Chapter 8

These Two Hands

You would think having a superhero as a best friend would help when it comes time to moving furniture, but Buffy is crushed between study and chasing down leads to a potential new big bad. Fortunately, I managed to get my new bed all the way up the stairs without dying.

Perhaps it is being on my feet all night and lugging around crates and kegs, but I am starting to feel exhausted less and less. Not that I was ever really out of shape, between swim team, skateboarding and, oh, running for my dear life, I had a body that certainly got me a thong full of dollar, dollar bills yo. But that body was not this body. And as toned and lean as this one was, I couldn't help but notice the huge drop in muscle mass. And of course, everything in my world was suddenly bigger and heftier now.

Willow was in New York, dutifully visiting her parents as part of some cousins wedding. I kinda felt hurt that she didn't ask me to help her pick out a dress. But I guess formal wear and us is a combination enmeshed with great pain and complex guilty feelings, so I let it slide.

And me? I have been flat out at The Bronze since that first week. I found that throwing myself into my work was every bit as effective as ignoring my problems, with the added bonus of cash prizes. Who knew?

Well… Maggie must have noticed, as I found myself rostered on more and more, until I had effectively become full time. I am sure Davey got the flick because of me, but it didn't take much to work harder than Davey. I hear Gil joined a snake cult and Max had an accident with a BBQ fork, which just left me, Casey K and Sandra.

Casey K was a laid back chick with an easy smile and long mousy hair. She kinda reminded me of Janice The Muppet. Apparently there was a Casey G, and while he mysteriously vanished a while ago, her given initial stayed. Casey K was a dedicated stoner who somehow managed to stay sharp as a tack, and who set about her tasks by sort of rolling smoothly around the bar in a continuous flow. Casey K would float by and voila, drinks down and money magically collected. She was easy to work with, as she didn't ask me any personal questions. She did ask things like "you think mice would make clothes if they had opposable thumbs?", but that was mainly to herself.

Sandra was nosy and I didn't like that one bit. A slender girl with white skin and smoothed down brown hair and a neck that one could describe as swan like. She favoured black and often wore peasant tops that showed off her cleavage and… to think of it I did notice she always got way better tips than me.

Hmm. Filing that one away for later.

So here I am in my new apartment. Casa del Harris. Shit. Hart. (Casa Del Corazon?) Anyway, it's just a block back from work and three from Gile's. It's not in the best shape, but the owner was happy for me to fix it up a bit for a slight rent cut. He just wanted to have someone, anyone take it. The rental market in Sunnydale? Strangely dead.

My bed is assembled and I got all the sheets on and I stand and take in the small open living space. It's actually about the same shape and size as my basement domain, but with the sun shining through the windows and everything freshly painted white it feels enormous and filled with new potential. Maybe it's the fumes, but I feel good. It's a good feeling.

And as I unpack my meagre possessions from my backpack to the bathroom cabinet, I give a little smile to the girl in the mirror with paint on her cheek.

And she smiles at me too.


So, heads up, Spike is back in town.

I know this because he is currently standing at the bar right in front of me. Looking directly at me.

"Hello, in there." He says to me with words calm and smooth that hum deeply around my skull. He. William The Bloody. A mass murderer. A monster capable of unimaginable atrocities, as well as very, very imaginable ones too.

And he is less than a foot away from me.

Damn it, the shift has been brutal busy and I didn't think, I just leaned in to take the order before I realised who it was.

His eyes are ice blue and he smells of leather… and something sweet and musky I can't place. I had never noticed the scar that cuts his eyebrow in half. But, I mean fair, I am either usually running from or being punched in the face, forgive me if I miss the details.

"I… I… I… am sorry, what can I get you?"

A slow, bemused smile crawls over his face and notice his tongue press to his teeth. He leans even closer.

"One beer." He says. I blink. Blink again. "You know the stuff. Brown, wet, comes in bottles." I glance around and realise I am indeed, surrounded by such things. I will my limbs to respond.

"Uh, two fifty." I say, not looking up as I place the opened bottle down in front of the mass murderer who likes to drink girl's blood until they are very, very dead. And who is staring at me like a meal. I turn and edge away, scouring the crowd for Buffy.

"Now hold on." He says, a warning note in his voice. I freeze. "Aren't you forgetting something?"

I turn back slowly, every hackle up. My stake, cross and holy water is in my satchel at the other end of the bar. His head is tilted down, eyes glinting wickedly in the bar light.

"You forgot your tip."

I look down at the bill in his hand. It feels like the obvious cheese on the obvious mouse trap, but I can't think of an explanation as to why I wouldn't take it. I don't want to draw his attention like this, and I sure as hell don't want to alert him that I know what he is.

I put on my practiced smile puff out a breath, pretending I am just being ditzy. I try to look as relaxed as possible as I reach out to take the offered money. Of course he doesn't let go.

"Now, what is it about you, that has me curious, I wonder." He says, again far too inside my personal space. "There is something awfully familiar about you."

"Well." I say, licking my dry lips so I can form words "Here six days a week. Plus I have, you know, one of those faces."

"Oh, I think I would remember a face like yours, pet." He says. I swallow and try a small, flirty smile back.

"Can I get you anything else dude?" I try to say casually. His smile widens and becomes more lascivious.

"Oh I think so."

"Just what's on the menu, pal." I say.

"Well, that depends. The blooming onion is on the menu still, is it not?" He says, victorious. The bill is released and I turn and step away.

I remember to breathe as I jar the tip. When I dare to look back, Spike has vanished.

I waited till sunrise to walk home, regardless.


Giles blinks up at me from his book with a curious expression.

I am a sight, I am sure. Flustered and wide eyed, standing in his kitchen clad in the tracksuit pants and top Buffy lent me and clutching an arm full of weapons.

"Xander are you alright?"

"Never better." I squeak and proceed to place the sword, axe, several stakes and assorted throwing knives onto his dining table and wave my hands at them.

"Are you sure?"

"So like, watchers whole thing is teaching girls how to fight, right?" He peels off his glasses and leans back in his chair.

"Well, that's one way to put it but it's much more-"

"Teach me." I say. "Please? I… I… know I am no Slayer, but… I need… I need… I hate feeling… so…"

"It's alright Xander. It's alright." He says comfortingly. "Are you certain you want to do this? Studying martial arts requires dedication and constant-"

"I know, I...I… haven't been good at that stuff in the past. But I swear to you, I've changed. I am different now. Please Giles."

He looks at me firmly for what feels like forever.

"Go out back and start warming up. I need to change."

"Thank-you, thank-you, thank-you"

"You are lucky I am unemployed and, well to put it mildly, bored out of my skull. You can't be any more lazy and distracted a student then Buffy, I suppose. Go on with you, I will be out in a moment."