Chapter Text
"Um, hospital rooms still don't need an invite, right?"
Spike started at that comment. The demon docs hadn't mentioned aural hallucinations as part of the pain-killing package, but why else would he be hearing Harris's voice?
Only one thing to do with hallucinations--confront them. "You're not here. You're in Africa. Don't know why they'd banish you there, though."
"In reverse order, it's not a banishment. No, I'm not, and yes, I am."
Spike turned to look at the door and dropped into head tilt number 27: mild confusion to cover emotional turmoil.
"Huh, see you've been working out that gray matter, able to handle multiple Qs and As and all without using a lifeline."
Xander hovered by the doorway as if the floor was thin ice.
"You okay? That reference is almost as dated as you. Definitely sub-par with the slagging. Andrew could do better."
"Well, hard to work the remote as a ghost, and Peaches's taste in telly..." Spike shrugged, and then continued, "You've heard the sorry tale, then?"
"The whole Andrew extended dance-club remix version."
"So pipsqueak squealed and you lost the draw."
He settled back against the pillows, philosophical about his loss. Of course Xander would be the messenger of Buffy's retraction. He'd been right that she didn't...he waited for the pain that should be flooding him and was more shocked by its lack than by his deductions.
Xander had closed the space between the door and the bed. He shrugged and said, "Well, he had to tell someone. And, as you'd only ruled out Buffy, he emailed me from the van, from the airport, from London..."
"So, he's got you on virtual speed dial. Fine. Just give us the news while I'm still chasing the dragon, what's she got to say?"
"Chasing the what? And who?"
Those comments earned Xander glare number 15: able to burn through paper, but not plywood.
Unfortunately for Spike, Xander had begun fidgeting with the large satchel he was carrying, looking down to the right and thus completely avoiding Spike's glare.
Apparently adding one and one was a skill the carpenter had gained; he finally said, "Oh, you mean Buffy? She doesn't know."
"What?" Spike asked, "That you're all out of Africa or that I didn't shuffle off this mortal coil?"
Xander finally faced him. His time in the sun had darkened his face to a light bronze; that tan served to highlight more lines on his face than any twenty-something should carry. "Um, both, I guess."
With all the indignation he could muster while lying in a hospital bed wearing one of those stupid paper robes, Spike spat out, "How lowering! I didn't even make it to a Scooby conference-call agenda? Wait, I take it back - that WOULD have been degrading. ."
He sat up in order to toss himself onto the pillows more aggressively. Well, wasn't that ducky. Save the world, get resurrected and they don't even blink. The bloody Scoobies were taking blasé to a whole new level. Something about that diatribe was tickling his brain... died saving the world...that was it.
"Trouble in tweed told me about your demon. Sorry to hear it, she was a good woman. Forthright."
That brought a sad smile to Xander's face. "Yes, she was. Toward the end she'd almost achieved Cordy's level of tact. Thanks, 'preciate it."
"Thought about her, and the potentials, the ones I didn't--"
Spike's confession, if that's what it was, was cut off abruptly.
"Stop that!" Xander glared with more power and life in his one eye than Spike could remember seeing there in years.
"You saved the world, closed the Hellmouth--something we'd been trying to do for, oh, seven years! So big picture, I'm thinking victory. Was I mad that you'd both died? Hell, yeah. Was I impressed that it worked? 'Course. Plus, the return? Like the song says, the cat came back, we thought he was a goner."
"I am NOT a cat. Can't you at least choose something scary, like Jason or Freddie?"
"Nope, you're much more annoying than scary. So, cat."
Throughout this banter, Spike tried to suss out what was happening.
"Is this the part where you tell me that the Scoobies have decided I'm to stay away from Buffy or I'll be staked?"
"Not carrying any wood with me," Xander retorted while beginning to shuffle his feet. Spike also picked up the hint of a blush, harder to see through the tan, but a vamp knows the scent of blood--blood and other items.
"Thinking you're wrong about the wood there, pet." Spike raised his left eyebrow and gave the man in front of him an appraising gaze. "What's this about, then?"
"Um, this would," here Xander blushed again, "be easier if I was sitting."
"Not like I can stop you now, is it? Docs figure the freezing won't wear off," he glanced at the Woody cowboy clock Fred had left him, "for a few hours yet--and no telly here, so make yourself comfortable."
The plot, and the scents, thickened. Anxiety, a touch of fear, a touch of arousal--and that was different--he hadn't smelled such a luscious bouquet since his hunting days. But why was the lad HERE?
He looked at Xander. Xander looked anywhere but at him. This was not adding to Spike's amusement.
"You do realize that if you only wanted to ignore me, you could have stayed in Africa, don't you?"
Even as he snipped at his visitor, Spike took the moment to really look at him. He'd lost some of the puffiness he'd had the last couple of years back in Sunnyhell. Still wore an eye patch, but he did so with an unconscious ease, like how some people could wear hats while others let the hats wear them. Plus it worked with the Indiana Jones-type ensemble he was currently wearing. He looked well, physically. There was a bundle of energy bristling over the boy. No, not a boy any longer. He'd outgrown the gawkiness of the "shared drink" that Angel had offered to Spike. Less of a puppy, and now a sleek hunter. Didn't see the things Dru did, so there were no burning fish, but he was getting the sense that something was fishy about this apparently clandestine visit.
This feeling was enforced by the number of delaying tactics that Xander was employing. Despite sitting next to the bed, he continued to avoid the vampire's gaze, and was now searching through that satchel in a manner that reminded Spike of an OCD type--what they'd have called "odd" in his human days before everything was a disorder and had a designated name.
The delay was driving HIMbatty. He wanted his hands back. If he could move his hands, he could be playing with a lighter. God he missed his Zippo. No history to the cheap yellow plastic one he now carried. If something didn't happen soon, he'd bite someone. This enforced immobility, so soon on the heels of months of intangibility, was enough to get him brooding like the Poof. In fact, it was only after his discussion with Angel that led him to realize that he HAD been brooding; obviously, the place was getting to him.
True to Xander's trademark style, just as Spike was getting interested in his own thoughts, they were interrupted.
"Were you depressed?"
That question confused Spike, "Not really my style, Harris."
"Well, I just thought, dying to save the world and all, then being brought back..."
The context dawned on him. The twit was comparing him to the Slayer, after the resurrection spell.
"Different situation entirely. Never got to the final destination, and if I had, probably wouldn't have minded being ripped out of it. You lot continue to forget that I had over a century of being EVIL, so helping to save the world a time or five, not guaranteeing me gold-level seats."
"But you saved the world...and what do you mean, five times?"
Hmm how to play this...prideful, rueful, or annoyed at his inability to count? Bingo.
Starting with a sigh, he said, "Follow the bouncing ball, Harris. Joining forces with Buffy against Angelus, the fight in the high-school library with soldier boy; keeping the monsters from you lot while you were all super-slayer;" with each item he saw Xander moving his fingers as if to keep track, "the tower, and then my pillar-of-fire routine. Really brought the house down with that one."
"The house, the school, the entire town. So whatcha going to do for an encore? And thinking since you actually added demons to the Hellmouth in the library, that one shouldn't count."
"So you'll grant the others? Sodding generous of you. And not planning an encore, no need to be a Roman candle a second time. Still a vamp, and, how did you Scoobies put it? Vamps and flames are, oh yes, 'not mixy' things. Is that why you're here? To see how insane the vampire is this time?"
Well, even so, it was better than the normal round of kick-the-Spike; though, given the boy's proximity; it looked like he'd forgotten about the chipectomy. Unless, of course, despite his protestations, he HAD a stake in that bag he kept searching. But, loathe as he was to admit it, it was...nice to see Harris. Toward the end, there'd been a camaraderie, if not actual friendship--the bonding of two men against the hordes of women running the place. So, seeing a mate? Not a bad thing.
"No, nothing like that, but you aren't, are you? You don't seem insane."
"Right, and you're the expert." Shaking his head, Spike tried to flex his hands, but still no reaction.
"Hmm...having lived with both what goes for sane as well as the sanity-lite versions of you...I do know that, sane or not, you always leave the wet towels lying on the floor and you HOG the hot water, as if you would notice the difference." This show of bravado was matched by Xander actually looking at him in the eyes.
"You look good, well, not counting the arm thing. Will that work?"
"Been assured by the best money can buy. Not sure what got into Captain Forehead, but I was whisked off here lickety-split. Money might be no object, but cable was not part of the package." Spike nodded towards the empty bracket that looked like it once held a TV. "Could be critiquing the fighting styles on Jerry Springer, but no, I'm at the mercy of whoever wanders in."
"Oops, didn't think. I could go..."
"Oh, just calm down. As much as it pains me to admit it, you are better company than the night nurse. You know Nurse Ratched?"
He knew that the boy would catch it as long as it was a movie reference. After getting a nod, he continued, "This night nurse makes her look all Pollyanna."
Xander provided a commiserating shudder. "So, Andrew says you're free-lancing now?"
"Well, Peaches hasn't actually put me on the payroll, but the benefits don't suck. And I can come and go as I please. Have my own place, not beholden to this lot."
"Oh." Xander appeared to be absorbing the information. "So, why are you here?"
Spike just glared down at his forearms, and he only made THAT concession because there might be jet lag, not just mind disconnect involved.
"No, you've been corporeal--and I will need a bit clearer version of how that went down, especially you fighting Deadboy--for how long? Two months?"
"Something like that, yeah." He wasn't sure where this was leading, but there was a Matlock tone to the question, which was making him leery.
"And you knew where Buffy was?"
"A bit like pulling teeth out of Grandsire--he'd only tell me Europe. Watcher Jr. helped me narrow it down to Rome."
"And, after completely changing your nature, getting a soul, and saving the world again, you're still here, why?" This one came out a bit firmer, as if it contained the snap of the trap's jaws.
"Not sure why you should have an answer to that one." When in doubt, hedge. It was as valid a rule of thumb as any.
"You gave me condolences for Anya, but she was no longer 'mine' at that point. Despite your bitching about our using your cot, it was more remembrance than building something new." Xander sighed and took another breath. "I was never good for her, and knowing that was killing me. If not for the Hellmouth, and Andrew's 'Tales of the Slayer' video interview, we would have continued to grow apart and wouldn't have even tried for anything. I don't regret anything except hurting her, but it was over."
Spike was trying to wrap his mind around this abrupt--even for the Scoobies--change of topic.
"I'm thinking that you might have been a bit worried about your reception with Buffy. Am I right?" Xander asked.
Spike's eyes narrowed. "Not talking about this," he growled out.
"Spike, it's me. I remember you and your 'egg-shelling' last year. If you were that worried while living there, I can extrapolate how you'd feel after you found out that it had worked and she could be 'free'."
Only one thing to do. "Extrapolate? Swallowing dictionaries now?"
"Not a lot of cable in the Sahara, either. Seems that years of research parties have warped my brain into thinking reading is fun." Xander had an easy grin as he delivered that line. "Even been known to read some poetry, from time to time."
He couldn't know; it wasn't possible. Leave that red herring for another time.
"Angel's crew's so lacking in street smarts, it's a surprise they're able to find their way here in the morning. Bit of family solidarity, make sure that I'm the prime pain in the Poof's posterior."
The easy grin turned into a smirk. "Alliteration, cool."
Spike checked again; his hands still wouldn't work, as much as he'd like to grip a certain carpenter's throat.
"So, after a bit of time apart, you concluded the 'ignorance is bliss' path was safest."
Anything he said would just be wrong. So, with hitherto undisclosed restraint, he said nothing.
"Must admit, both of us have sucky luck in love. How's your card game? Even the youngest slayers keep beating me at everything from Old Maid to Texas Draw. God, I would so like to find ONE old wives' tale that's accurate."
"Well, the one about length of fingers..." When in doubt, embarrass.
That did raise a blush, and Xander tried to sneak a covert look at Spike's hands. That WAS unexpected. A few things fell into place.
"So, that gaying up working for you, then?"
The blush went full bloom.
Yup, still evil.