence. “Well, bugger me!” he said admiringly.
An equally stunned Andrew smiled weakly. He opened his eyes looked down at the demon, which looked even larger and bulkier sprawling at his feet, and his face blanched rapidly. He blinked slowly, then looked at Spike and raised his hand. “I think it’s broken,” he whimpered. “The Master didn’t warn me it would hurt! Oww!”
The demon gave a weak groan and Spike ensured its silence with a swift kick to the head. He took hold of Andrew’s hand and examined his knuckles. “S’not broken. Just bruised. That’s his blood, not yours. That’s why it’s purple.” He shot Andrew a concerned look as he swayed alarmingly. “Oh, for…” Andrew’s face had taken on a decidedly green colouration as the enormity of what he had just done hit him. Spike rolled his eyes. “Sit down. Put your head between your knees or something.” Andrew peered at him woozily. “On second thoughts… maybe a drink.”
“I don’t think I want a drink,” Andrew protested weakly.
“Not you. Me. Can you walk?” Andrew took an unsteady step. “Oh, bloody hell! C’mon.” Spike heaved Andrew’s arm over his shoulder and steadied him with an arm around his waist. “Hang on to me.”
Andrew whimpered. In truth, being this close to Spike wasn’t helping his wooziness at all.
They limped up to Spike’s room, running the gauntlet of sniggered comments and gestures from the babushka at the desk that even Andrew with his complete lack of Russian was convinced were less than polite, and almost certainly rude. Up in his room, Spike pointed Andrew at the washbasin, poured himself a drink and took a large swallow. Andrew scrubbed the demon blood off his knuckles and gradually giddy fear and revulsion gave way to equally giddy pride at his own reckless bravery. He’d really done it! Single-handedly taken down what was probably the biggest demon ever and almost certainly saved Spike’s life. By the time he dried his hands he was starting to think maybe Han Solo – after he’d taken up with the Rebel Alliance, naturally.
“OK, so how the hell did you know where I was?” Spike poured another measure into the tooth glass and settled himself in a chair with the bottle.
“I went to see Angel…” Andrew admired his reflection in the mirror, smoothing his hair back into a less tousled, more heroic style.
“Angel told you?”
“Umm… not exactly. He wasn’t over-helpful.”
“Figures,” Spike snorted.
“So I tricked Harmony into tracking you down for me.”
“You did?” Spike was seeing sides to Andrew he’d never suspected. OK, so Harmony was a few shades beyond blonde, but then Andrew hadn’t exactly got a track record for cunning.
“Yeah.” Andrew tried out a sneer in the mirror. “The bimbo sang like a canary.” Not bad! He turned to Spike and strolled across the room, trying hard for loose-limbed nonchalance. Spike raised an eyebrow and held out a glass of whisky. Andrew took it, raised it in salute, took a deep swallow and then collapsed onto the bed in a paroxysm of coughing. “Yeww! What is that?”
Spike peered at the label. “Claims it’s whisky, but somehow I doubt it ever saw the Highlands – least not the ones in Scotland.” He shrugged and took a drink from the bottle. “So, I know how you got here, question remains as to why?”
Andrew took a more cautious sip of his drink and suppressed a grimace. “To get you to come back with me.”
“And why would I want to do that?” Spike topped up Andrew’s drink. “Nothing in London for me, and last time I was there I got the impression I was less than welcome.”
“You must come back, because Buffy needs you and Dawn says you have to. I think it would be neat if you did, too.”
“Has Buffy asked for me?”
“No…” Andrew allowed reluctantly.
“Well then.” Spike shrugged. “She doesn’t need me.”
“She does too!” Andrew stamped his foot in frustration. “What is it with you two? She needs you and won’t admit it and you need her and won’t go to her! It’s just silly! If I loved someone I’d follow them to the ends of the earth!" He blushed suddenly and looked away, “Wherever that might be.”
Spike gave him a bemused look, then shook his head. “Yeah, well. Done all that; never works out to the good. If she wants me she can come find me.” The note of defiance was somewhat marred by the beginnings of a pout.
“You can’t just give up! Buffy didn’t mean what she said. And she’s really been strange since you left… I mean – stranger than usual. Dawn says she’s not sleeping and she keeps going all distant and moody. Dawn says Buffy needs you.” Andrew struggled on valiantly. “And besides, Buffy can’t come and find you because she doesn’t know where you are.”
“So why didn’t you just tell her?”
“Because I… um… it was…” Andrew stumbled to a halt. “Oh, please just come back with me!” Andrew wasn’t above begging.
“No.”
“Please?”
“No!”
“Please…?” Andrew wasn’t above wheedling either.
“NO! Look, we’re better off without each other, OK? ‘Sides, got me a job now. Things to do, places to go, demons to terrorise. Thrown in my lot with Wolfram and Hart for better or for worse and the notice period is kind of forever. I’ve got enough on my plate without pissing off the Evil Empire.”
“But…”
“No!” Spike snarled. “Enough, OK?”
Andrew subsided rapidly at the flash of demon-yellow in Spike’s eyes. He sat in silence and watched Spike staring moodily into space. “She misses you,” he murmured quietly.
“Andrew, for fuck’s sake!”
“OK.” Andrew pouted, downed the last of his drink in one and regretted it as the raw spirit seared his throat and brought tears to his eyes. When the coughing fit subsided he looked over at Spike timidly. “Can I come with you?” he asked.
“No.”
“Why not? I can help you with the fighting.”
“No.”
“I can do it. I really knocked out that demon, didn’t I?”
Spike relented with a sigh. “Yeah. You did good.”
“I can’t wait to tell my Shaolin Master.” Andrew yawned sleepily and lay back on the bed.
“Sure he’ll be impressed. I think maybe next time you should keep the eyes open, though.”
“I’ll work on it…” Andrew murmured and closed his eyes. “We could work together. Vampire and man against the forces of evil; demon fighters extraordinaire. I could get a leather coat like yours – it could be our uniform. The Men in Black Leather…” he smiled dreamily.
“Yeah… maybe…”
“Cool…” Andrew sighed happily and fell asleep.
For a long time Spike sat quietly, listening to the soft sounds of Andrew’s sleeping breath. Then he stood up and folded the blankets over Andrew, tucking him in tightly. Andrew murmured in his sleep, smiling softly to himself. Spike shook his head, pulled his black sports bag from under the bed and quietly let himself out of the room.
[Reviews - 83]
-
Table of Contents [Report This]
Chapter or Story |
Chapter or Story | 
Chapter or Story
Has been viewed 1532 times
- Text Size +
-
Table of Contents [Report This]
Chapter or Story |
Chapter or Story | Chapter or Story - Text Size +
Author's Chapter Notes:
Apologies for the delay in getting this up - posting problems now sorted. It was all Andrew's fault - he would insist on curling up. Hope someone is still with me!