The Long Summer 3/?
The smell of freshly sawed wood perfumed the air within the shop. It seemed far more expansive than normal with most of the recoverable stock packed away in the security of the basement. Xander lifted his work goggles and wiped the sweat beading his forehead with the back of his hand. It was after nine, but he had four new strong supports to place and then he'd leave it until Saturday.
Rolling his head around, he tried to loosen up the knotted muscles and there was a snapping sound around him that sent him spinning. The 2x4 in his hand swung as he did and caught the vampire square in the upper shoulder The fanged face hissed in pain and fury, lunging immediately back to his feet. Xander's hand shot behind him to grab the nail gun from its holster.
Just as the vampire rammed him into his newly finished set of posts, he pointed the gun right into the thing's neck and started firing rapidly. It shrieked in agony and fell backwards. Dropping the nail gun, Xander seized up a splinter of wood from his cutting and dove forward. He slammed the makeshift stake into the shrieking vampire's heart. An explosion of dust and a silence so profound rewarded him; his own ragged breathing seemed loud.
He'd locked the back door, dammit. How the hell had it gotten in? Retrieving the nail gun, Xander rubbed his arm across his face, smearing the sawdust and sweat and blinked around the dimly lit area outside of his work lamp. The door to the basement stood ajar and Xander sighed. Checking the load on the nail gun, he grabbed another stake and made his way over to the door.
Pulling it the rest of the way open, he descended the stairs cautiously. Boxes were stacked in every available space, but there were several which had been upended and their contents spilled across the floor like so many carelessly broken toys. Xander scowled and muttered another oath. He elbowed the overhead lamp on and stared at the boarded up entrance to the Sunnydale underground.
It wasn't boarded up anymore.
"Damn scum." Xander swore and retreated back up the stairs to fetch his tools, some holy water and a pair of crucifixes that he'd been carefully building into the framework of most of the buildings. He wasn't particularly religious, but it might give some of Sunnydale's less than desirables a second thought.
Heading back into the basement, he went to work repairing the damage to his makeshift seal and dabbed holy water around the nails as well as the crucifixes, which he hung with prominences.
An hour later, he resumed his work in the main shop and found himself trimming another 2x4 to replace the damaged one from the fight. It was nearly eleven before he managed to finish up for the night, equal parts disgusted and exhausted. He packed up his tools and carried them all out to secure in the truck. The alley way was quiet, but he kept a stake in one hand for each trip. He locked up the shop properly before climbing into the rickety truck and gunning its tired engine for home.
The apartment was a welcome respite despite the haphazard appearance of the laundry and old garbage. He gathered up an armful of clothes and dumped them in the washer. Letting it do its thing, he grabbed up the forgotten towels from the morning and carried them into the bathroom.
Ten minutes later, he emerged, smelling vaguely more human and feeling more like it. He padded barefoot over to the refrigerator. There were only two bottles of beer and an old container of Chinese that smelled frightful. He settled for some dried out bread and a bottle of beer.
Settling wearily into an armchair, he looked at the mail he'd deposited on his way in the door. A few fliers, advertisements for fixing his credit, four separate offers for life insurance, a bill that threatened to cut off service if he didn't write them a check. He stared at it bemusedly and tried to remember why he hadn't paid for it and lacking any great reason, tossed it to the coffee table to be paid later. It joined several compatriots in a pile that seemed to have grown taller since the spring.
But then Anya seemed to adore paying the bills and Xander lacked her rhythm or enthusiasm. The last letter bore a foreign postmark and he stared at it for a long time. The handwriting was as familiar as his own even if the return address sounded straight out of some fairy tale.
Tipping the bottle upwards, he took a long pull on the beer and continued to stare at the envelope. He contemplated opening it and then thought better of it. He slowly leaned forward and set it on the table where he could look at it and still drink his beer.
There was a message light blinking on the answering machine and his gaze rested on it for a long time as well before he reached over and hit delete. He remained in the chair until the buzzer sounded on the washing machine. The beer was finished along with the stale bread. Stumbling with tired, he made his way over to haul out the washed clothes and shoved them into the dryer.
He opened the dryer sheet box and found it empty.
Sighing, he slammed the dryer door shut and cranked it up to seventy minutes on high before making his way to the bed. He didn't bother to even pull the blankets back as he collapsed on top of it.
Morning was right around the corner anyway.
The smell of freshly sawed wood perfumed the air within the shop. It seemed far more expansive than normal with most of the recoverable stock packed away in the security of the basement. Xander lifted his work goggles and wiped the sweat beading his forehead with the back of his hand. It was after nine, but he had four new strong supports to place and then he'd leave it until Saturday.
Rolling his head around, he tried to loosen up the knotted muscles and there was a snapping sound around him that sent him spinning. The 2x4 in his hand swung as he did and caught the vampire square in the upper shoulder The fanged face hissed in pain and fury, lunging immediately back to his feet. Xander's hand shot behind him to grab the nail gun from its holster.
Just as the vampire rammed him into his newly finished set of posts, he pointed the gun right into the thing's neck and started firing rapidly. It shrieked in agony and fell backwards. Dropping the nail gun, Xander seized up a splinter of wood from his cutting and dove forward. He slammed the makeshift stake into the shrieking vampire's heart. An explosion of dust and a silence so profound rewarded him; his own ragged breathing seemed loud.
He'd locked the back door, dammit. How the hell had it gotten in? Retrieving the nail gun, Xander rubbed his arm across his face, smearing the sawdust and sweat and blinked around the dimly lit area outside of his work lamp. The door to the basement stood ajar and Xander sighed. Checking the load on the nail gun, he grabbed another stake and made his way over to the door.
Pulling it the rest of the way open, he descended the stairs cautiously. Boxes were stacked in every available space, but there were several which had been upended and their contents spilled across the floor like so many carelessly broken toys. Xander scowled and muttered another oath. He elbowed the overhead lamp on and stared at the boarded up entrance to the Sunnydale underground.
It wasn't boarded up anymore.
"Damn scum." Xander swore and retreated back up the stairs to fetch his tools, some holy water and a pair of crucifixes that he'd been carefully building into the framework of most of the buildings. He wasn't particularly religious, but it might give some of Sunnydale's less than desirables a second thought.
Heading back into the basement, he went to work repairing the damage to his makeshift seal and dabbed holy water around the nails as well as the crucifixes, which he hung with prominences.
An hour later, he resumed his work in the main shop and found himself trimming another 2x4 to replace the damaged one from the fight. It was nearly eleven before he managed to finish up for the night, equal parts disgusted and exhausted. He packed up his tools and carried them all out to secure in the truck. The alley way was quiet, but he kept a stake in one hand for each trip. He locked up the shop properly before climbing into the rickety truck and gunning its tired engine for home.
The apartment was a welcome respite despite the haphazard appearance of the laundry and old garbage. He gathered up an armful of clothes and dumped them in the washer. Letting it do its thing, he grabbed up the forgotten towels from the morning and carried them into the bathroom.
Ten minutes later, he emerged, smelling vaguely more human and feeling more like it. He padded barefoot over to the refrigerator. There were only two bottles of beer and an old container of Chinese that smelled frightful. He settled for some dried out bread and a bottle of beer.
Settling wearily into an armchair, he looked at the mail he'd deposited on his way in the door. A few fliers, advertisements for fixing his credit, four separate offers for life insurance, a bill that threatened to cut off service if he didn't write them a check. He stared at it bemusedly and tried to remember why he hadn't paid for it and lacking any great reason, tossed it to the coffee table to be paid later. It joined several compatriots in a pile that seemed to have grown taller since the spring.
But then Anya seemed to adore paying the bills and Xander lacked her rhythm or enthusiasm. The last letter bore a foreign postmark and he stared at it for a long time. The handwriting was as familiar as his own even if the return address sounded straight out of some fairy tale.
Tipping the bottle upwards, he took a long pull on the beer and continued to stare at the envelope. He contemplated opening it and then thought better of it. He slowly leaned forward and set it on the table where he could look at it and still drink his beer.
There was a message light blinking on the answering machine and his gaze rested on it for a long time as well before he reached over and hit delete. He remained in the chair until the buzzer sounded on the washing machine. The beer was finished along with the stale bread. Stumbling with tired, he made his way over to haul out the washed clothes and shoved them into the dryer.
He opened the dryer sheet box and found it empty.
Sighing, he slammed the dryer door shut and cranked it up to seventy minutes on high before making his way to the bed. He didn't bother to even pull the blankets back as he collapsed on top of it.
Morning was right around the corner anyway.