Buffy The Vampire Slayer Fan Fiction ❯ Old Friends ❯ Tired ( Chapter 13 )

 

-

Chapter #11: Tired

-

So he didn't leave after all. Fine. Spike didn't care. He'd just have to deal with things the best way he could, by being a right bastard to everyone around him. Maybe throw his frustrations into sex since he couldn't fight. He'd survive.

He hoped.

After a while, just sitting with the boy and watching the telly, Spike had finally gotten up enough energy to get on with life. So he'd grabbed his bag and gotten started, heading back to his uncle's place. Unpacking and deciding that maybe a smoke would do him some good. His fingers felt twitchy and he was stressed out.

Sitting on the front step, Spike leaned forward and brought his fag to his lips. Slowly exhaled a cloud of smoke.

No one else was out that he could see and everything was quiet and still. A car drove past and for a second Spike could hear the faint sound of the radio. Some strange Indies song.

This was better. Just him and his smokes. Letting everything else just melt away for a few moments.

It wasn't nearly as effective or as fun as getting pissed or as a good shag, but it was something and that was all that mattered. He could almost forget what had nearly driven him out of town that morning. Almost.

It was hard to do when the reason kept insisting on bothering him.

“Spike.”

Spike closed his eyes and let out a smoky, pain-filled sigh. Then looked up, resigned. “Wot?” he snapped. Couldn't he get through one day without this wanker showing up somehow?

Angel didn't say anything, simply staring at him, all broody and depressed looking. Spike felt himself getting angrier at the sight. What did Angel have to be so bloody depressed about? His life was going just peachy.

Finally the git sighed and looked down. “Look . . . I know you don't want to talk to me—

Spike snorted at the understatement and ashed into the plants to his side, holding himself tense. “Wot was yer first clue?”

Angel tried a small smile. “Well the running away was a good sign, but I think it was the `Fuck off' that really made it clear.”

Right. Spike rolled his eyes and looked away, taking another drag from his smoke. At least something he'd said last night had gotten through the bastard's thick skull.

And Angel got back to the point. “But my point is that I really do just want to talk. I just want to know if the girls are okay.”

“Wouldn't think sumthin' like that would matter t' you,” Spike muttered, voice deceptively mild, and lifted his smoke to his mouth once more.

Angel flinched a bit and, seeing it from the corner of his eye, Spike smirked.

“Will . . .” Angel said, sounding pained, and Spike's smirk vanished as he turned back to Angel.

“Th' name's Spike.”

“Yeah, and why is that?” Angel asked, momentarily side-tracked by his genuine curiosity. “Why Spike? It's so . . . not you.”

“Oh,” Spike said, eyes narrowing in anger, fag in hand getting close to the filter. He ashed off to the side again. “An' I s'pose y' know me now?”

“Well . . . .” Angel started, looking hesitant. And if he said `yes' Spike was going to rip his entrails out through his nostrils, “No,” Angel finally said, “No . . . I was just . . .” he stopped, looking helpless, “You've changed.”

Exhaling a cloud of smoke, Spike arched a brow. Yeah, and?

“I've changed,” Angel continued, gazing at him imploringly, and Spike had an idea of where this was going to go, “And if you'll just give me a chance, I can—

Spike stopped him right there, holding up his smoke. “I think y've had enough chances.”

“I've only had the one. Most people get at least two.”

“Yeah, well yer not most people, now are you? That's wot y've always said anyways, innit?” Spike's eyes dared him to challenge that even as he ashed off to the side again.

Angel couldn't. So he ignored it altogether. “Would it help if I said I was sorry?”

Spike stared at him, unable to believe he had just said that. “No,” he said baldly, “It wouldn't help at all.” And, standing up and flicking his used smoke off into the plants, he turned and went inside the house.

 

 

Monday night, the day after Spike had almost run away, and Xander walked through his front door, relieved to finally be home. He hated his newest job—a grunt worker for Joe's Pizza, a local pizza place that was out of the way and barely known. The boss was mean, the pay was bad, and his co-workers were just plain nasty looking. He doubted some of them even knew what a shower was.
But it had been all he could find. People with his job record just didn't get hired all that often. Employers liked reliable, steady workers with good references. And, needless to say, with the way his luck was going, he didn't have that.

Xander didn't even want to know what he was going to do when he was fired from Joe's.

Because he would be fired. The boss didn't like him and Xander could tell that he was already looking for a way to get rid of him. The slightest mess-up and he was out of there. Which was a lot of pressure to put on a guy and not expect him to fail.

Especially since Xander was such an all around failure. He couldn't do anything right. Couldn't keep a job. Could barely keep an apartment. Couldn't even keep Anya interested in him and all she had wanted was sex.

Guess he wasn't good at that either.

Getting into the shower to wash away the stench of pizza and grease, Xander tried not to get all depressed. It was hard. His life sucked. He couldn't keep a job and even then what jobs he could get all sucked ass. He couldn't keep a girlfriend. He barely saw his friends anymore and even when he did they were distant. Nobody noticed him anymore. Buffy too caught up in Angel and doing the college thing. Willow too caught up in Tara and doing the Wicca thing. Giles too caught up in his shop and his books. Anya too caught up in having as much sex and getting as much money as she possibly could. He didn't know Tara well enough, but he doubted she would have time for him either. The only person he had around anymore was Spike and even he'd been trying to get away.

What was it about him that chased people off? He thought he was a nice enough guy. Did he smell? Was it something he'd said?

God he was pathetic. His only relief was that at least he wasn't living in his parent's basement anymore so he wasn't a complete loser. Of course if his current luck with jobs kept up he might not even have that anymore because he was running out of money fast and he just wasn't making enough to make up for that. Maybe he needed two jobs. Or maybe Spike would teach him how to hustle college kids like Spike had been doing for his own money.

Either way, you knew your life was going down the crapper when all you had to get you through it was a guy who probably didn't even care whether you lived or died. Oh sure, Spike came to tell Xander that he was leaving, but he was still leaving.

A thought forming, Xander frowned, letting the water wash away the suds in his hair.

And why had Xander been so desperate to keep Spike in Sunnydale? Because he was all he had?

Contemplative, Xander finally nodded to himself.

Yeah, let's go with that.

 

 

Tuesday night and Spike and Xander were at the Bronze, relaxing after work.

“I can't pay for your drinks tonight, Spike. I don't care if you win.”

“Wot?” Spike frowned, looking up at Xander from across the pool table, “Why not?”

Xander sighed and leaned against his pool cue. “I just really don't have the money to spare.” He sounded almost sad about it, which was a first. Spike could count the times Xander had shown a negative emotion on one hand.

Spike's frown deepened. “Then wot am I playin' you for.”

Xander was not amused, looking up at him with narrow eyes. “I don't know. My charming company, maybe?”

At this, Spike snorted. But, to his credit, he didn't stop playing, leaning over to carefully line up his next shot. The balls clacked softly as he successfully sunk a shot and moved on to the next. “Wot's got yer panties in a bunch tonight anyways, mate? You haven't relaxed since y' got here.”

“Hey, I'm relaxed,” Xander protested, looking indignant, “The Xand-man is always relaxed. It's kinda like my thing.”

Spike sunk another shot and looked up at him, arching a scarred brow and not saying anything.

“And besides,” Xander continued, wanting to turn the attention away from himself, “it's not like you've been the best company either.”

“Yeah, but we all know my issues,” Spike said maybe overly casually, moving around the table to line up his next shot.

“Not really,” Xander said slowly, this last statement seeming weird to him for some reason. He tilted his head, narrowing his eyes in thought, and then smirked slyly as it came to him. “Spike. Is this your way of saying that you care?”

Spike looked up, surprised. “Wot? No!”

Xander laughed.

 

 

The ringing of the telephone brought Giles' attention away from his books. Putting on his glasses, he stood and went for the phone.

“Hello?”

“Hello,” a women's voice answered, “this is Dr. Carrel with the North Bay Medical Center. Is there a William Mathers around?”

Giles blinked. He didn't know Spike had been giving out his number. “Uh, no. I'm afraid he's out at the moment. Can I take a message?”

“Yes. Tell him I am calling in regards to a Drusilla Green. There's been an incident and I'm afraid we must speak to him as soon as possible.”

“Er, yes,” Giles said, blinking some more, “Yes, of course.”