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The hinge did not squeak as the door to Spike's crypt swung open, but the vampire sensed the movement. Ready and willing to rough up whatever demon was intruding on his home, he leapt from his makeshift bed atop one of the sarcophagi and tossed aside his ratty blanket. Then he saw his visitor.
"Oh, it's you," he said, the tension in his body draining as he collapsed back onto the stone slab. Human, which meant no fight. At least not a physical one.
Just my sodding luck.
"Who did you expect? The Avon Lady?" Xander asked. He stood awkwardly by the doorway, a crumpled paper bad clutched to his chest.
"Wasn't that your job last week? 'Pardon me, ma'am, but would you like to try our new cologne? It's called eau de loser. It is collected from the sweat glands of the finest wankers, gits, and idiots. I'm one of the donors.'"
"Eau de lumière. It means water of light. And it was a perfume, not a cologne."
"I know what it bloody well means, and I don't give a piss about what it was," Spike snapped. "It smelled so bad that you should have sold it as vampire repellant."
Spike watched the boy's eyes light up at the idea.
"Maybe not that bad. So to what do I owe the pleasure of your brightly-dressed company?" he asked.
Xander's grip on the bag tightened.
"Uh... well, I wanted to see how you were settling into your new crypt."
"It's the bleeding Taj Mahal."
"I remember hearing about that place in history class. It looks nice, but it's a big tomb and not actually a palace."
Spike counted silently. He got to four before -
"Oh." Xander flushed and shuffled his feet. "Well, uh, so how's the door?"
"Doesn't squeak."
"And the new windowsill?"
Spike nodded over to where it was lined with guttering candles.
"Hasn't come apart yet."
Xander looked around the crypt and cleared his throat. He looked extremely uncomfortable, which made him a delightful addition to the décor in Spike's point of view, despite the awful colors of his clothing. The sweet smell of fear wafted faintly through the air.
"So you've checked on your handiwork. What's next? Want to see if my bed is level?" Spike traced his fingers along the smooth marble surface and watched the blood rush to Xander's face. Definitely some panic there.
Nope, haven't lost the touch. Can't bite him, but he's still running scared.
"No, uh... These are yours." He stumbled across the room and thrust the bag into Spike's hands. "Well, I mean, not yours as in belonging to you, but I bought them for you, so they do kind of belong to you now. If you want them. Which it's okay if you don't, though I think you probably do, so -"
"I get the idea. It's like a gift, yeah?"
"Right."
Spike raised his eyebrow and opened the bag.
"Blood and cigarettes. And a bottle of whiskey. Ta very much."
"I thought you might like them," Xander said.
Smirking, Spike rifled through the contents to count his loot.
"Good guess. What I can't suss out is why you're giving me a gift. Our last little get together involved you fixing up my crypt. It has been a while since I've cared about etiquette, but shouldn't I owe you?"
"Okay, technically, yes, but I thought that I should thank you."
The absurdity of that statement brought his attention back to the boy.
"What for?"
"For the other night. Not for making me stay here for hours fixing your crypt while you went out and got drunk and killed things, but for the whole dinner thing, which was really freaky but also kind of nice. I mean, the food was good even reheated, and the plates and stuff look pretty expensive. You obviously put a lot of thought into asking me for my help, and I wanted to say thanks."
"So you bought me blood and whiskey."
"And cigarettes. I mean, I figured you didn't care about roses. It's not like you couldn't steal flower arrangements off of the graves at night if you wanted them."
Spike looked down at the contents of the bag and then back at Xander. He couldn't remember the last time someone had gone out of their way to buy him a present. Even Dru was happier receiving than giving, which just showed that she wasn't totally off her nut.
"Thanks," he said. Oddly enough, he meant it.
"No problem. It's the least I can do to say thank you for trying to be nice. And maybe... maybe sometime we can actually have that dinner. You can drink your blood out of one of the wine glasses if you want. We'll just have to make sure to wash it out afterwards."
Spike raised his eyebrow and studied Xander.
"You want to have dinner with me even though you know that I was just being nice to you to get your help?" he asked.
"I... it just seemed a shame that we didn't get to enjoy all of the work that you did. That's all. But, whatever. It doesn't matter." Xander shrugged and backed two steps toward the door. The look of disappointment on the boy's face made no sense at all to Spike.
"You want me to buy you dinner, do you? To pay you back?"
The retreat stopped, and Xander's expression turned to something more like dismay.
"Pay me back? No, that's not what I meant at all. I just thought we could, you know, talk or something... hang out...."
"Hang out." The words were sour on Spike's tongue. "Why would I want to hang out with you? It's not like we're friends."
"No, but we've been sort of working together, and I thought..."
"Besides, what you're proposing sounds a lot more like a date."
"A date?" Xander asked, stuttering. "Why... why would you call that a date?"
"Candlelight dinner? Wine? Flowers? Everything all romantic-like. Sounds like a date to me."
"Yeah, but you were just trying to get me to do you a favor, right? You weren't serious. I mean, we're both guys."
Spike just held Xander's gaze. The boy swallowed nervously and began to stammer.
"I... I... I..."
Riling him up was just too delicious, and Spike decided to give in and accept the offer. Then he could rile him up some more later.
"No need to fret. We can have dinner, chat like the old chums we're not, and call it even."
"I..."
"Besides, then there won't be any of that messy will-he won't-he worrying about sex."
Ah, now that's a beautiful color of red. So much blood in his face. His skin must be burning hot to the touch.
"Sex?" Xander squeaked.
"Doesn't matter, does it? It's not a date. You said so yourself."
"Right. No date."
"So when did you have in mind?" Spike asked.
"I... uh... I'm off from work on Tuesday night."
"Your place again?"
"Sure. We could watch TV after dinner if you wanted. It must suck not having electricity here," Xander said.
"Too bloody right. Actually, I was thinking of getting a mate of mine to run a line from..."
The crypt door opened, and Anya peered inside.
"Has he agreed to help, Xander?" she asked, and both men froze.
The small spark of camaraderie in the crypt was extinguished; Spike knew that there had had to be something more to the offer than kindness.
He raised his eyebrow and watched the boy squirm.
"I hadn't asked yet," Xander said, not taking his eyes off of Spike.
"Well, hurry up. Buffy's getting impatient, and I'm cold."
The sound of the door closing echoed around the chamber.
"So the Slayer and your bird have been waiting for you to get my help, have they?"
"Yeah," Xander said quietly.
"Knew it wasn't a social call. What is it?"
"Spike, I..."
"Demons? Vamps? Watcher out of tea? What's the problem?"
"Nest of vamps," Xander said. "They're down by the docks, and Buffy would really like your help. Please."
"A good brawl would do me right about now," Spike said, pushing himself off of the stone slab and stalking toward the door.
"Spike..."
"But you lot are going to owe me big. Sod your dinner; I want cash."
"Spike, I'm sorry..."
"Bugger off, Harris. Save it for someone who bloody cares." He flung the door open and stomped into the night.
Dinner with a snot-nosed boy? Why the hell did I even think about it? Bloody chip must've fried my brain, Spike thought sourly and went off to kill things.
~end~