Suki Blue Fiction

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Chapter 19

 

…recovered thirty one bodies. No official statement has been released but it is thought carbon monoxide from a malfunctioning boiler is to blame…

Xander switched off the car radio. It was kind of distracting and, right now, he needed all the concentration he could get.

Sundays weren’t entirely Xander’s favourite day. Sure, it was a day of freedom with no school and no early morning, but it definitely had its downsides. One of them being that it was the day before Monday. So, in essence, Sunday – in all its late morning and no school glory – gave him that horrible, dreaded Monday feeling. Actually, the mock Monday feeling was probably even a little worse.

See, the thing about Mondays was that they were totally in your face. The alarm went off, your parents screamed at you and your burnt breakfast laid in wait. Then, it was school. Say no more.

But Sundays, oh, they were much worse. They made you dread Monday. And dreading Monday was far worse than actually facing it.

The other thing about Sundays that Xander didn’t like was the lack of his friends. Both Buffy and Willow tended to hang with their families – for all the good it did Willow – and Giles was inclined to hibernate for the day even though he was by himself. Xander figured that must be a weird British thing.

Xander wasn’t particularly fond of being by himself.

Still, if he had to be by himself then he would rather have done it in the privacy of his own bedroom. And not in the privacy of his dad’s beat-up old sedan.

It was getting late and the sun had set long before. The roads were mostly empty, much to Xander’s delight. He wasn’t exactly the world’s best driver, by any standard, but at least there weren’t too many other cars around to get in his way.

Taking the corner a little too fast, Xander cringed and eased his foot off the gas. It looked so easy when other people did it. The car wobbled and the back wheels skidded enough for Xander’s heart to pump a little faster. “Oh god, what the hell am I doing?”

That was a question. And the answer was shopping.

Not his most favourite activity at the best of times, but mix that with the fact that it was a Sunday, he was on his own and it was dark as hell – and yes, he did have his headlights on; it had only taken him ten minutes to figure that one out - and Xander had his worst nightmare.

Xander wasn’t a reckless person – much – and although he nagged his father daily to get possession of the sedan’s keys to take it for just a small spin, please! he honestly never imagined that he’d be handed them late one Sunday night, along with a bundle of notes, and told to go grocery shopping.

It was a weird scenario but now that Xander thought about it, it was a scenario that he should have expected and been glad that he hadn’t been asked to do it in fifth grade.

No food in the house at all and two drunken parents with cash to spare. Xander should have done the math earlier.

Something with golden eyes dashed across the road in front of him and into the bushes. Xander hoped to god it was a cat.

This part of the road was relatively straight and easy but Xander kept his speed down to be sure, anyway. He knew he was kind of weaving about his lane, but somehow his shaky hands couldn’t quite keep the wheel straight.

Driving was supposed to be cool. It wasn’t supposed to be terrifying. And if a cop car came by? He was so busted.

Sunnydale wasn’t exactly the most cosmopolitan of towns and to find a grocery store that was open that time of night was near enough impossible. Xander had checked. He also almost considered breaking into his local store, taking what he needed to get and leaving the money. But then again, that definitely would have taken math and Xander didn’t want to waste the money or not leave enough.

So here he was, about to leave the Sunnydale border and journey to the nearest supermarket, which was about five miles outside of town.

He was officially crazy - or hungry. He couldn’t decide which. Probably both.

He fished the crumpled shopping list out of his pocket and squinted at it. Wow, his mother had bad handwriting. Xander was sure there was no such thing as pork flops.

Of course, if Xander had been paying attention to the road and not trying to decide if he could get two water felons in the fruit and veg section, he might have seen the werewolf that crossed the road and stood in front of the car a little sooner.

“Gah!” Xander did the only thing he could think to do. He closed his eyes and hoped for the best. When he opened them again, it was just in time to see the Sunnydale sign hit the front of the car and go sailing into the night. “Oh…not good.” He looked to his left, through the open window, and was not pleased by what he saw.

Drooling, growling and smelling really badly of wet dog, the werewolf – yep, no doubt abut that now – stared at Xander with evil yellow eyes. Not gold like Spike’s eyes, but disgusting and yellow, vacant yet vicious.

And, fuck, he couldn’t start the car again.

As the creature almost seemed to smile and start forward, Xander unclipped his seatbelt and scrambled back across the seats. “Nice doggy. Doggy want a cookie? I’m just going to the store so if you feel like waiting I could get you a whole box. No?” Panicking now as the werewolf came closer and sniffed the air around the car, Xander tried to open the door without looking. “How about a tyre? Mmm, yum. I’ve got four. All for you.”

The creature bared its teeth and got ready to strike. Its body coiled and it gave one last horrific roar before it…flew twenty feet into the air and landed way down the road in a sticky, bloody, broken pile of dog.

Xander really wasn’t at the stage where he could process what had just transpired.

“Bloody hell!”

There was the sound of a car door and boots on gravel, then a distinctly familiar blond head poked through the open window and Xander nearly cried with relief.

“Did you see what that sodding mutt just did to my car?” Spike asked, hooking a thumb in the general direction of the werewolf. “Bloody lump.”

“Spike.” There didn’t seem to be any other words.

“Correct.” Spike frowned and appeared to take in the scene before him. “You alright?”

Oh my god. Spike. Spike. Holy shit, holy shit. Quickly, Xan-Man, say something cool. “I’m…on the verge of freaking out!” Oh, nice one, Harris. And you just had to say that in such a pathetic voice, didn’t you? I bet you’re even doing that stupid doe-eyed thing that makes Mom pinch your cheeks.

Spike looked at him for a second before reaching in and flipping the lock. He opened the door and extended his arm inside. “Come on, luv. Let’s get you out.”

Xander’s mind was currently a strange hybrid cross between completely blank and filled to the brim with spiralling, happy and unhappy thoughts. He reached out and took Spike’s hand anyway, grateful when Spike gave him an encouraging tug.

“See you took out the sign post,” Spike said. “Good shot.”

Xander deliberately ignored the fact that he was out of the car now and Spike was still holding on to him. He looked over his shoulder and could just make out the green tinge of the sign resting snugly in the grass. “Uh, whoops?”

“Ahh, don’t fret about it. It’ll get fixed. Someone obviously put it back from the last time I was here.”

“You hit it, too?”

Spike nodded unrepentantly. “Yep. Not to worry; our little mishaps pay somebody’s wages, eh?”

“I guess.” Xander looked down the road, past Spike’s battered, black car, at the crumpled up creature. “I’m guessing it’s not dead, is it?”

“Doubtful. Fucker’ll have a nasty headache come tomorrow morning, though.”

Xander was holding tightly to Spike’s arm, gripping the fabric of his duster. “Thanks, by the way, for, uh, you know…?”

“Running headlong into a critter, saving your life, buggering up my newly stolen car and thereby causing you to owe me dinner?” Spike asked. His smile was kind and Xander, not for the first time, wondered how it was possible that this man was the embodiment of all that was evil.

He should have felt scared. He knew that. And he was fully aware that any other human who faced William the Bloody should die of immediate heart failure rather than face the horrible death that would definitely befall them.

But even though it was the middle of the night and he was alone with one of the world’s most famous vampires, he felt safe. Completely so. “Maybe,” he said.

Spike was a killer, no doubts, but Xander still couldn’t help but like him. It was a sickness, a terrible urge. But one look at Spike’s smooth, pale face, sharp cheekbones and slightly weird hair was enough for Xander to fall just a little bit more. And to admit that he probably needed psychiatric help.

Would it really kill him to hang out with Spike?

Gulp.

Hopefully not.

“I can’t right now, though,” Xander said. He looked dubiously back at his dad’s car. “I’m kind of on a mission.”

Clearly bemused, Spike stepped back and motioned to the car with his head. “What you doing driving about this time of night, anyway? School night, isn’t it? You even old enough to drive?”

“Kind of. I can drive – just not legally and not very well.” He looked back at the car and sighed. “I’m supposed to be shopping.”

“What the fuck for?” Spike laughed.

Xander held up the list he still had a death-grip on. “Groceries. My folks kind of gave me a whole load of money and said I had to.”

Spike took the list. Like Xander, he squinted at it. Then he turned it around the other way and said, “What the bloody hell is a jar of lemon turd?”

“She means curd,” Xander said. “It’s this weird Britishy stuff my mom makes me put on my toast sometimes.”

“Yeah, I know what it is.”

“She said if I ended up at the big place,” Xander pointed off into the distance, “I might as well see if they have any.”

Spike looked behind him and then back at Xander. “And your folks sent you out to do this?”

Xander nodded.

“By yourself.”

Xander shrugged. It hadn’t been a question so he didn’t give an answer.

“Knowing that you can’t even drive.”

“Hey, I can too drive!” Xander protested.

“I’m sure you can, darling’, around a bloody car park!”

“That’s not my fault!”

“I didn’t say it was!”

They both sulked for a moment until Spike relented and handed Xander his list back. “Need some help, then?” he asked.

“Really?”

Spike shrugged this time. “Why not? Came back to see you, didn’t I? Bit of shopping won’t exactly kill me. Need to get some fags, anyway. How much money you got?”

Xander put his hand in his pants pocket and pulled out a scrunched-up pile of notes. “I’m guessing a lot.” He smiled conspiratorially at Spike. “They said I could keep the change, too.”

Spike mirrored the grin and tugged Xander towards his battered heap of a vehicle. “Help me stash mine, then,” he said. “We’ll take yours. I’ll drive you home, too, if you’re a good boy.”

**

It certainly was a surreal experience, Spike had to admit that. The bright lights and plinky plonky background music were a stark contrast to the dark life he’d lived for the past month.

Life as a vampire tended to be on the blacker side of dark anyway, but there was dark and then there was the dirty, depraved and disgusting dark. That was the life Spike had wallowed in.

But even that hadn’t been enough. No drug was strong enough to penetrate his veins and give him the buzz he needed. Vodka tasted like water, Absinth like pop and the prostitutes were as hollow and dry as he expected them to be. He didn’t leave a tip.

Only a week ago, Spike had scraped himself from the ground, uncomfortably numb and completely exhausted. Being that depressed was so tiring. He was dead beat.

It had been time to change things, time to show Drusilla, Angel, the world and, most importantly, himself, that he was strong, that he could carry on and find his own way.

William the Bloody needed a plan.

He couldn’t think of one.

That set him back an extra day and another night of self pity.

The next night he’d decided he didn’t need a plan. He was man without a plan. He was a free spirit, a wanderer – destined to walk the globe, never laying his hat nor his duster. But that made him think of the Littlest Hobo and cost him another night of depression and not nearly enough whisky.

The night after, with a pounding head and a stomach that wouldn’t settle, Spike thought about Xander. He wondered how the boy was doing. Now there was someone who clearly needed a guiding hand if he didn’t want to be a vampire’s snack.

Xander was…cute. And when Spike thought about him, he’d smiled. And it was the realisation that he hadn’t smiled in a month that jolted Spike into killing thirty one people – oh, and going back to Sunnydale to visit his could-be-a-friend. There was logic there. Twisted Spike-logic perhaps, but it was still there.

So now, here he was in the middle of Crud-Mart, pushing a wonky shopping trolley, or cart as the Yanks apparently called it.

It was stupid, he thought to himself. It looked nothing like a cart! Might as well call it a wagon! And those stupid, poxy, twisty-turny wheels that refused to actually budge, even with his vampiric strength, looked nothing like wagon wheels!

“Are you okay?” Xander asked.

Spike watched him haphazardly drop a handful of boxes into the cart. “Yeah, just ready to strangle the inventor of the common shopping trolley.” He shook the damnable thing to illustrate what he meant.

“You and me both,” Xander said. “Not that I have to push one that often, but when I do I always get back pains afterwards.”

Spike straightened and rolled his shoulders. “I see where you’re coming from.” He glanced at his watch and pointed to the end of the aisle. “Time’s getting on, pet. Didn’t that list say something about jelly?”

Xander checked the list and nodded. “Oh yeah, two jars of.” He headed up the aisle and Spike followed, the cart scraping along the floor rather than rolling.

“Jam,” Spike muttered.

“Huh?”

“It should be called jam. Jelly is something you put in rabbit shaped moulds and serve at kids’ parties. Gotta be red, though.”

“That would be Jell-O.”

Spike sniffed indignantly. “Wanky word.”

“I like Jell-O,” Xander said. “The word and the stuff itself.”

“Red?” Spike asked.

Xander grinned at him and grabbed two jars of jelly from the shelf. “Of course. Green second.”

Spike wrinkled his nose. “Be alright with a scoop or two of ice-cream, I suppose.”

“Vanilla,” Xander said.

“Oh yeah, definitely,” Spike answered in a tone that suggested Xander had just announced that the world was round.

They turned a corner and browsed through the bread. Xander chose three loaves and pitched them into the cart. “You want some?” he asked.

“What? Bread?”

“Ice-cream.”

“At midnight?”

Xander shrugged and began pulling the cart back down the aisle. “Sure, why not? I’m hungry and in need of sugar. And, wow, I haven’t had ice-cream in…oh, days. Still, you want?”

“Go on, then. Why not? If you’re buying?”

Xander grinned and patted his pocket. “I’m loaded, remember? And we’re just about done here. You want some fags, too?”

“Yeah, alright.” Spike heaved the shopping cart along the aisle. Vanilla ice-cream and Marlboro. What a perfect combination. And what a perfect relief. Xander hadn’t shot him down, hadn’t spat at him or shoved a cross in his face.

He really did have a friend.

He wanted nothing more. “What else can we get?”

**

Six bags of shopping sat outside the Harris’ front door. They looked kind of lonely sitting by themselves. They’d been there for twenty minutes, resting against the wall, lined up like good little soldiers, but it was nearly time to take them in and unpack them, show them their new home.

A few feet away, Xander sat on the bonnet of his dad’s car, eating ice-cream. He scooped out a large splodge with a plastic spoon and passed the tub over to Spike. “Mmm, that is good stuff.”

Spike bobbed his head in agreement.

“Mom usually buys the cheap stuff.”

Spike twitched an eyebrow at him, spooned out a second helping and passed the tub back. “Why all the frivolity, then?” he asked when he’d swallowed. “Folks won the football pools, did they? Lottery? Someone die?”

“My dad got a promotion,” Xander replied.

“Oh, right. What does he do, then?” The tub had been passed back and Spike was tucking in again, his mouthfuls much larger than before.

Wow, such a normal question. Xander took a short moment to marvel at how weird his life was sometimes. He was sitting on his dad’s car after knocking over the Sunnydale sign, nearly hitting a werewolf and grocery shopping with a century old vampire.

And the really weird thing? How much better ice-cream could taste for just two extra bucks.

Again, Xander wondered if he should have run from Spike, or at the very least got rid of him and run to Angel. Not that he liked Angel, but Xander was pretty sure that after the molestation incident – as it shall always now be known – Angel would sort things out and not tell on him unless absolutely necessary.

Certainly this was doing nothing for Xander’s obsession. Bad idea?

But Spike looked kind of lost and Xander was positive he was lonely. He had to be. Spike had been with Drusilla for so long, how could he be anything else but lost without her?

“He’s in construction.” Xander took back the ice-cream and noticed how little there was left. If he didn’t start taking larger mouthfuls he was going to lose out. He scooped himself out a nice large spoonful.

“Doing what?”

“I dunno. He’s some kind of foreman, I think.”

“Listen to the stuff your folks tell you, do you?” Spike asked, his voice tinged with amusement.

Xander watched Spike take back the tub and shovel in an even bigger spoonful. Okay, that damn vamp was playing with him now. “Not really. Uh, I think he was at a local site and he got moved to somewhere kind of out of town to be the foreman. All I know is that it keeps him out of the house for longer.”

“You don’t get on?” Spike asked.

Okay, this was way weird. Someone other than Willow was actually interested? Or was this Spike’s way of getting into his pants? “Is this your way of getting into my pants?” Whoops. He hadn’t actually meant to voice that question. Damn mouth.

Spike didn’t look particularly shocked. Then again, Spike was probably a hard man to shock. “Would you believe me if I said no?”

Ouch. And there was a sting Xander wasn’t expecting. “Maybe. So, you don’t… Okay.”

Spike passed back the tub, a sly smile spreading over his lips. “Didn’t say I didn’t want you, did I?”

“So you…?”

“I do. Ain’t gonna push my luck, though. I just, erm, thought that maybe, uh…”

While Spike was trying to spit his words out, Xander scooped up as much ice-cream as he could manage and forced it into his mouth.

“…fancied hanging out with… Bloody hell, luv! What a fucking sight.” Spike laughed and reached out, wiping off a trail of ice-cream-dribble from Xander’s chin. “Do you wanna hang out with me?” he tried again. “No killing, no funny stuff. I’m feeling a bit out of sorts on my own, I don’t mind admitting. Could do with some decent company for a while.”

Whether it was the numbing of the ice-cream or the conversation that was suddenly constricting his throat, Xander wasn’t sure. Spike wanted to hang? “Uh…What did you want to do?”

Spike slid off the bonnet and took the empty tub from Xander, tossing it over his shoulder. “Dunno. Haven’t really thought about it. Just thought you might like to.”

Xander nodded. “I guess you’re kind of at a loose end, huh?”

“Something like that, yeah. What do you think? Interested? I’ll take you out, show you stuff. I know a few places in LA we could go. Or we could tour the local sights, if you prefer. Yeah? No?”

Xander thought about it. Did he really want to hang out with William the Bloody? No. No way. A whole universe full of no. Xander, if you hang out with this guy you’re gonna get yourself seriously killed. Just say no. It’s that easy. Just. Say. No. “Can we go bowling?”

TBC…