FIC: 100moods Spander: Content
Title: Content
Fandom: Buffy The Vampire Slayer
Characters: Xander/Spike
Prompt: content
Word Count: 2592
Rating: Adult
Warning/Spoilers: Umm, S4 roughly, but no real spoilers. Warnings: angsty!!!!! This chapter went in a different direction than I thought. Please please let me know what you think!
Summary: Xander moves into his new place and talks to Spike.
Unbeta'd, so heck yeah, concrit welcome!! Totally.
Previous parts are here.
Previously: Spike took a deep drag of the cigarette still burning in his hand and blew a thin cold line of icy blue smoke in Xander’s face. “Exactly right, Harris. Just gonna leave you hangin’. You ‘spect me to move to some new hole, sight unseen, ‘cause you got the dosh? Nah, pet. I got a place. Right cozy, if I must say. ‘S you what needs to get out - move on.” He turned on his heel and strode out of the shop, leaving Xander dumbfounded and the rest of the gang in shocked silence.
Content
“Well. This is the last of the boxes, Xander. Where do ya want it?” Buffy asked, shouldering her way into the apartment.
Xander stood in the midst of the chaos that was his new living space and looked around the floor for an empty spot. Not spying one, he shrugged and pointed to the bar between the living room and the kitchen. “I guess there is fine, Buff,” he said, running a hand through his hair, leaving longer strands sticking up all over the side of his head.
Buffy laughed a little as she set down the box. “You look beat, Xand. You sure you don’t want us to stick around and help you sort out this mess?”
Willow came in just then, carrying the last bit of Xander’s possessions in from the car. The quilt his grandmother had made him when he was only ten hung carefully over Willow’s shoulder, and she held the ends of it off the ground. She shrugged it off and folded it, laying it gently over the arm of the sofa that had found a temporary resting place in the middle of the room. “Yeah, Xander. We’d be glad to help you get your stuff arranged,” she said.
Xander walked over to his two girls and hugged them close. “Nah, ladies. I can’t say enough thanks or get enough snacks to repay you guys for helping me move. I know it was tough dealing with...”
“Not a problem, Xander. What are friends for? I mean, suffering the drunken advances of your father is something I’ve grown quite adept at in the last few years. It lends a quickness to my evasive maneuvers out on patrol.” Buffy grinned up at him, and leaned her head against his shoulder.
“I’m so sorry, Buffy. But I meant the whole Spike thing. It...it was wrong for me to keep that a secret from you guys.”
She smacked him in the arm. “Don’t sweat it, Xand, really. Yeah, it'll take some getting used to, but," she trailed off, shrugging. "You're an adult. We're your friends, not your keepers. I’m just glad you’re finally out on your own and out from under that festering excuse for a home.”
Willow nodded against his other arm. “Yeah! You’re grown up Xander now. You ain’t gotta worry about nothing anymore.” She paused, then sort of frowned. “Well, except rent, and utilities, and groceries and cable and phone and all the other bills that come with being all grown up.”
Xander chuckled. “Way to look on the bright side, Wills!”
“But!” She exclaimed, smiling up at him, “No more fighting! Or..or avoiding holidays. Or sleeping outside during Christmas! We can have Christmas here! Under one roof, with everybody!”
“Sure we can,” he said. “In eight months time, we’ll celebrate Christmas in my - by then, I hope - old apartment.”
About that time, Giles came stepping in, carrying what looked like a bag full of garbage. “Uh, Xander. I do believe this is the last of the, eh, items from your basement.” He cleared his throat. “What, um, what would you like me to do with it?”
Letting go of Buffy and Willow, Xander turned and eyed the black garbage bag hanging from Giles’ hand. He stepped over a couple of boxes to Giles and took the bag from him, saying, “I’ll take care of it, Giles. It’s not my stuff, but it’s not exactly garbage either.”
“Ah. I see. Well, then, if everything is settled here, perhaps Willow, Buffy and I should return to the shop. Continue our research on the latest rash of odd events. Girls?”
Xander nodded, not really listening as he continued to hold onto the black bag. “Yeah. You guys go take care of business.”
He suffered through their hugs and goodnights, and sighed as the door shut behind them. This wasn’t the way he’d pictured moving into a new place. He thought there’d be more chatter, more smoke in the air, as he and Spike put away their stuff. But Spike wasn’t there. Wasn’t gonna be there, and all that was left of his presence in Xander’s life was the black vinyl bag that Giles had brought up to the apartment.
Xander took a deep breath and stepped back over several boxes to the couch. Putting the bag on the floor, he cleared himself a spot and sat down, eyeballing the bag as though it were about to reach out and strangle him. It’d only been a couple of days, but Xander really did miss Spike. Missed the other presence in his life. This emptiness, even if it wasn’t exactly new, was not something he wanted to get used to again. He fingered the knot at the top of the bag, and without volition, his fingers were working it loose, spreading the bag open and reaching inside.
His fingers grazed over soft cotton and rough denim. There was a tube of hair gel, a cheap lighter that Xander had bought when Spike thought he’d lost his Zippo, a couple of books, and a small bottle of whiskey. Xander pulled out one of the t-shirts that Spike had left at his place. It had been black, but one night patrolling, they’d run across some really caustic demon ichor that acted like bleach, leaving blanched spots all over the shirt. Spike hadn’t wanted to throw it out, though, thinking he could dye it black again. He’d thrown it in the dirty clothes, and Xander had washed it with his own clothes just three days before Spike had left. He lifted the shirt to his nose and inhaled deep the scent.
Spike always managed to smell the same, no matter how many times he had to wash his clothes because of some nasty slimy demon or bloody brawl. There was the almost inherent scent of molasses and tobacco. Not exactly the whiskey and smoke smell, but less acrid, something richer, older. Remnant of Spike’s everyday activities. Xander snatched the shirt away from his face and himself out of the scent memory. Setting the shirt aside, he pulled the books from the bag.
He so rarely caught Spike doing anything other than watching t.v., smoking, or fighting, so finding two books in his possession was a bit of a revelation. Even more so were the titles on the books’ spines. Xander laughed aloud at one title, recognizing it as a trashy supermarket find of his mother's. One of those novels that were based on true events. He got a kick thinking that Spike had stolen it from his mother. He tossed it aside and looked at the other book.
This one was older, hard cover. The pages crinkled under his fingers, crumbling a bit at the edges. He opened it and read a few lines from it aloud. “In spite of myself, the insidious mastery of song betrays me back, till the heart of me weeps to belong to the old Sunday evenings at home, with winter outside and hymns in the cozy parlour, the tinkling piano our guide.” He frowned and turned to the title page of the book. It was an anthology of poetry. His eyebrows lifted in wonderment. “Hmm. Interesting.” He closed the book and put it and the shirt back into the bag
Xander closed the bag again and sat back on the sofa, eyes closed and his hands folded behind his head. He thought about what he should do with Spike’s things, if he should keep them at the apartment and trust that Spike would come to his senses and show up, or if he should go ahead and return the vampire’s things to him. Figuring it’d be better for him to just make the clean break, he decided to go over to Spike’s crypt and return his possessions. Sitting forward on the sofa and massaging the stiffness of the move out of his neck, Xander stared at the bag for a moment, then sighed and stood.
“Might as well get this over with,” he said to no one, and rose. He grabbed the bag and his keys, slid on his shoes, and left for Spike’s place.
Xander parked outside of Restfield Cemetery and searched the grounds through the wrought iron fence. It was getting late, the sun long past setting, and he hoped Buffy and Giles had already made their sweep through this particular graveyard. Not seeing any furtive movement through the fence, Xander grabbed the bag and climbed out of the car. Pushing through the heavy iron gates, he grimaced at the loud creak of the hinges but continued inside.
He’d been to Spike’s crypt several times over the last couple of months. Often, when partnered with Spike on patrol, they’d make their way through Restfield, slaying fledges and demons alike on their way to Spike’s to get some clothes for him to stay over at Xander’s. As a result, navigating the confusing layout of headstones and mausoleums didn’t require too much concentration on Xander’s part. He could go over what he wanted to say to Spike, and not think too much about where he was going.
He honestly didn’t know what he’d say to Spike to get him to change his mind about moving into the apartment. He didn’t know exactly what he’d done wrong. They’d discussed leaving the basement several times. That first time had been fierce, with Spike thinking all the wrong things about Xander wanting out of whatever it was they were in - a relationship? He determined that Spike was a sensitive guy, blustery and hard on the outside but insecure on the inside. Kinda opposite of Xander, actually. Where Xander wore his feelings of insecurity on his sleeve, Spike kept them bottled up, hidden.
As a result, Xander had no idea what he’d done, in choosing the apartment, that would have pissed Spike off so much as to keep him from staying with Xander. It wasn’t like Xander hadn’t kept Spike in mind looking for the apartment. He’d specifically signed for a place with few windows and southern exposure, so Spike would be safe during the day if they accidentally left some blinds open. There was easy sewer access in the basement of the building, so Spike could make it home safe if patrol went on too long. There was free parking, so the DeSoto had a place to stay, once they got it out of impound. And the walls were really thick, so they could - as Spike would say - shag like minxes all they wanted and not disturb the neighbors.
Xander just didn’t know what Spike’s problem was, and bringing the vampire’s stuff back to him was the only opportunity to find out.
Arriving at Spike’s crypt, Xander stepped up and knocked on the heavy steel door.
“‘S open!” Spike called from inside, and Xander shoved the door open and stepped in. Spike turned to greet him and seeing it was Xander, sneered, “Oh, ‘s just you.” He sniffed a bit and finished pouring himself a mug of blood. Xander looked on in fascination.
Spike noticed him staring and glared. “What? You look like you never seen me eat before.”
Xander shook his head and cleared his throat. “Uh, no. I mean, yeah, I’ve seen you eat. Just, I was wondering how you were keeping your blood. These days, you know, not having electricity and all.”
Spike pointed to the mini fridge that sat in the corner of the crypt and the microwave that rested on top of it. “Got power. One of m’ demon friends wired me up. Even got cable occasionally.” Spike indicated with a nod the tv that sat in the front of the crypt. He took a swig of blood, and Xander swallowed thickly when Spike swallowed. “So, what brings ya by? Curious ‘bout the place, now that I’m actually stayin’ here?” Spike asked as he sat down.
“Ah, no. Not curious.” Xander said.
“Course not. Why be curious ‘bout anything I’d be doin’, huh?”
“That’s not...I didn’t come to....” Xander gave up trying to talk and held out the bag he was still carrying. “I just brought some of your stuff over.”
Spike eyed the black bag as though it were a snake about to bite him. “Ta,” he said, then frowned when Xander didn’t set the bag down and leave. “Well. You’ve done the good deed for the night, pet. You can toddle on off now, don’t ya think?”
Xander lifted the bag and walked the few steps to stand in front of Spike, who stared up at him, baleful blue eyes unblinking. “I could, yeah, but I have a question.”
“And that would be?”
“Why poetry?” Xander blurted out, then stammered, “I mean, I know you’re smart. Educated, even, but you never read. At least I never saw you read. And I didn’t mean to dig through your stuff, but I mis- I was curious. And the poetry. It was nice. Kinda threw me for a loop, but it fit, you know? It was like reading about you. And I was wondering why?”
“You riffled through my things, Harris? That’s bloody nosy of you.” Spike hissed.
“I didn’t riffle! I peeked. I...I...wanted...” He stopped and sighed. “I was confused. I wanted to know why you didn’t come with me and thought I’d find something in your stuff, but I didn’t. So I brought it back to you. Thought, maybe, we could talk.”
“About poetry?” Spike settled back into his chair.
“Yes. No. Well, sort of! I want to know why you didn’t come with me! I thought we agreed. I thought you wanted out of the basement same as me! It never occurred to me that you wouldn’t come with me. And yes! Why didn’t you read in front of me? Why’d you hide that from me? I thought we were beginning to share something, you know?”
At the mention of sharing, Spike surged out of his seat, growling. “Share? Bloody well sharing? Well, hell, pet, I could share with the best of ‘em couldn’t I? Sure, I could have shared poetry with you. But you had your job and your friends and we had to patrol. I could share some of myself with you, but when? In the ten minutes between you coming home, us shaggin’ and then going off to your precious scooby meetings? When you were sleeping?” Spike stepped into Xander’s space. “Oh, no. I know. I should bloody well share when you’re out looking for yourself a new place, thinkin’ I’d just roll over and collect my things and tag along? When I didn’t get a say in where I’d live?”
Xander shuddered under the onslaught of words. “I chose the place for you,” he whispered, but Spike didn’t hear him.
“You were so content in finding your new digs that you left me out of it. Decided on a place, decided I would move in with you, told your friends about us and soddin’ well moved without so much as a by your leave. Yes. That makes me want to share all over the place,” Spike hissed and shoved Xander away from him. “Get out, Xander.”
Xander nodded, dropped the bag and turned to go. As he opened the door, he turned back to Spike and said, “I chose the place for you. Realtor’s are closed at night, and you couldn’t go out during the day. I thought I was doing you a favor. I’m sorry you thought you were excluded.”
“Yeah. Well. Too late now.” Spike kicked the bag out of his way and sat down again, staring at the fuzzy television screen.
“Yeah. See ya around, Spike.” Xander stepped out into the cemetery and shut the door quietly, listening for the delicate snick of the latch as it caught.
He made his way out of the cemetery just as he came in.
TBC
the quoted poetry is from Piano, by D.H. Lawrence, 1918.
Fandom: Buffy The Vampire Slayer
Characters: Xander/Spike
Prompt: content
Word Count: 2592
Rating: Adult
Warning/Spoilers: Umm, S4 roughly, but no real spoilers. Warnings: angsty!!!!! This chapter went in a different direction than I thought. Please please let me know what you think!
Summary: Xander moves into his new place and talks to Spike.
Unbeta'd, so heck yeah, concrit welcome!! Totally.
Previous parts are here.
Previously: Spike took a deep drag of the cigarette still burning in his hand and blew a thin cold line of icy blue smoke in Xander’s face. “Exactly right, Harris. Just gonna leave you hangin’. You ‘spect me to move to some new hole, sight unseen, ‘cause you got the dosh? Nah, pet. I got a place. Right cozy, if I must say. ‘S you what needs to get out - move on.” He turned on his heel and strode out of the shop, leaving Xander dumbfounded and the rest of the gang in shocked silence.
Content
“Well. This is the last of the boxes, Xander. Where do ya want it?” Buffy asked, shouldering her way into the apartment.
Xander stood in the midst of the chaos that was his new living space and looked around the floor for an empty spot. Not spying one, he shrugged and pointed to the bar between the living room and the kitchen. “I guess there is fine, Buff,” he said, running a hand through his hair, leaving longer strands sticking up all over the side of his head.
Buffy laughed a little as she set down the box. “You look beat, Xand. You sure you don’t want us to stick around and help you sort out this mess?”
Willow came in just then, carrying the last bit of Xander’s possessions in from the car. The quilt his grandmother had made him when he was only ten hung carefully over Willow’s shoulder, and she held the ends of it off the ground. She shrugged it off and folded it, laying it gently over the arm of the sofa that had found a temporary resting place in the middle of the room. “Yeah, Xander. We’d be glad to help you get your stuff arranged,” she said.
Xander walked over to his two girls and hugged them close. “Nah, ladies. I can’t say enough thanks or get enough snacks to repay you guys for helping me move. I know it was tough dealing with...”
“Not a problem, Xander. What are friends for? I mean, suffering the drunken advances of your father is something I’ve grown quite adept at in the last few years. It lends a quickness to my evasive maneuvers out on patrol.” Buffy grinned up at him, and leaned her head against his shoulder.
“I’m so sorry, Buffy. But I meant the whole Spike thing. It...it was wrong for me to keep that a secret from you guys.”
She smacked him in the arm. “Don’t sweat it, Xand, really. Yeah, it'll take some getting used to, but," she trailed off, shrugging. "You're an adult. We're your friends, not your keepers. I’m just glad you’re finally out on your own and out from under that festering excuse for a home.”
Willow nodded against his other arm. “Yeah! You’re grown up Xander now. You ain’t gotta worry about nothing anymore.” She paused, then sort of frowned. “Well, except rent, and utilities, and groceries and cable and phone and all the other bills that come with being all grown up.”
Xander chuckled. “Way to look on the bright side, Wills!”
“But!” She exclaimed, smiling up at him, “No more fighting! Or..or avoiding holidays. Or sleeping outside during Christmas! We can have Christmas here! Under one roof, with everybody!”
“Sure we can,” he said. “In eight months time, we’ll celebrate Christmas in my - by then, I hope - old apartment.”
About that time, Giles came stepping in, carrying what looked like a bag full of garbage. “Uh, Xander. I do believe this is the last of the, eh, items from your basement.” He cleared his throat. “What, um, what would you like me to do with it?”
Letting go of Buffy and Willow, Xander turned and eyed the black garbage bag hanging from Giles’ hand. He stepped over a couple of boxes to Giles and took the bag from him, saying, “I’ll take care of it, Giles. It’s not my stuff, but it’s not exactly garbage either.”
“Ah. I see. Well, then, if everything is settled here, perhaps Willow, Buffy and I should return to the shop. Continue our research on the latest rash of odd events. Girls?”
Xander nodded, not really listening as he continued to hold onto the black bag. “Yeah. You guys go take care of business.”
He suffered through their hugs and goodnights, and sighed as the door shut behind them. This wasn’t the way he’d pictured moving into a new place. He thought there’d be more chatter, more smoke in the air, as he and Spike put away their stuff. But Spike wasn’t there. Wasn’t gonna be there, and all that was left of his presence in Xander’s life was the black vinyl bag that Giles had brought up to the apartment.
Xander took a deep breath and stepped back over several boxes to the couch. Putting the bag on the floor, he cleared himself a spot and sat down, eyeballing the bag as though it were about to reach out and strangle him. It’d only been a couple of days, but Xander really did miss Spike. Missed the other presence in his life. This emptiness, even if it wasn’t exactly new, was not something he wanted to get used to again. He fingered the knot at the top of the bag, and without volition, his fingers were working it loose, spreading the bag open and reaching inside.
His fingers grazed over soft cotton and rough denim. There was a tube of hair gel, a cheap lighter that Xander had bought when Spike thought he’d lost his Zippo, a couple of books, and a small bottle of whiskey. Xander pulled out one of the t-shirts that Spike had left at his place. It had been black, but one night patrolling, they’d run across some really caustic demon ichor that acted like bleach, leaving blanched spots all over the shirt. Spike hadn’t wanted to throw it out, though, thinking he could dye it black again. He’d thrown it in the dirty clothes, and Xander had washed it with his own clothes just three days before Spike had left. He lifted the shirt to his nose and inhaled deep the scent.
Spike always managed to smell the same, no matter how many times he had to wash his clothes because of some nasty slimy demon or bloody brawl. There was the almost inherent scent of molasses and tobacco. Not exactly the whiskey and smoke smell, but less acrid, something richer, older. Remnant of Spike’s everyday activities. Xander snatched the shirt away from his face and himself out of the scent memory. Setting the shirt aside, he pulled the books from the bag.
He so rarely caught Spike doing anything other than watching t.v., smoking, or fighting, so finding two books in his possession was a bit of a revelation. Even more so were the titles on the books’ spines. Xander laughed aloud at one title, recognizing it as a trashy supermarket find of his mother's. One of those novels that were based on true events. He got a kick thinking that Spike had stolen it from his mother. He tossed it aside and looked at the other book.
This one was older, hard cover. The pages crinkled under his fingers, crumbling a bit at the edges. He opened it and read a few lines from it aloud. “In spite of myself, the insidious mastery of song betrays me back, till the heart of me weeps to belong to the old Sunday evenings at home, with winter outside and hymns in the cozy parlour, the tinkling piano our guide.” He frowned and turned to the title page of the book. It was an anthology of poetry. His eyebrows lifted in wonderment. “Hmm. Interesting.” He closed the book and put it and the shirt back into the bag
Xander closed the bag again and sat back on the sofa, eyes closed and his hands folded behind his head. He thought about what he should do with Spike’s things, if he should keep them at the apartment and trust that Spike would come to his senses and show up, or if he should go ahead and return the vampire’s things to him. Figuring it’d be better for him to just make the clean break, he decided to go over to Spike’s crypt and return his possessions. Sitting forward on the sofa and massaging the stiffness of the move out of his neck, Xander stared at the bag for a moment, then sighed and stood.
“Might as well get this over with,” he said to no one, and rose. He grabbed the bag and his keys, slid on his shoes, and left for Spike’s place.
Xander parked outside of Restfield Cemetery and searched the grounds through the wrought iron fence. It was getting late, the sun long past setting, and he hoped Buffy and Giles had already made their sweep through this particular graveyard. Not seeing any furtive movement through the fence, Xander grabbed the bag and climbed out of the car. Pushing through the heavy iron gates, he grimaced at the loud creak of the hinges but continued inside.
He’d been to Spike’s crypt several times over the last couple of months. Often, when partnered with Spike on patrol, they’d make their way through Restfield, slaying fledges and demons alike on their way to Spike’s to get some clothes for him to stay over at Xander’s. As a result, navigating the confusing layout of headstones and mausoleums didn’t require too much concentration on Xander’s part. He could go over what he wanted to say to Spike, and not think too much about where he was going.
He honestly didn’t know what he’d say to Spike to get him to change his mind about moving into the apartment. He didn’t know exactly what he’d done wrong. They’d discussed leaving the basement several times. That first time had been fierce, with Spike thinking all the wrong things about Xander wanting out of whatever it was they were in - a relationship? He determined that Spike was a sensitive guy, blustery and hard on the outside but insecure on the inside. Kinda opposite of Xander, actually. Where Xander wore his feelings of insecurity on his sleeve, Spike kept them bottled up, hidden.
As a result, Xander had no idea what he’d done, in choosing the apartment, that would have pissed Spike off so much as to keep him from staying with Xander. It wasn’t like Xander hadn’t kept Spike in mind looking for the apartment. He’d specifically signed for a place with few windows and southern exposure, so Spike would be safe during the day if they accidentally left some blinds open. There was easy sewer access in the basement of the building, so Spike could make it home safe if patrol went on too long. There was free parking, so the DeSoto had a place to stay, once they got it out of impound. And the walls were really thick, so they could - as Spike would say - shag like minxes all they wanted and not disturb the neighbors.
Xander just didn’t know what Spike’s problem was, and bringing the vampire’s stuff back to him was the only opportunity to find out.
Arriving at Spike’s crypt, Xander stepped up and knocked on the heavy steel door.
“‘S open!” Spike called from inside, and Xander shoved the door open and stepped in. Spike turned to greet him and seeing it was Xander, sneered, “Oh, ‘s just you.” He sniffed a bit and finished pouring himself a mug of blood. Xander looked on in fascination.
Spike noticed him staring and glared. “What? You look like you never seen me eat before.”
Xander shook his head and cleared his throat. “Uh, no. I mean, yeah, I’ve seen you eat. Just, I was wondering how you were keeping your blood. These days, you know, not having electricity and all.”
Spike pointed to the mini fridge that sat in the corner of the crypt and the microwave that rested on top of it. “Got power. One of m’ demon friends wired me up. Even got cable occasionally.” Spike indicated with a nod the tv that sat in the front of the crypt. He took a swig of blood, and Xander swallowed thickly when Spike swallowed. “So, what brings ya by? Curious ‘bout the place, now that I’m actually stayin’ here?” Spike asked as he sat down.
“Ah, no. Not curious.” Xander said.
“Course not. Why be curious ‘bout anything I’d be doin’, huh?”
“That’s not...I didn’t come to....” Xander gave up trying to talk and held out the bag he was still carrying. “I just brought some of your stuff over.”
Spike eyed the black bag as though it were a snake about to bite him. “Ta,” he said, then frowned when Xander didn’t set the bag down and leave. “Well. You’ve done the good deed for the night, pet. You can toddle on off now, don’t ya think?”
Xander lifted the bag and walked the few steps to stand in front of Spike, who stared up at him, baleful blue eyes unblinking. “I could, yeah, but I have a question.”
“And that would be?”
“Why poetry?” Xander blurted out, then stammered, “I mean, I know you’re smart. Educated, even, but you never read. At least I never saw you read. And I didn’t mean to dig through your stuff, but I mis- I was curious. And the poetry. It was nice. Kinda threw me for a loop, but it fit, you know? It was like reading about you. And I was wondering why?”
“You riffled through my things, Harris? That’s bloody nosy of you.” Spike hissed.
“I didn’t riffle! I peeked. I...I...wanted...” He stopped and sighed. “I was confused. I wanted to know why you didn’t come with me and thought I’d find something in your stuff, but I didn’t. So I brought it back to you. Thought, maybe, we could talk.”
“About poetry?” Spike settled back into his chair.
“Yes. No. Well, sort of! I want to know why you didn’t come with me! I thought we agreed. I thought you wanted out of the basement same as me! It never occurred to me that you wouldn’t come with me. And yes! Why didn’t you read in front of me? Why’d you hide that from me? I thought we were beginning to share something, you know?”
At the mention of sharing, Spike surged out of his seat, growling. “Share? Bloody well sharing? Well, hell, pet, I could share with the best of ‘em couldn’t I? Sure, I could have shared poetry with you. But you had your job and your friends and we had to patrol. I could share some of myself with you, but when? In the ten minutes between you coming home, us shaggin’ and then going off to your precious scooby meetings? When you were sleeping?” Spike stepped into Xander’s space. “Oh, no. I know. I should bloody well share when you’re out looking for yourself a new place, thinkin’ I’d just roll over and collect my things and tag along? When I didn’t get a say in where I’d live?”
Xander shuddered under the onslaught of words. “I chose the place for you,” he whispered, but Spike didn’t hear him.
“You were so content in finding your new digs that you left me out of it. Decided on a place, decided I would move in with you, told your friends about us and soddin’ well moved without so much as a by your leave. Yes. That makes me want to share all over the place,” Spike hissed and shoved Xander away from him. “Get out, Xander.”
Xander nodded, dropped the bag and turned to go. As he opened the door, he turned back to Spike and said, “I chose the place for you. Realtor’s are closed at night, and you couldn’t go out during the day. I thought I was doing you a favor. I’m sorry you thought you were excluded.”
“Yeah. Well. Too late now.” Spike kicked the bag out of his way and sat down again, staring at the fuzzy television screen.
“Yeah. See ya around, Spike.” Xander stepped out into the cemetery and shut the door quietly, listening for the delicate snick of the latch as it caught.
He made his way out of the cemetery just as he came in.
TBC
the quoted poetry is from Piano, by D.H. Lawrence, 1918.