thismaz | Prompt 69 - Shifting sands

Title: Shifting sands
Fandom: BtVS
Prompt: 69 - Confrontational
At:

tamingthemuse
Rating: Pg
Summary: Part 8 of my pre-season one story which includes Xander, Willow, Jesse, Angel and Spike, but where it's going? I'm just beginning to get a clue, following a really brilliant conversation with

sparrow2000 last week. We'll see if it stays on course this time. *g*
Word Count: 1,480
Previous parts, in reverse order, are here or in my memories.
Disclaimer: here.
Now beta'd by the wonderful

laazikaat

8. Shifting sands

Thursday afternoon, Friday, Saturday morning

Xander didn't have as much trouble as Spike apparently expected with Trainspotting, although there were some words that just didn't make any sense at all, and the suppository recovery scene was totally gross. Spike laughed at him and accused Americans in general of being obsessed with living disinfected lives, although when challenged, he agreed it was a bit extreme, even if it was, he said, a metaphor for the desperation of the addict. Which made Xander grin at him, teasing him for his sudden attack of education.

That settled, Xander sat back to watch the rest and Spike leaned over the side of the bed, fumbling around a bit. Righting himself, he casually passed Xander a bottle of beer. "Might not be legal here, mate, but in the good old UK you can go out to pubs once you turn 18, even if you want to stick to the letter of the law."

Xander hesitated, but honestly? There was no way he was going to say no, when it was obviously something Spike expected. So he took it, watched Spike crack the lid of his own and copied him. Then he sipped slowly, making it last, as they cheered Renton on, through his adventures to his final bid for freedom. It wasn't the kind of movie Xander would normally have watched, but it was interesting and once he got past the language barrier, and the gross out, he found that he really enjoyed it.

He didn't stay long after it was over, not wanting to outstay his welcome, so it was great that Spike obviously still liked him, because he suggested that Xander might want to come over again and watch Bruce Willis the next afternoon. Xander agreed immediately and walked home through the late afternoon sunlight, happy that there was someone who enjoyed his company and wanted to spend time with him.

Neither Jesse nor Willow phoned him that evening and since he felt neither confrontational enough to chase Jesse, nor up to dealing with Willow's guilt when she realised she'd abandoned him, he didn't call them either. Instead, he spent the night in his room, sorting through his comics and trying to judge whether or not Spike would enjoy them too.

The next day was much the same as the day before, but without the need for occasional translation. They watched Die Hard: With a Vengeance, cheering McClane and Zeus through the hoops the bad guy set for them and afterward they sat and talked it all over, sharing the best bits, while Xander nursed a single beer and watched Spike drink his way through the rest of the six pack. He didn't seem to get even a little bit drunk, which amazed Xander and secretly impressed him. He wished his parents had that kind of tolerance.

Again the time slipped by as they talked about all sorts of things. Spike had never really got into comics, but when Xander described some of his favourites, he seemed really interested, so Xander promised to bring some over, next time. Spike described some concerts he'd been to, talking casually about seeing the Rolling Stones at a small club in London, which was amazing to Xander, who couldn't imagine a huge band like the Stones playing anywhere but big arenas. Spike shrugged that off with his opinion the there was no atmosphere in venues like that. Xander nodded dumbly in agreement as he tried to imagine Mick Jagger at the Bronze.

Eventually Xander got up to leave and Spike walked out with him, saying he had to head into town to see 'a bloke' about some business. Xander wanted to ask what business had brought Spike to Sunnydale, but somehow he never found the opportunity, as the conversation did its usual thing and swerved across every topic under the sun. At the town centre their paths diverged and he stood for a while watching Spike walk away, past The Sun, before he sighed contentedly and turned towards home.

The next day was Saturday and Xander was up early, for him. He decided to surprise Spike with a late breakfast and some comics, so he crept into the kitchen, taking care not to make a noise that might wake his parents, and raided the fridge for bread, butter and jelly and even found a forgotten and unopened packet of Christmas cookies hiding behind an aging box of corn flakes in the back of one of the cupboards. Stuffing them all into his backpack, with the best of his collection, he set off for the motel, anticipating a day of lazing around, talking and reading and sharing one of his favourite hobbies with someone he knew would get a kick out of them, once he'd had the chance. But when he arrived, Spike wasn't there. The door to Spike's room was open and the maid's trolley was parked outside. He stood in the empty doorway, staring in shock.

He couldn't believe it. Spike had been going to see someone, a 'bloke', but he hadn't said anything about leaving. Not so soon. Not at all. Xander kicked himself for not asking about Spike's business. Maybe it had been successful, so Spike didn't need to stay in Sunnydale anymore? Maybe he'd left town? Maybe he'd gone home to England? But he wouldn't do that, would he? Not without saying 'goodbye'? Standing dumbstruck on the porch, Xander tried to gather his thoughts as he peered past the trolley, into the room.

Just as he was about to turn away, the maid came out of the bathroom. He cleared his throat to attract her attention. "Excuse me?" he asked, nervously. "The guy who was in this room, do you know where he went?"

She shook her head and shrugged indifferently, not looking at him. "I was just told he was gone this morning and go to clean up after him." She glanced around. "He wasn't so bad. Not like some, leaving their take away cartons all over the floor." She looked up and caught his eye. "Friend of yours?" she asked. Xander nodded and her demeanour changed as she smiled sympathetically. "Well, he'll probably call then." Xander brightened at that thought. "Tell you what," she suggested, "why don't you go ask at the desk? He might have left a message, or a forwarding address?"

Feeling the relief flood through him, Xander smiled at her. "Yeah," he said, "I never thought of that. Thank you. Thank you, so much." He caught her amused smile as he left, but for once he didn't care as he raced for the office, praying that Spike had just changed motels, rather than left town entirely.

Sure enough, when he asked at the desk, the clerk dug out an envelope and passed it to him. Xander was a little surprised that he wasn't asked for his own name, as proof, but there it was, in fancy flowing handwriting, across the front: 'Xander Harris' with 'for collection' in smaller letters in the top right corner. With a huge smile, he took it and carried it outside to read in private.

Hey, Mate, it read.
I hope you get this, but I guess if you're reading it, you must have.
Remember I said I had my eyes on a flat (sorry - apartment, I should say)? Well, I got something. I moved in last night. So why don't you come over?
3 Torres Heights
Just off Crawford Street.
It's better than a flat. You can't miss it. It's a small cottage, in the grounds of a big mansion place. Follow the road around the back of Crawford Street and it's the third gate on the left. It's got a big white '3' on the mail box. I'll be in all day.

Xander smiled at the last sentence,

And if you don't get this, why am I bothering to write it? I'll give you a call, as soon as they fix the phone.
See you soon, mate,
Spike

Xander hurried out of the motel and back through town, past the end of his own street, to the bottom of Crawford and followed it up the hill, until he sighted the strange mansion ahead of him. That must be the place Spike meant, and sure enough, Torres Heights was a narrow road branching off, heading further up, on the right. He followed it as it curved steeply round, amazed at the sudden quiet. So close to town, but he could be in the middle of nowhere. He couldn't even hear any traffic.

And there it was, the red mail box with a big, faded, white '3' painted on it. The gate was open and Xander followed the short path to the door of the low, dark house. It was just one storey, with tiny windows and a deep porch. He climbed the steps and knocked on the door.

Continued here.