The Long Summer 5
It was nearing sundown before the crew was able to get the clean up done, what the vandals hadn't trashed, the crime units seemed to have. It was an ugly nightmare as far as scheduling, overtime and reports went. Xander spent several minutes sitting on the hood of the pick up and filling in the details, including four new requisitions for replacement equipment. Their power tools apparently all went on the blink at once.
Even through the waves of tiredness, he could do the math. It might not be exactly accurate, but it was definitely adding up to a tidy sum. Guess he was going to be no bonus man this month. His crew was chunking the budget in the toilet, never mind that it wasn't his crew's fault.
"We're all finished boss. Site's secure." Kevin Williamson's voice penetrated the murky haze surrounding Xander's attention span and he focused on the black man standing there, looking expectant.
"Secure?" He blinked once. The hellmouth was secure?
"Yeah, tools locked up, got everything hauled back to the equipment trailer. Didn't want the kids putzing around in it again." Kevin grinned. "It's quitting time, boss. Why don't you go have a beer and kiss the girl? We'll be here tomorrow."
"No." Xander shook his head. "You guys take tomorrow. It's gonna be a hell of a long week next week. We can't do much more until some of the equipment is replaced and the foundation inspector rechecks us."
Kevin nodded once; he didn't seem likely to argue about the day off. Not after today, anyway. "Hey, Xander. Me and some of the guys are going to the Bronze. You want to join us?"
"No, thanks Kevin. I got some work to do. I'll just grab a beer when I get home. You have a good day off, be in bright and early Monday."
"You the man!" Kevin winked and gave him a thumbs up. "I'll tell the boys."
"You do that." He'd already dismissed the man from his thoughts as they vanished, leaving Xander to sit on the hood of the pick up truck. He glanced back down at the req orders and then flipped the metal cover shut.
He slid off the hood of the car and tossed the clipboard into the open window of the truck. Xander walked across the short divide that separated the parking area from the excavated site and damaged foundation. The damage was superficial, he thought, but it was better to request another inspection.
Not a big point in building something that was likely to fall down because of a shoddy foundation, he argued. Not that the foundation of the foundation was an especially bright move. He made his way down the embankment and studied the layout, mentally picturing where scaffolding and girders would be placed to frame up the infrastructure.
In his mind, he could visualize not only the labor, but also how much equipment and material he would need. This job couldn't be finished in a month, he decided. Not if they wanted it done right.
Of course if the students blew it all up again in a few years, what would be the point?
Xander shrugged off the thought and began to walk the perimeter. The power cleaning crew had done a decent job. The area around the base and the rebar was clean, what stain might be left wasn't visible in the pools of work lamps which were aimed on the area. Stupid kids and all their games –
The thought cut off just as it was formed. Kids didn't do this, why was he thinking about kids? The police report was going to stipulate kids. The insurance vouchers were all going to claim student vandals. Heck, even that corpse they pulled up was going to be buried and marked down as died while committing vandalism.
He rubbed his hand over his cheek, feeling the hard grit of stubble and then shook his head. He should pack it in here; he had work to do at the Magic Shop. He'd get all the requisitions filed tomorrow and then spend the day laying the new wall. That would give the mortar a chance to settle for a day or two before he started framing up new shelves.
Xander turned to head back to his truck and still half-lost in thought; he collided with a larger figure and felt ice-cold seep through him as it flung him backwards. Red, bloodshot eyes fought for purchase on whatever it was that was suddenly looming over him, but all he could see was blackness.
Where the hell were the lights?
His hand fumbled out, looking for some loose piece of rock that he could use as a weapon when he found himself seized and then flung. His ribs cried out in complaint as they impacted against the hard earth and then the icy coldness was washing over him again.
Well, he was going to die at Sunnydale High, he thought rather gloomily, only took seven years, but the high school is finally going to be the death of me. He lay there and waited, but death didn't come. After a few minutes, he sat up and looked around.
The site was quiet. The air was punctuated by the sounds of distant traffic and the occasional night bird that braved the Sunnydale darkness to sing its song of woe.
"Okay, not dead. I think." Xander said slowly, one hand searching himself for solidity.
"Talking to yourself now, Harris?" A very unwelcome and familiar voice drawled as a figure resolved itself out of the darkness, strolling towards him.
"Oh, I should have known it was you. Trying to play tricks with my mind now?" Xander demanded, scrambling to his feet. Anger had a way of clearing the fuzzes from a groggy mind, better than a cold slap of water.
"What mind?" Spike asked, his brow quirked in that irritating sardonic manner. He was smoking a cigarette, radiating his typical undead I'm cooler than you ambience and Xander was just not in the mood.
"I thought you ditched town, finally got a clue after you tried to rape Buffy and she kicked your ass." The vitriol poured out, like puss from a festering wound. "Back for a little more sniffing and a lot more beating?"
He took a step threateningly towards him and suddenly found himself dangling in the air, Spike's hand firmly lodged around his throat. "Harris, you're still alive cause Buffy cares about you. You're still alive because there was a chip in my head for a real long time. And you're still alive right now because I can see a man in a lot of pain that's just looking for a way to end. You might be in the mood tonight, I'm not. So let's get one thing straight, mate. You shut your gob and you point that little finger at yourself. The person you're pissed at is you. Clear?"
Spike had him by the throat. He was cutting off Xander's air supply and he was doing it without a wince. Spike seemed to be waiting for something and when Xander made some faintly gurgling sound, he shrugged and dropped him.
"Sorry, forget my strength some times." He didn't sound remotely sorry.
Xander lied there on the ground, rubbing at his sore throat and eyeing Spike warily. There was a stake, just a few feet away in the truck, if he could get to it.
"So." Spike squatted down. "Want to go get a beer and talk about it?"
"Talk about what?" Xander asked hoarsely, surprised and not the least bit trusting.
"Life. The universe. Having a death wish."
"I don't have a death wish."
"Oh." Spike nodded and stood. "Right then, I'll leave you here to contemplate the bodily sacrifice you were offering up to the hellmouth. Night."
He started to stroll off into the darkness and Xander fumbled to his feet. "Wait –" He croaked, his neck hurt, his chest hurt, his whole body hurt. Damn vampire.
"Yes?" Spike turned and lifted an expectant eyebrow.
"Why are you back?" That wasn't what Xander meant to ask, but it was the first question that came to mind and escaped before he could stop it.
"S'my home." The blonde vampire shrugged.
"Oh." It was the pithiest remark that came to mind and Xander stood there, struggling with the idea of going to get the stake or just collapsing. He was still undecided when Spike took a step back towards him.
"You all right?"
"I'm fine." Xander replied categorically before passing out.
It was nearing sundown before the crew was able to get the clean up done, what the vandals hadn't trashed, the crime units seemed to have. It was an ugly nightmare as far as scheduling, overtime and reports went. Xander spent several minutes sitting on the hood of the pick up and filling in the details, including four new requisitions for replacement equipment. Their power tools apparently all went on the blink at once.
Even through the waves of tiredness, he could do the math. It might not be exactly accurate, but it was definitely adding up to a tidy sum. Guess he was going to be no bonus man this month. His crew was chunking the budget in the toilet, never mind that it wasn't his crew's fault.
"We're all finished boss. Site's secure." Kevin Williamson's voice penetrated the murky haze surrounding Xander's attention span and he focused on the black man standing there, looking expectant.
"Secure?" He blinked once. The hellmouth was secure?
"Yeah, tools locked up, got everything hauled back to the equipment trailer. Didn't want the kids putzing around in it again." Kevin grinned. "It's quitting time, boss. Why don't you go have a beer and kiss the girl? We'll be here tomorrow."
"No." Xander shook his head. "You guys take tomorrow. It's gonna be a hell of a long week next week. We can't do much more until some of the equipment is replaced and the foundation inspector rechecks us."
Kevin nodded once; he didn't seem likely to argue about the day off. Not after today, anyway. "Hey, Xander. Me and some of the guys are going to the Bronze. You want to join us?"
"No, thanks Kevin. I got some work to do. I'll just grab a beer when I get home. You have a good day off, be in bright and early Monday."
"You the man!" Kevin winked and gave him a thumbs up. "I'll tell the boys."
"You do that." He'd already dismissed the man from his thoughts as they vanished, leaving Xander to sit on the hood of the pick up truck. He glanced back down at the req orders and then flipped the metal cover shut.
He slid off the hood of the car and tossed the clipboard into the open window of the truck. Xander walked across the short divide that separated the parking area from the excavated site and damaged foundation. The damage was superficial, he thought, but it was better to request another inspection.
Not a big point in building something that was likely to fall down because of a shoddy foundation, he argued. Not that the foundation of the foundation was an especially bright move. He made his way down the embankment and studied the layout, mentally picturing where scaffolding and girders would be placed to frame up the infrastructure.
In his mind, he could visualize not only the labor, but also how much equipment and material he would need. This job couldn't be finished in a month, he decided. Not if they wanted it done right.
Of course if the students blew it all up again in a few years, what would be the point?
Xander shrugged off the thought and began to walk the perimeter. The power cleaning crew had done a decent job. The area around the base and the rebar was clean, what stain might be left wasn't visible in the pools of work lamps which were aimed on the area. Stupid kids and all their games –
The thought cut off just as it was formed. Kids didn't do this, why was he thinking about kids? The police report was going to stipulate kids. The insurance vouchers were all going to claim student vandals. Heck, even that corpse they pulled up was going to be buried and marked down as died while committing vandalism.
He rubbed his hand over his cheek, feeling the hard grit of stubble and then shook his head. He should pack it in here; he had work to do at the Magic Shop. He'd get all the requisitions filed tomorrow and then spend the day laying the new wall. That would give the mortar a chance to settle for a day or two before he started framing up new shelves.
Xander turned to head back to his truck and still half-lost in thought; he collided with a larger figure and felt ice-cold seep through him as it flung him backwards. Red, bloodshot eyes fought for purchase on whatever it was that was suddenly looming over him, but all he could see was blackness.
Where the hell were the lights?
His hand fumbled out, looking for some loose piece of rock that he could use as a weapon when he found himself seized and then flung. His ribs cried out in complaint as they impacted against the hard earth and then the icy coldness was washing over him again.
Well, he was going to die at Sunnydale High, he thought rather gloomily, only took seven years, but the high school is finally going to be the death of me. He lay there and waited, but death didn't come. After a few minutes, he sat up and looked around.
The site was quiet. The air was punctuated by the sounds of distant traffic and the occasional night bird that braved the Sunnydale darkness to sing its song of woe.
"Okay, not dead. I think." Xander said slowly, one hand searching himself for solidity.
"Talking to yourself now, Harris?" A very unwelcome and familiar voice drawled as a figure resolved itself out of the darkness, strolling towards him.
"Oh, I should have known it was you. Trying to play tricks with my mind now?" Xander demanded, scrambling to his feet. Anger had a way of clearing the fuzzes from a groggy mind, better than a cold slap of water.
"What mind?" Spike asked, his brow quirked in that irritating sardonic manner. He was smoking a cigarette, radiating his typical undead I'm cooler than you ambience and Xander was just not in the mood.
"I thought you ditched town, finally got a clue after you tried to rape Buffy and she kicked your ass." The vitriol poured out, like puss from a festering wound. "Back for a little more sniffing and a lot more beating?"
He took a step threateningly towards him and suddenly found himself dangling in the air, Spike's hand firmly lodged around his throat. "Harris, you're still alive cause Buffy cares about you. You're still alive because there was a chip in my head for a real long time. And you're still alive right now because I can see a man in a lot of pain that's just looking for a way to end. You might be in the mood tonight, I'm not. So let's get one thing straight, mate. You shut your gob and you point that little finger at yourself. The person you're pissed at is you. Clear?"
Spike had him by the throat. He was cutting off Xander's air supply and he was doing it without a wince. Spike seemed to be waiting for something and when Xander made some faintly gurgling sound, he shrugged and dropped him.
"Sorry, forget my strength some times." He didn't sound remotely sorry.
Xander lied there on the ground, rubbing at his sore throat and eyeing Spike warily. There was a stake, just a few feet away in the truck, if he could get to it.
"So." Spike squatted down. "Want to go get a beer and talk about it?"
"Talk about what?" Xander asked hoarsely, surprised and not the least bit trusting.
"Life. The universe. Having a death wish."
"I don't have a death wish."
"Oh." Spike nodded and stood. "Right then, I'll leave you here to contemplate the bodily sacrifice you were offering up to the hellmouth. Night."
He started to stroll off into the darkness and Xander fumbled to his feet. "Wait –" He croaked, his neck hurt, his chest hurt, his whole body hurt. Damn vampire.
"Yes?" Spike turned and lifted an expectant eyebrow.
"Why are you back?" That wasn't what Xander meant to ask, but it was the first question that came to mind and escaped before he could stop it.
"S'my home." The blonde vampire shrugged.
"Oh." It was the pithiest remark that came to mind and Xander stood there, struggling with the idea of going to get the stake or just collapsing. He was still undecided when Spike took a step back towards him.
"You all right?"
"I'm fine." Xander replied categorically before passing out.