shadowscast

It's been a while since I updated. Work's been long and exhausting. Yuck. But now I have cobbled together another chapter, so I hope you enjoy it!

First the standard intro:

This is part of my Fragments series. It's a sequel to "Late Night Porn Store Blues," which is in turn a prequel to "Human Frailty."

Rating: R for the language at the moment. There might be some sexual content later, depending on how Spike and Xander behave. (What, you think I'd tell you ahead of time?)

Warnings: Spoilers for all of BtVS and AtS. The whole series was originally just an excuse to indulge my hurt/comfort kink. Somehow a plot crept in too (funny how that happens!) but expect lots of hurt/comfort still to come. My Spike's kinda broken, and my Xander's got problems of his own.

Previously in the Fragments 'verse: In "Late Night Porn Store Blues," Giles sent Xander from Rome to LA after hearing rumors of an undetected Slayer there. Xander found the girl, but it turned out to be Illyria, erstwhile god-king and currently roommate of Spike. Xander found Spike working in a porn store and suffering from a migraine, but it wasn't until Angel intervened that Xander realized Spike was now human. Spike was wounded superficially in a fight and also took an overdose of painkillers, so Xander took him to a hospital.

The next day in "How the Light Gets In," Giles asked Xander to recruit Spike for the new Council. Xander went and tried, and in the course of his interaction with Spike he found out that Cordelia was dead. Xander, in turn, informed Spike of Anya's death. The two of them got drunk and mourned together, and there may have been some drunken cuddles but they didn't talk about that in the morning. After sleeping the sleep of the drunk on Spike's couch, Xander had a morning cigarette in the kitchen and unfortunately triggered an apparent asthma attack in Spike. Note to Xander: don't smoke around Spike.

Meanwhile, Xander tried to recruit Illyria for the Council but it didn't seem to work. Then Xander decided to solve some of Spike's problems by getting him fake I.D. Something Giles said on the phone made Xander start to worry that Spike was suicidal, so he confronted him about it. They had dinner together, and Spike managed to convince Xander that he was too afraid of hell to kill himself.

The next day, they went to a gay bar together to buy a CD for Andrew (who is, by the way, gay). At first Spike danced with a stranger while Xander watched and Angel lurked outside and worried about Spike being up past his bedtime, but then Spike got laid in the bathroom and Angel and Xander had a nice conversation and finally Xander got to dance with Spike, and kiss him.

The next day Giles called up with a crisis: he needed Spike to translate an Ancient Greek text so they could stop someone from turning into stone. So Xander pulled Spike out of church, they got printouts of the text, and Spike slightly crashed Xander's rental car while driving to the UCLA library for a dictionary. So Spike spent the day translating, and Xander spent the day dealing with crashed-car paperwork and resenting Spike. Then Spike's phone went dead so Xander had to go visit him in person to find out how the translating was going. He discovered that Spike wasn't in good shape; he was getting sick with a cold, and also hadn't eaten for a couple days. Xander went to get food. He came back with KFC, and he shared its greasy goodness with Spike while they chatted a bit. Then Xander slept in Spike's bed while Spike kept working. All that effort finally paid off; Spike found the right page and called Giles.

Previous parts can be found here.

And now...

Chapter 11

Spike was leaning over the counter reading a magazine when Xander walked into the porn store. He looked up absently at first, then raised his eyebrow when he saw who it was. "What are you doing here? Don't tell me there's another damsel in distress."

Xander shook his head. "I went by your place and Illyria told me you were working." He held up the Subway bag he'd carried in from the car. "I got hungry on the way over. Want half?"

"What kind is it?"

"Cheese steak." He didn't give Spike time to say no; he just spread a bunch of napkins on the counter by the register and plunked six inches of hot, meaty goodness down on top. Then he took a big chomp from the other half.

"I earned this," Spike said, kind of defensively, and Xander just nodded and chewed.

After a tentative first nibble, Spike downed the sandwich in quick, big bites. He was hungry, Xander observed. He'd suspected as much—if Spike hadn't had money for food yesterday, he wouldn't today, either.

He wondered how long it would take Spike to break down and accept the job the Council was offering him. Willow figured he was as good as one of them already, especially after helping them out with the petrifaction crisis. She'd told Xander as much when they talked this afternoon, when she'd called to let him know that the cure had worked. She'd talked to Spike herself, first; she'd been trying to reach Xander, but she'd called his cell and that was still at Spike's place. She'd still been giddy with the shock of that when she talked to Xander afterwards.

On the other hand, Willow was always too quick to assume people would do what she wanted them to. And Spike was full of prickly pride; he'd already shown he was ready to starve before asking for help. But he takes the food I offer. That thought brought more satisfaction than Xander would have expected. We kind of have a ... thing.

When there was nothing left but crumbs, Spike licked his fingers and gave Xander a searching look. "Seriously, Harris, why are you here? Don't tell me you just missed my pretty face."

If Spike had still been a vampire he would have heard Xander's heart speed up at the question. Because, really? He didn't have any good reason to be here, he'd just wanted to see Spike again. He couldn't tell him that, though, so he came up with something reasonable-sounding. "I'm going back to Rome soon. I need to know if you're coming with me."

Spike grimaced and started gathering up their napkins and brushing the counter clean. "I don't know what the old Watcher thinks I'm good for. If it's a translator he wants, there must be a thousand blokes in Rome who're better qualified than I am."

"You came through last night," Xander pointed out.

"I don't want to spend the rest of my life going through fucking dusty old books." Spike tossed the napkins into the garbage can behind the counter with an angry flick of his wrist, and stifled a cough. "I learned Greek because that's what schoolboys did in my day, understand? I was never good at it."

"There's other things you could do. I mean, there's enough work for me, and I don't know any languages or have any superpowers."

Spike rubbed his nose with the back of his hand, sniffling. "Just bloody leave it, all right? I said I'd think about it."

A customer walked in then, cutting off their conversation. Spike helped the guy find the video he was looking for, while Xander hung out in the background, not sure what to do with himself. On his way to the cash to ring up the sale, Spike brushed by him and said under his breath, "If you're going to stick around, at least pick up a magazine and try to look pervey, all right?"

A couple walked in as the guy walked out with his video. The woman was giggling and the man was blushing, and they wanted help picking out a vibrator. They made Spike explain the function of nearly every one in the store before they finally settled on one of the smallest, cheapest models.

As soon as the door shut behind them, Spike came over to Xander. "Thought they'd never make up their bloody minds," he muttered, and stifled a cough against his fist. "What've you got there?"

Xander shrugged; he'd been paying more attention to Spike than to the skin mag in his hands. "Naked women with big breasts," he said.

"Boring as hell, and fucking plastic." Spike snatched the magazine away and plucked one from a part of the shelf Xander had been avoiding. "Here, take a look at this one. See if there's anything you like." His smile had a definite predatory tinge.

Xander's mouth felt dry all of a sudden. Spike was invading his personal space, watching for his reaction, and this was flirting, wasn't it?

He'd taken away the women, and handed Xander a magazine that was all men. Men, and kink—the slender blond guy on the front cover had his hands chained up over his head and a black ball gag in his mouth. "Not really my thing," Xander said, but his throat felt kind of thick. He could feel Spike's warm breath on his neck as he reached around Xander to flip the pages open.

"No? Are you sure? Come on, Scooby, I bet you've never even thought about it." He was teasing now, letting his fingers brush Xander's, waiting for a reaction. Waiting for Xander to push him away, maybe, or...?

On the open page in front of him, the model from the cover was bound in another position. He was on a sort of bench, his hands handcuffed behind him. The gag was still in his mouth, but he stared out at the camera insolently. His dick lay half-hard against his thigh, dusky against the pale flesh of his leg. It made Xander wonder what Spike would look like naked. "Told you, I'm not a Scooby anymore." He pulled the magazine away from Spike, and when he started to protest Xander kissed him.

He kind of surprised himself, doing it, but sweet Jesus he'd been thinking about it all day. And Spike wouldn't have been teasing him like that if he hadn't been thinking it too. Or so Xander hoped, anyway.

Spike hadn't expected the kiss; he flinched at the first contact. Xander instantly backed off, stammering the beginnings of some kind of apology, but Spike grabbed his arms and shut him up by kissing him back.

For an endless second there was nothing but the kiss, and the steel of Spike's fingers on his arms and his own heart pounding in his ears. And then the fucking door chime went off again and Spike broke away. In the moment before he turned towards the door, the look he gave Xander was strange—worried, almost. Not the predator at all.

Then he was away, chatting with the customers—a pair of frat boy types this time—and Xander was flipping blindly through the gay bondage magazine. His hands were trembling and his cheeks were hot, and he had a hard-on from the split-second kiss.

I have a crush on Spike. It was self-knowledge from Bizarro Land, but he couldn't deny it. At the other side of the store, Spike laughed at something the taller frat boy said. He was showing the two guys the packaged blow-up dolls. The shorter, quieter frat boy looked kind of uncomfortable, but the other guy was making contextually obscene hand gestures. Spike was nodding and smirking conspiratorially, and almost-not-quite licking his lips. Xander felt a quick surge of hatred for Tall Frat Boy. I'm jealous, he realized, just barely detached enough to be amused by his own reaction.

It seemed to be physically impossible for Spike to talk to anyone without flirting. It was frankly amazing that he never get beat up for it, but the paragon of testosterone-fuelled heterosexuality he was talking with now didn't seem to notice the undertones in Spike's body language. Maybe it was the punk thing, the I-could-kill-you edge to him that made guys like that overlook the nail polish and eyeliner and smirks and leave him the hell alone. Spike was wearing a Ramones t-shirt tonight, and the thick leather bracelets he'd worn to the club. The bandage around his forearm was gone; even from here Xander could see the curving red-black line cut by the junky's knife.

The frat boys finally left, having bought a blowup doll and an X-rated birthday card. Spike rested his elbows on the counter and let his head droop.

"Hey, are you okay?" Xander asked, coming up to him.

"Yeah." Spike lifted his head, sniffling. "Bit tired. Think the medicine's wearing off, I kept feeling like I was going to sneeze."

Xander checked his watch. "It's just after midnight. Are you on till two again?"

Spike nodded, but his eyes were unfocused. Then he turned away quickly. "eh...etchoo!"

"Gesundheit," Xander responded automatically.

Spike shook himself, and then with his jaw set in a scowl he headed for the back room. Xander followed in time to see him ripping a couple kleenex out of the box on the desk.

"Seriously, are you all right?" Xander asked after Spike blew his nose. He didn't want to piss him off, but ... "The other night, Angel was saying that you've been sick a lot."

"I'm fine," Spike snapped, tossing the used tissues into the waste basket. He ducked down under the desk and brought out a battered red courier bag, out of which he pulled the box of cold tablets Xander had bought yesterday. He poked the last two pills out of the blister pack and popped them in his mouth.

"They go down better with water," Xander suggested helpfully, perching on the arm of the sofa.

"Fuck water," Spike muttered, fishing around on the surface of the paper-strewn desk until he came up with a paperclip. He unbent its end, and in four seconds flat picked the lock on the bottom desk drawer. He came up with a bottle of Wild Turkey and a shot glass.

Xander nodded. "I'm impressed. Not especially surprised, but impressed."

Spike tossed back a shot while Xander was talking. He coughed, then slammed the glass down on the desk with a fierce grin. "That's how we cured a cold when Vicky was on the throne."

Xander rolled his eye. "Yeah, and that era's famous for its effective medicine." Still, when Spike poured a second shot and offered it to him, he downed it in one gulp.

"So if you're not a Scooby anymore," Spike said, taking the shot glass and placing it upside down on the desk, "what are you?"

"An Associate." He shrugged. "Not quite as catchy, is it? It was Giles's idea—if you're not a Slayer and you're not a Watcher, what are you?"

"And that's what you want to make me?"

"I guess so. It's Giles who's in charge for now."

Spike fiddled with the glass, spinning it a half turn and back on the film of spilt bourbon. "What's it pay?"

"I'm getting forty thousand American, plus expenses. And the Council pays the rent on my apartment in Rome."

Spike's eyebrow lifted slightly. "Not bad."

"I could've done better if I'd stayed in construction," Xander observed with a shrug.

"So why didn't you?"

"I decided I didn't want to get old and fat." The joke went flat; Spike looked startled and maybe a bit appalled. Xander tried to reassure him with a quick, hard grin. "Hey, once you start saving the world you just don't look back. At least it's not my unpaid hobby anymore."

"Right. There is that." He coughed.

"You don't have to sign up for life, you know," Xander pointed out. "You could just go to Rome and try it out for a bit, see how it goes."

Out front, the door chime sounded. "I'll think on it," Spike said, and went back out into the store.

Xander stayed behind for a moment, wondering how that whole conversation had happened without even coming close to dealing with the fact that he'd just kissed Spike. Was Spike being incredibly nonchalant about it, or avoiding the subject because he didn't want it to happen again, or what?

Then the sound of shouting filtered through the door and Xander's awareness. Shit. He rushed out into the store.

Angel was standing in the aisle between the video rack and the dildo display, with Spike blocking him from coming any further. Spike's hands were balled into fists. "Get it through your bloody thick forehead, you're not invited here!" he was saying as Xander walked in.

"You can't keep—" Angel cut himself off when he noticed Xander. "Hi Xander," he said in a much more neutral voice.

Spike glanced back over his shoulder. "Harris, go back in the office," he said in a tight voice.

"What's he doing here again?" Angel asked Spike.

"None of your sodding business. Harris, the office."

"Actually..." Xander eyed the two of them cautiously. Spike looked like he was about to resort to fists and fangs, minus the fangs, but Angel didn't seem so close to violence; he just looked downtrodden. "I'm going out for a smoke."

"Xander, you have to make Spike—"

"Going out," Xander repeated sharply over Angel's words. "For a smoke." If Spike didn't want him getting involved in this Angel thing, he sure as hell wasn't going to let Angel drag him in.

Outside, he couldn't hear their voices. He stood with his back to the plate glass window so he couldn't see, either. If he wants me, I'm here, he told himself—not that he knew what Spike might possibly want him for.

He was halfway through his second cigarette when Angel finally came out of the store. He looked gloomy, with his hands stuck in the pockets of his dusty jacket and his shoulders hunched up.

"Did you get what you came for?" Xander asked, not bothering to take the cigarette out of his mouth.

Angel ignored the question. "Are you living in LA now?" he asked.

Xander shook his head once. "Just visiting."

"Where are you staying?"

"None of your business."

Angel's jaw muscle twitched. "I just meant—are you staying with Spike?"

Xander snorted a laugh, and smoke came out his nose. "No."

"Oh. All right." Angel seemed to be at a loss for words for a minute; Xander didn't help him out. "He's sick again," he said finally. "He was trying to hide it from me."

"So? He doesn't want your help. Fucking get over it." Tossing the stub of his cigarette to the pavement, Xander propped one foot against the wall behind him and crossed his arms. "Anyway, what are you doing these days?" It was more an accusation than a question.

Angel's jaw twitched again. "I'm between jobs."

"So you do...what, all night?"

A shift in shadow and the sudden stark outline of the tendons in Angel's neck told Xander the vampire was clenching his fists inside his pockets, but all he said was "I meditate."

"Well, that's useful." Then Xander had a sudden crazy impulse. Giles had told him to recruit Spike, to recruit Illyria...why not extend the idea? "Hey Angel, how would you like to go back to fighting evil professionally?"

***

By the time he'd finished with Angel, another customer had gone into the store. It was the bald sweaty guy who'd wanted to sell his porn collection the night Xander had taken over Spike's shift; apparently he was back to try again. Spike looked up from the box of tapes just long enough to tell Xander to wait in the back room.

The bondage magazine and the Wild Turkey were still on the desk. The bourbon probably belonged to Spike's boss, but what the hell, Spike was the one who'd picked the lock—he couldn't complain if Xander had one more shot.

It was good stuff—smooth, with hints of oak and honey. He welcomed the fiery warmth spreading from his throat to his belly.

He wasn't sure why he was waiting, really, or what he wanted from Spike. He was tense; his back was in knots and his head had started up a dull throbbing. He wanted to find out whether or not kissing Spike had been the stupidest thing he'd done all week. Nothing good could come from getting involved with Spike, he knew that much, but some types of bad were more appealing than others. Maybe Spike would do him just so he could mock him in the morning. That would be the bad kind of bad. On the other hand, maybe they'd have a transgressive, lust and desperation-driven, degrading and destructive sexual relationship—something Xander could sink himself into like a tall bottle of sweet bourbon.

It was better not to think about this stuff. He poured himself another shot and flipped open the magazine.