Old Friends - New Beginnings Part 2
Old Friends - New Beginnings Part 2
The conversation eventually resumed upon less controversial topics and they continued their meal without any further undue revelations. Slanderous remarks about Andrew didn't count.
Finally, when the last scrap of the third helping of gateau and ice cream had been chased from Xander's plate, he sat back in satisfaction and burped softly, smirking at Spike's affected grunt of distaste. “So! It's 'Welcome to England, Xand-man!' With food like this to be had, I guess I could really get to like the place. One whole meal down and no sign of boiled beef or carrots!”
“You'll get carrots enough at Ripper's place. Got himself a kitchen garden could feed half the county. But I reckon more red meat would do you good right now,” Spike eyed the slight form beside him critically, “but we'll go light on the boiled stuff, 'less it's a damn good stew from the charmed Aga of the sainted Mrs. Penhaligon. I warn you, you're going to fall in love with Ripper's cook. She's magical.”
“Delights of the morrow await me, but a good sleep will do me most good, right now. How long will it take us to get there?”
“It's only a couple of hours away; the plan is to get you well settled into Ripper's Acre by mid morning. I suggest that you have a bloody good breakfast before we go; Dawn has insisted that she produce a welcome-home brunch for you and although willing, she's not altogether as wise in the ways of culinary magic as her mentor is. So be warned. Not that you wouldn't know all about bad cuisine, or just plain lack of cuisine.
"Jesus, Harris,” Spike finally exploded, “what the fuck happened to you? If I hadn't expected to see you, I'd have walked straight past you, without knowing.” Spike's face crumpled with a sharp pang of sorrow he couldn't be bothered to try to hide. “What the hell did they do to you, Lad?"
Excerpt from the diary of Xander Harris:
I sat silent for a while before I attempted to reply. All so mundane all so impossible. Spike. Not only alive, or at least undead, but chatting to beat the band. Just that would make this a special entry in Dear Diary. Whatever the heck happened to Mr. Cutting-and-Taciturn?
Truth is, I was overcome, and the pernicious tears I had felt prickling when Spike and I hugged earlier threatened to burst and become a regular Niagara. I think I could have coped with sympathy and side-long looks, God knows I'd got used them over the last six months and if I'd been met with the brusqueness I expected from Spike I would have been okay. But this friendly banter, insults included, was so surprising yet familiar I felt as if Africa had never happened. We could have been back in a bar in SunnyD toasting the overthrow of that week's Big Bad. But then, of course, it would have been me doing all the talking and Spike doing the rolling of the eyes.
"You okay, Harris?" he asked me then.
I looked at him and Niagara fell.
******
Tears had been dried and laughed at - by Xander at least. Spike was irritated by his concern for the younger man, and didn't crack a smile until they had ordered a post-postprandial brandy which Spike had insisted would calm Xander down and help him sleep. He, of course, had one too, just to keep Xander company.
Yawns were threatening to dislocate Xander's jaws as they walked into the room he had booked for them. Mouth already gaping, he dropped his bag and looked around in confusion. His two cases were neatly placed at the foot of the large double bed which was the only bed in the room.
Spike regarded him with mocking derision. “That keen to get me into bed, huh? Mm, Sweetie! You could have given me a hint!” Spike put his hand to his hip and leered.
“Shit, I asked for a double. I was expecting two beds, not just one big one!”
“Ask for a double and you get one double bed. You should have asked for a twin-room, we'd have got two singles.”
“Damn, I didn't think. The porter offered to bring my cases up for me, cause there's no elevator and I stayed downstairs.” Xander turned to leave the room. “I'll go and...”
“Don't bother on my account. I don't flatter myself that you won't be able to keep your hands off me. You need to be getting to sleep, not arguing the toss with some dozy night porter about changing our room.” Spike's gaze could have been described as solicitous, had it adorned anyone else's face. Xander chose to suspect that it was the result of vampire indigestion, but it was nice to imagine that Spike actually had his best interests at heart.
“OK, sure. I'm so tired my hands haven't got the energy to stray into vampire territory during the night. Your virtue is safe.” Because Spike was Spike, he huffed a camp little huff before taking himself over to the far side of the bed. Xander continued, “Safer than mine was the night the rhino decided to investigate the tent while I was sleeping in it. Man, you wouldn't believe where those horns can get! And they're biiiig!” He drew his hands apart in emphasis.
Spike laughed derisively. “Oh yeah, a likely story!” He sat on the bed and bounced experimentally, before stripping quickly and sliding in. “This'll do. I hope you notice that I'm letting you have the closer side so's you don't have so far to walk. Or so far to run in case of stray rhinos!” He snorted his disbelief.
“It's true, believe me! And never forget: On the Savannah No-one Can Hear You Scream!”
Hands at his shirt buttons, Xander briefly considered disappearing into the bathroom to undress, but remembered in time that he was all grown up now. Despite this, he was still apprehensive about Spike's reaction to his wasted body. Sympathy was one thing - in small doses it could be wallowed in - but pity was anathema. He took a deep breath and mentally girded his loins, “All the better to ungird them,” he thought. Chuckling heroically to himself, he stood his ground and stripped down to boxers and socks then threw his eye patch on to the bedside table. As he sat on the bed to pull his socks off, Spike's indignant voice said, “Trust you to go from Michelin Man to walking skeleton. Didn't you ever learn to do things by half, Harris?”
Xander snorfled. A genuine belly laugh shook him for several moments and suddenly everything was okay. He twisted around to face Spike who was now lying propped against the headboard, hands behind his head, scowling at him. It was an indolent, frequently insolent, posture that Xander remembered from Spike's days chained up in Buffy's basement while The First was playing them. Seeing Spike's mock-fierce expression, Xander's face crinkled with sudden fondness. “Spike! Man, I wish I'd had you with me in Africa!”
“Yeah, well, you'd be twice the man you are now, I can tell you. Even if I'd had to drain you and turn you to keep you fit. Look like you've been dead a week and just warmed over. Those idiots should have known you'd never be able to look after yourself. Shame I wasn't there earlier, to keep them on their toes.” His expression softened. “You're okay now, Harris - we'll soon see you back good and healthy.” As if to compensate for a moment of unnecessarily girly compassion he stared hard at a point on Xander's neck. “Unless... This is the easiest way of doing it, you know - in a nice big comfy bed. And seeing as we've got one going spare....”
Xander laughed again, bent down and deposited a mocking but friendly kiss on Spike's forehead. Then walloped him with a pillow. “Not right now - let's see what kind of hell Dawn can make my life, as she tries to make it better! I might be taking you up on your offer by this time next week.”
Spike smirked, feeling absurdly pleased at Xander's daft display of affection. Satisfied, he rolled over to face the window, and fell asleep.
Xander lay in bed for a few minutes before remembering that the bathroom he'd been so quick to reject was meant for more urgent tasks than undressing in. When he returned he looked down, for a while, at his unexpected bed-fellow. He shook his head in disbelief; he found the situation strangely soothing. How weird was that? He slid back into bed and soft sheets draped arms of cotton around him; Spike's immobile form sleeping the sleep of the just - as were his just deserves - was a reassuring bulwark against the night. Within minutes, Morpheus had claimed him and all his dreams, for once, were good.
******
“Oy, wake up you lazy sod - rise and shine!”
“Wha' huh?” Xander snuffled into consciousness and wiped away a sliver of drool that was snaking down his chin.
“Come on, out of your pit. And who's this poor, bloody Jim bloke you bin calling all the names under the sun since I've been prodding you awake? Used to be his job, huh? He sounds like a right task master.”
Xander stared dumbly at the grinning idiot, freshly washed and fully dressed, who stood before him. What the hell was a vampire doing acting so lively at this time of the morning? And what the hell time of the morning was it?
“It's time to go, O Travel-lagged One. The car's got vampire-proof glass but I got to get into it before the sun reaches it. Next time, pick a hotel with underground parking.”
Xander grunted and hauled himself into the bathroom. Fifteen minutes later, still damp from the shower, glass eye gleaming, and shaved following the rules of the hit-and-miss school of barbering, he poured himself into fresh clothes from his overnight bag and started to feel almost awake. “What about breakfast? Coffee. I need coffee. Feed me coffee.”
“No problem - just get your arse moving in that direction.” Spike held the door open and nodded down the corridor. “I recommend the Full English. You'll like the Full English.”
Xander did enjoy the Full English and admitted as much as they were, eventually, barrelling down the M4. A low, early-morning sun was pouring in through the back window, highlighting a vampire's incredibly resistant head of bright blond hair.
“I've wondered what you'd look like in sunshine. Never thought to actually see it,” remarked Xander. “At least,” he said with an evil grin, “not for more than a few seconds!”
“Oy! I've done more than my fair share of burning up in sunlight. Only right I should get to enjoy some. Even if it is only through specially tempered glass. And,” Spike's evil grin was professional level compared to Xander's, “I've wondered how you'd enjoy black pudding. Now I know, and you obviously do! Doubt that you knew what you were eating, of course.”
“Black pudding? What those slices of lumpy stuff with white fatty bits and red splodges?” Xander's eyes were wide with innocence and glinting with jubilant mockery. “Yeah, we used to have something much the same in the bush. You'd like it - made with goat's blood.”
Spike's face fell and Xander laughed. “Oh, man, you've got to go a lot farther than that to get me these days. You wouldn't believe the things I've had to eat to keep body and soul together. Though I drew the line at chimp. A bit of good, old-fashioned pigs'-blood black-pudding aint nothin'!”
“An expert on old fashioned English cuisine, now, are you?” Spike was sulking but only because he was trying hard. He was rather enjoying this new, world-wise Xander.
“My friend Jim studied at Oxford and was well into local foodstuffs while he was there. His family runs a hotel back in Kenya and, since he's been helping out there, their Olde Englishe Black Pudding is riding high on the list of must-haves among the ex-pats.”
“Oh, yes. Jim. So, any story there?” Spike raised a quizzical eyebrow and looked interested. “Don't tell me Willow gayed you up, after all.”
“Jim.” Xander's face softened as he thought of the man.
For a brief moment Spike wondered what it would be like to see that expression and know that it was himself, Spike, whom Xander was thinking about. He denied the thought immediately and tuned back in to what Xander was saying, keeping his eyes resolutely on the road.
“He was a damn good friend when I needed one. We helped each other. He's one of the good guys.” Xander's reply was affable but bland and guaranteed that Spike was getting no more than these necessary basics.
There was, however, something about the laconic explanation that told Spike much more than Xander intended. But then, Spike had always had a prurient imagination and a dirty mind to go with it. He dipped his head. “They're out there, the good guys. Sometimes.” The image of Fred, firmly on his side and determined on finding a way to make him corporeal, came irresistibly to his mind. He breathed in deeply. “I'm glad you found one when you needed him.”
Silence fell and Xander found himself nodding off. The soft sibilance of tyres on tarmac was soothing. That, along with the heavy breakfast he had eaten and the gentle motion of the car connived at lulling him back to sleep.
When he awoke his eyes were gritty and his shoulders ached from being held in one position for a couple of hours. The silence, however, had long gone. Spike was swearing - a rowdy and continual stream of obscenity directed at the traffic that was holding up their progress. They had arrived in Bath and every motorist in the city was out to get him.
“Hey, it's pretty! It's just like in the movies.”
“You back with us, then? See what I mean? If I'd remembered to set the sat-nav we could have avoided all this and gone via the hidden by-ways that Ripper and Pryce keep urging on to me. Then, joy of fucking joys, we could be fighting for road space with some bolshy bloody farmer driving his tractor in front of us at five miles an hour up the middle of a lane spraying us with bloody cow shit. Can't fucking win. I knew the bike would have been better.”
“If you've got sat-nav, why do you keep getting lost?”
“Keep forgetting to use the bloody thing, don't I?”
Xander gazed around with interest, at the pale, old buildings, some dirty and dark with ages-old smoke and blackened from exhaust fumes, some recently cleaned, their soft honey-coloured stone glowing in the sunshine. He had done some reading-up about his new home and Jim, who had spent a summer at a Roman dig just outside the town, had added extra nuggets of knowledge. “So, did you use to come and 'take the waters' with all the Regency rakes?” His delighted grin followed Spike's scowl, as night did day.
“Bloody hell, how old do you think I am? Course I didn't. Though Angelus and Darla were wont to dally around here, back in the day. Hear Her Nibs prattling about it, you'd think she'd actually got to eat Jane Austen herself.”
An energetic haul at the steering wheel, following signs to Wells, and suddenly they were in a lightly trafficked street with the promise of countryside at the end of it. The buildings fell back abruptly and all that could be seen for the next mile or so, were high hedges surrounding the rumours of grand houses set in large grounds. Then they too were gone and all around were the gently rolling hills of Somerset, welcoming and verdant in the languid autumn sunlight.
“You know, when I first realised that not only was the Bishop of Bath and Wells a real personage but that I was going to be living in the area, I couldn't believe it. I really thought that someone was having some big joke on me. I mean come on, the baby-eating bishop of Bath and Wells? Jim was a great friend but he had a mean line in mocking, I found out. The bastard! We're talking Black Adder, here, damn it! I'm supposed to know that the bishop guy was real? Well, at least, that the position, or whatever it's called, is real. It's a bit like finding out that Scotty's running the local auto shop, you know?”
“The office is real enough but I think the baby-eating was an exaggeration. Perhaps Angelus dressed up in his clericals one night, when they were here. That's the sort of thing that starts rumours.” Spike raised his eyebrows and pursed his lips, nodding in satisfaction at the notion.
Xander groaned and refused to listen to any more of Spike's slanderous (he hoped) pondering on the matter.
A while later they crested the top of a hill and he saw, across the valley, a glorious, vast, old house which, tumbling down the lower slopes of a small hill, seemed to grow out of the surrounding countryside. Its eccentric mix of styles were apparent even to him. Delighted at the sight, he was about to ask Spike if he knew anything about it, when Spike interrupted his thoughts to say, “Behold! Your new home - the ancestral abode of the gentlemanly Gileses.”
“You're kidding! That's Giles's house? I was expecting something... like... not... nothing like... but this! Holy Crap! That is a serious hunk of abodeage!”
Unexpectedly, Spike found himself laughing with unguarded glee at this utterance of almost-forgotten Sunnydale speak and a metaphoric weight, he didn't know he still carried, sloughed off his metaphysical shoulders.
Another half mile and the house disappeared out of sight as they dipped into a shady copse which straddled the road. When they left the trees behind, a set of wrought-iron gates came into view, guarding the access to a long, winding drive above which, in the distance, could be seen the distinctive Elizabethan chimneys and a bit of roof.
Spike fumbled in the door pocket for a remote device which he poked, stabbing it in the direction of a sensor on the gate post. The gates grandly and ponderously opened inwards.
Through hell and high water, Xander had survived to come, at last, to Raven's Abbot.
*******
fin