Suki Blue Fiction

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Chapter 5

The actual studying part of the study session at Willow’s was turning out to be a major bore. The only thing currently saving the evening was the weird Japanese cartoon showing on the TV, and the fact the intense warmth of the evening had caused Buffy to wear an almost non-existent top.

“Does that make sense?”

Buffy and Xander looked at each other, both trying to gauge how the other would answer Willow’s question.

“Uh – when you say ‘does it make sense?’…” Xander started when Buffy made it obvious that she wasn’t going to answer first.

Willow was tempted to whimper. “You don’t get it, do you?”

Xander hung his head dramatically. “No.”

“Buffy?” Willow asked.

A big sigh and Buffy picked up her chemistry textbook. “How am I supposed to guess…” Buffy searched the text for a suitable example, “…the thermochemical equation for the reaction between nitrogen and oxygen to form nitrogen monoxide?”

Xander snatched the book and quickly scanned the page Buffy was reading from. “And how are we supposed to know if…the equilibrium yield of nitrogen monoxide at five hundred degrees Celsius is greater or less than at room temperature? And what the hell has that got to do with the Battle of Vicksburg?!”

Willow opened her mouth. And then wisely closed it again. “Anyone for more popcorn?”

Buffy shook her head and stood. “I gotta patrol. Sorry.”

“I guess it is getting late,” Willow said, looking up at the clock. “Xander, do you want to stay?”

Yes, he did. Despite the mind bending hybrid mix of Chem and History. “No, I better not. The ‘rents are expecting me back. Care to be my escort girl, Buff? In the protecting sense, obviously, not the slutty sense. Unless, you want – ouch!” Xander rubbed his arm where Buffy had thwapped it with her notebook.

“The Slayer is more dangerous than the vampires,” Buffy pointed out. “Remember that, oh naive one.”

Xander gathered his books and the majority of the left-over candy and chips. “Thanks, Wills,” he said, once Buffy had joined him at Willow’s bedroom door.

Willow shrugged and hid her worry behind a sweet smile. “I didn’t really do anything.”

“Yes, you did,” Buffy pointed out. “I definitely have more knowledge now than when I arrived.”

“You do?”

“Sure she does,” Xander assured. “And so do I.” He searched his brain for a moment. “I know who George Brinton McDonald is now.”

“McClellan,” Willow corrected.

Xander gave his best friend a big, happy grin. “See? Nearly right. I’ll be a skuller in no time.”

“Scholar.”

“Exactly.”

**

“I’ve put the word out. I’m sure we’ll hear something in due time.”

Spike pushed himself from the wall and glared at the back of The Master’s head. “Yeah. Right.”

“Have some patience, William. I’m sure your dear Sire will turn up.”

“It’s Spike now. Has been for a long time.”

The Hellmouth had been an obvious place to look for Drusilla - after all her normal haunts and preferred killing grounds had been searched. Drusilla was a creature of habit and, even though she was unpredictable at times, she usually opted for places she knew well. The two of them had travelled the world together over the years and certain tastes had definitely developed.

But the Hellmouth was where Daddy was – Angelus. The Hellmouth was where Grandma Darla was. And the Hellmouth was where Wrinkly Old Pig Bottom Face was. When Spike and Drusilla had met up with The Master back in Germany some eighty years or so back, Drusilla had become fascinated with the ancient vampire, first taking to staring intensely at him and then screaming about him in her sleep. She didn’t want to grow old and develop a pig bottom face.

“Spike, are you sure she would even come here?”

Spike was silent while he thought about how to answer that. “No,” he said eventually. “But it makes sense that she might come here. Or is coming here.”

The Master laughed and Spike glared again, just knowing that something nasty was coming.

“Well, it stands to reason, doesn’t it? She leaves you and runs into the arms of Daddy Dearest. Not the first time either, I hear.”

“You heard wrong,” Spike snapped with a flash of gameface.

“My apologies, William.”

Spike turned and forced his face back into its human form. He swallowed a growl and turned back to offer The Master a smile of indifference. “Spike,” he reminded.

“Again, apologies. My goodness, you do very much remind me of your Grandsire. Speaking of which,” The Master added innocently, “have you been to see Angelus yet?”

“Not yet. I thought he might be around here somewhere.”

“I’m afraid not. You know Angelus. He likes to go ahead and do his own thing. He never was one to follow the rules.”

The old bastard laughed again, but Spike ignored it. “Where is he?”

The Master grinned nastily. “I’ll give you directions.”

**

“So, you sure you don’t need a hand? Or a stake? I have a spare.” Xander pulled a stake from his pocket and twirled it around. And then dropped it to the ground with a clatter.

“I’ll be fine,” Buffy insisted for the third time. “And besides, I kinda have a date.”

Xander’s mouth made an ‘o’ shape. “I see. And this wouldn’t be with Mr Tall, Dark and Creeps A Lot?”

“Angel, yes.”

“Is this date in a cemetery, by any chance?” Xander enquired.

“Uh – yeah.”

“See, now if I was your boyfriend I’d take you to the movies, or for dinner at Happy Burger. Or for coffee. Or maybe even one of those medieval banquet things.” Xander’s eyes lit up at the thought.

“That would be so cool!” Buffy said. “We should totally do that!”

“As in a date? Well, I’ll have to check my calendar, probably push all my other dates back for a while. I’ll tell you what, I’ll call you.”

Buffy laughed and waved goodbye as she walked away. “G’night, Xand.”

Xander waved back and fished his house keys out of his pocket. What the hell would he do if Buffy ever actually said yes?

Probably run away and join the circus.

Buffy was nice. Buffy was sexy and beautiful and strong. Buffy was his ideal woman.

If he wanted a woman.

Sighing, Xander turned his key in the lock and got ready for whatever mess was going to be on the other side of the door. It was relatively early and the downstairs lights were still on, meaning that his parents were still up. Whether they were still conscious was another thing.

Friday night was always a special night in the Harris household. They got takeaway, always stayed up late and always finished off the night with one or two recreational beers. Or five or six. It was a celebration of the weekend!

Xander cringed as he slowly opened the back door. His senses had caught on to the fact that there was music blaring and more than just his parents’ voices chattering in the distance.

Crossing through the kitchen with wary feet, Xander suddenly found himself accosted by his father.

“Son! Where have you been, my boy?!” Tony Harris slung an arm around Xander’s shoulders and squeezed far too tightly.

“Willow’s!” Xander gasped as the arm shook him. “I told you that.”

“Did you?” The arm fell away and reached for the fridge. “Musta forgot. Did you tell me?”

“Yes, dad.”

“Oh. Musta forgot.”

Several beers were pulled out from the fridge and one of them was thrust unceremoniously under Xander’s nose. “Uh – for me?” Xander asked.

“You bet.”

“Did Mom say it was okay?”

Tony laughed. “Just this once, it doesn’t matter what your mom says. Know why?”

“Because she’s unconscious?” Xander tried not to wince as the words slipped out. Whoops.

Tony Harris went abruptly silent. His smile fell away and his fist clenched. And then he laughed. Loud and unabashed, he laughed until tears fell from eyes. “I don’t know where you got that mouth from, son. It certainly wasn’t me.”

Xander held on in case more words slipped out.

“No, the reason why it doesn’t matter is because we’re all celebrating,” Tony continued, turning to walk into the lounge and motioning with his head for Xander to follow.

“We are? Why? No, don’t tell me, we won the Lottery?”

Tony barked out a single laugh and deposited the collection of bottles on the coffee table. “Not yet.”

“Hey, Uncle Rory,” Xander greeted as he followed his father into the room. He didn’t dare acknowledge the sinking feeling fluttering around his stomach.

Uncle Rory waved his greeting back and took a large gulp from the bottle he was holding.

“I got promoted,” Tony announced.

Xander smiled. “Yeah? That’s great. So, you’re Manager now?”

“That I am. I’m overseeing the whole of the New Business department. Stats, phones, targets, you name it – the whole caboodle. I get a three thousand dollar raise *and* a parking space in the underground lot. How’s that for striking it gold?”

Xander nodded. “That’s great money.”

“Never mind about the money. I won’t be burning my ass on the leather seats on the way home every damn day,” Tony joked.

Xander laughed and seated himself on the couch next to his mother. The bottle of beer got halfway to his mouth before his mom’s slightly chubby fingers curled around it and stopped him.

“What are you doing?”

An obvious question with an obvious answer. And it was always those types of questions and answers that got him in trouble.

“Drinking beer?” Xander finally answered after weighing up his options and deciding that answer was better than ‘what do you think I’m doing, dumbass?’

“You certainly will not.”

“Auw, let the boy have one, Jess. It’s a special occasion.”

Jessica looked dubious. She eyed up her son’s innocent face and reluctantly gave in. “Alright. But just one,” she warned. “And there’s chocolate cake in the fridge.”

Xander’s mouth left the bottle with a pop. “Cake?”

“Go on then, honey. Go cut yourself a slice.”

The bottle was abandoned as Xander shot to his feet and raced like The Flash to the fridge. “Chocolate fudge,” he whispered as he carefully lifted it from the shelf. “Wow.”

“A slice for everyone, Xander!” Jessica called.

Xander grinned and cut into the cake. He licked his lips as chocolate icing began to ooze from the middle. This was way better than beer.

**


“Same time tomorrow?”

The grin on Angel’s face was pathetic, even by the standards of William the Bloody, the world’s biggest Love’s Bitch.

“Absolutely,” Buffy grinned back. “Another night of stakage would be right up my alley.” A pause and an embarrassed look. “Um…you know what I mean, right?”

Angel chuckled and Spike rolled his eyes and ducked back down behind a headstone. A large, solid and plain grave marker made dirty by the years and spattered with moss. Eddie Brinwater, 1924 – 1985. See? It was possible to survive on a Hellmouth. For a while.

The sound of lips locking floated through the air and Spike was unexpectedly glad he hadn’t yet fed.

“See you.”

“Bye. Angel…I… I gotta book. Grocery shopping with Mom in the morning. She likes to beat the crowds. Those midday shoppers are demons.”

“Not literally, I hope.”

Another chuckle and Spike was patting the grass between his feet. “Don’t worry, Ed,” he whispered, “you’re better off dead.”

As the Slayer walked passed with a spring in her step just inches from Spike’s chosen lurking spot, Spike easily bit down the urge to challenge her and add another mark to his scorecard. Been there, done that. And with slayers far better.

And besides, he wasn’t looking for trouble. Well, not the slayer kind, anyway.

“Spike.”

The vampire in question looked up at the shadow that loomed over him. “Grandsire!” he beamed cheerily as he sprang to his feet. “What a ponce you’ve turned into!”

“What are you doing here, Spike?”

“What, can’t a vampire drop in on his Grandsire no more?”

Angel sighed. “You can’t be here.”

“Why’s that, then? Don’t want me witnessing your appalling acting skills? Gotta say, Angelus, I’m surprised Darla’s going along with…whatever the hell you’ve got going on here. The seduction of a slayer? Reckon The Master pickled your brain.”

“Me and Darla…” Angel started. “You haven’t heard.”

“Haven’t heard what? That you’re a dickhead? Got that news flash decades ago, mate. Look, I don’t really want to be here talking to you any more than you want to be here talking to me.”

“Then be somewhere else.” Angel turned and walked away.

“But…hang on! I haven’t finished!”

An expressionless face turned back and just for a second Spike thought he’d caught a glimpse of fire in that heavy, blank expression. “What?” Angel asked.

Spike hadn’t expected to be welcomed with open arms and fangs, but he’d at least expected something…something. As it was, Darla was on her knees and The Master was an irritating cock. And now here was Angelus, closed down and devoid of that Angelus spark. This wasn’t the larger than un-life Irish Romeo that he’d known all those years ago. There wasn’t a trace of the swagger or mischief, conceit or drunken playfulness that Spike had been so familiar with. The Master had done something to them.

The point in tracking down Angelus was to get his help. Maybe the two of them had never been the best of friends, but they’d still had a connection. They were still bound together through body and blood.

“I need your help. Dru’s missing.”

“Is that right? And let me guess, poor little Spikey hasn’t got any skirts to hold on to?” The tone was patronising and well-known.

“That’s more like it, luv. Familiar ground.”

“Familiar ground? You want familiar ground? How about I hold you down and…?” Angel stopped and Spike watched with widened gold eyes as his grandsire growled and began stalking away.

“Angelus?” Spike called out.

The reply, when it finally came, was hushed and mingled with a soft breeze that rustled the leaves in the trees and danced back into the night air. “No. Not any more.”

**

Xander gazed up at Willow’s window. He’d been throwing clumps of mud for fifteen minutes in an attempt to wake up her up. Of course, he could just bang loudly at the door and wake up the whole house, but something told him that at One in the morning it would not be appreciated.

Cursing a string of expletives, Xander picked up his backpack and headed for Buffy’s house. Surely The Slayer would hear his Call of the Mud. If not, then it was back home. He’d head back there eventually anyway, maybe in a few hours, but not while the celebration was in full swing.

He hated his dad. He was a stupid, cruel, son of a bitch.

Xander bit back the urge to cry. He was too old for that. And besides, he wasn’t going to cry over his asshole of a father or his father’s equally assholish brother. He wasn’t going to give them the satisfaction.

And when Xander became President and then worked his way up to the position of Ultimate Ruler of the Universe he was going to ban alcohol completely. And make Reeces compulsory.

Considering it was the middle of the night and that many of the streetlights weren’t working - as usual - it was surprisingly light. Xander glanced up and thanked the full moon that he was easily able to see where he was going, and see his hands in front of his face, and see the big, hairy, drooling wolfthing that was standing just six feet away.

Eeek.

“Oh, goody. That’ll save me the displeasure of having to go home.”

The creature growled and slammed its teeth together in an almighty snap that echoed down the deserted street. Standing a good seven feet tall on its huge, muscular hind legs, the demon-wolf slowly edged forward and snapped its jaws again and again.

Xander flinched back and quickly searched his pack for a suitable weapon, throwing the discarded items to the ground. Crumpled novel, no. Toothbrush, no. Socks, no. Pen? Uh – well, it was one of those pens with the little button on top…No. Soda, no. Kitchen knife, no. Wait!

“Damn!”

Xander kept his eyes on the megawolf as he searched the ground blindly with his hands. “Shit, shit, shit. You don’t have to eat me, you know? So, uh, if you want to take a raincheck I’m sure I can sort you out with something or, um, someone much tastier than me. You really wouldn’t want me. I’m all gristle and…no…ah!”

As the creature pounced, Xander fell back on his ass and tried to roll away. A huge clawed hand wrapped around his calf and pulled him back.

“No, no, no. I’m too young to die. I haven’t even been to Disney World. Or Land. Or Euro Disney! I always kinda liked the thought of going to France. Their fries really are French! Ohgodohgodohgodohgod!!!”

The jaws opened and Xander could have sworn the thing was smiling.

“I don’t want to die a virgin!”

And, as if by magic, the creature was gone.

“Wow. I’ll have to remember that line. I wonder if it’ll still work even when it’s not true.”

Flaming eyes looked down at him and a wickedly evil smile spread across a beautifully pale vampire face. “Maybe we should find out.”

Xander barely had time to draw breath before his apparent saviour had turned and struck the reeling wolf with the speed and beauty of a bolt of lightning. He knew he should be continuing the search for his knife but he was frozen to the spot, unable to see or think anything beyond the fight right in front of him.

The vampire kicked and twirled, lunged and ripped with great joy, his evil mask a picture of glee and childish delight.

It was…just wow.

All too soon the bloody dance was over and the vampire had dropped the dead doggy to the ground.

“That was…” Xander searched for a word worthy of what he’d just witnessed.

“ …a bloody werewolf,” the vampire finished. “Didn’t get you, did he? I can usually smell human blood a mile off, but with the stink of that thing blocking it all up I’m having trouble.”

Xander looked down at himself dumbly and then back up. He squeaked. And then cleared his throat and somehow found his voice. And his senses. “Not a scratch. Should I be thanking you or shall I just start screaming again?”

“No need to scream, luv. It’s dead. See?” The vampire gestured to the mound of wolf.

“I meant screaming because you’re gonna eat me.”

A definite smirk appeared on the vampire’s face. “Oh, I could make you scream, luv. But how about a drink first?”

“A drink? Was that a joke? Because that was unfunny. See me with the not laughing.”

“You talk funny,” Spike observed.

“Me? What about you with your weird Britishy accent. What are you? Ummm…Welsh?!”

“Oi! I’ve never shagged a sheep in my life!”

“Huh?! Wha…? What did I just ask you?” Xander finally found the sense to get up from the floor. As he pushed himself up his hand brushed and grabbed hold of the knife.

“You won’t be needing that,” the vampire said with a nod of his head towards the weapon. “I’m Spike, by the way. Just in case you were wondering.”

“I think I’ll hang on to it. Especially considering your name. It doesn’t exactly fill me with a comforting glow.”

Spike shrugged. “Suit yourself. So, that drink. Coming or not? And if it makes you feel better, if I was gonna kill you I would have done it by now, knife or no knife. So, drink? I saw a bar back that way. It looked open.”

Xander stepped back as Spike walked casually towards him. “I’m underage. And I don’t drink.”

Spike stepped into Xander’s personal space and sniffed. “That’s a lie, pet. You reek of it.”

Angry, Xander shoved him away with the hand that didn’t have a death grip on the knife. “I don’t drink. I had, like, two mouthfuls. And that was it.”

“What can I smell, then?”

“Them,” Xander spat, his face reddening with a slight case of rage.

“All right, luv. Calm down, yeah?”

“Why should I? What do you want, anyway?”

Spike thought about lying, but he had a sneaking suspicion that he wasn’t going to get away with it.

“I’m new in town and I’m looking for the local gossip. A sort of who’s who thing.”

“And you think you’re gonna get that from me. You’re kidding, right?”

Spike shook his head. “You know a bloke called Angelus?” Angelus had been with The Slayer, and Spike had seen The Slayer with this boy. It stood to reason that he not only knew him but could reveal some of what was going on in this town.

Xander’s expression darkened further. “You mean Angel? Tall, dark and incredibly annoying?”

That certainly sounded like Angelus. Spike nodded. “That’s him.”

“What do you want to know?” Xander’s face was riddled with suspicion.

Spike backed up and held his hands in the air in a placating gesture. “Nothing lethal, luv. He’s family. I’ve been away for a while and I just want to get to the low down on why he’s turned into a plank.”

“A plank?” The knife lowered.

“Well, Angelus, he used to revel in blood and…”

“Wait, wait, don’t need to hear about that. I’m well versed in Angelus 101, thank you very much. Uh, when was the last time you saw Angel – um, Angelus? Do you know about the whole gypsy thing?”

“What gypsy thing?”

Xander grimaced. “Oh. You really haven’t seen him in a while, have you?”

“Nope. So, are we gonna stand out here or shall we go get ourselves seated in a nice cosy bar?”

Xander narrowed his eyes. “I’m not drinking.”

“I’m sure they sell Coke.”

“You can’t drink either.”

“Eh?!”

“That’s my condition. And you’re paying. And if you try to suck on my neck I’ll plunge this knife down your throat and catch it when it comes out the other end.”

A vaguely amused Spike nodded and started walking away. “Come on then, pet. It’s getting chilly out here.”

Xander gathered up the rest of his belongings from the ground and ran to catch up. “And I want bar snacks!” he called.

It was better than going home.


TBC…