1 The Long Summer 9
Xander stretched one arm, then the other as he slid on the plaid work shirt. All of his clothes were neatly stacked or placed where they were supposed to be. It was the first morning in months he didn't have to hunt up something or settle for a wrinkled shirt from the floor.
His work boots, along with two pairs of sneakers and the solitary pair of dress shoes he owned were all neatly lined up at the foot of his bed. He dropped down to sit on the edge and pull on some socks. He could hear Spike moving in the other room, there was a smell of coffee that enticed him and if he wasn't mistaken, sizzling bacon.
What was he doing?
He stopped, one hand still on a work boot and stared at he still closed bedroom door. It was like waking up from a very long, restive sleep. Spike was staying at his apartment. He'd arrived night before last after some really odd crap happened at the work site. Xander's eyes traveled the room. The vampire cleaned everything up, made himself at home and despite Xander's rather weak attempts to get rid of him, he was still here.
Shuddering, he yanked the boot on and laced it up. Time for the vampire to go, this was getting far to cozy for his tastes. He opened the bedroom door and strode out, all the while tucking his wallet into his back pocket. The scent of bacon, eggs, toast and coffee struck all at once in a dazzling allure that turned his stomach into knots.
He was starving.
"Ah right." Spike poked his head out of the kitchen. "Coffee there on the table, morning paper came early enough that I nicked it off the stoop. Breakfast be ready in just a minute. Going to have some orange juice?"
Xander blinked at Spike. "Um, no. Coffee is fine."
"Orange juice has vitamins." Did he just sing song that? Like a parent?
Xander shuddered.
"No, coffee's fine." He moved quickly to the table and sat down. The sip of coffee was more in self-defense, but the first taste was heaven. It was the strong bodied type, just enough sugar, and brewed so recently that Xander's toes curled despite his attempts to not enjoy it.
"Right then." A plate was slid in front of him, bacon still popping a little and the butter melting into the toast. "Eat up. I'm just packing you up some sandwiches and a thermos to take to the site. I'll pull out something for dinner and meet you at the shop after sundown. I'd go earlier, but there's no easy access to the underground from here and I'm not in the favor of a suntan this early in the summer. Any preferences? Chicken? Steak? Maybe something with grilled onions?"
Xander picked up his fork and blinked at Spike again. The vampire might as well have sprung a secondary head. "What?" He asked, feeling stupid.
"You know, some grilled onions, a little fillet of steak, mozzarella or jack cheese on some thick bread? Really, quite good."
"No, I meant what are you doing?"
"Offering to fix dinner so you have something to eat while you work at the shop. And offering to deliver it so I can give you a hand. Well, I reckon if you want a hand at the tedium that you call work."
"It's not tedious." Xander stabbed his fork into a piece of bread, sectioned it off and mopped up some egg yolk with it. "It's wood work, carpentry, build and creating."
"It's payback and an apology." Spike vanished back into the kitchen. "And it still requires food. You're about as thin as a ghoul at the moment, can't see the point in you vanishing if you turn sideways."
"Look, Spike – I'm still not sure why you're doing all this. But it's not going to work." He didn't sound very convincing.
"What's not going to work?" Spike reappeared toting a blue lunch box, which he set on the table lightly. A large silver thermos was placed next to it.
"This – domestic thing that you're doing."
"I'm not trying to do anything mate, just lending you a hand till you get all ship shape again." Spike sat down in a chair opposite him. "I can go through the bills if you want, get them all prioritized and write out the checks. Then you can check them over and sign them when you come –"
"Stop it!" He was going to stop eating to make his point, but he'd already cleaned up most of the plate without realizing it. His stomach was content with the offering and Xander couldn't believe how quickly he'd scarfed it all down.
"Look, let's get this straight." He pointed the fork at Spike. "Undead vampire." He jerked the fork back to point at himself. "Alive disgusted guy. We're not friends. We're not buddies. We're not roommates and you certainly don't need to be making me dinner and looking after me, much less going through my bills."
The fork hit the table with a clatter and Xander felt like he should thrust out his lower lip and stamp his foot to make the point. But he resisted the urge; he stood up abruptly, drained the coffee and went to grab the lunchbox and thermos.
"Aren't you going to put those dishes in the sink?" Spike asked mildly.
"No," Xander replied with belligerence. "If I want to live in a house full of dirty dishes and throw my napkin on the floor, I can. This is my apartment. Why don't you do us both a favor and just be gone when I get home?"
He stomped toward the door, thermos under his arm and lunchbox in one hand. He found his work jacket, neatly cleaned and hung by the door along with his hard hat that looked suspiciously polished. With a snarl, he snatched up both and flung open the front door.
"So was that chicken or steak then, mate?"
"Steak." Xander muttered over his shoulder before slamming the door behind him. He was almost to the worksite when the import of the words hit him.
Xander stretched one arm, then the other as he slid on the plaid work shirt. All of his clothes were neatly stacked or placed where they were supposed to be. It was the first morning in months he didn't have to hunt up something or settle for a wrinkled shirt from the floor.
His work boots, along with two pairs of sneakers and the solitary pair of dress shoes he owned were all neatly lined up at the foot of his bed. He dropped down to sit on the edge and pull on some socks. He could hear Spike moving in the other room, there was a smell of coffee that enticed him and if he wasn't mistaken, sizzling bacon.
What was he doing?
He stopped, one hand still on a work boot and stared at he still closed bedroom door. It was like waking up from a very long, restive sleep. Spike was staying at his apartment. He'd arrived night before last after some really odd crap happened at the work site. Xander's eyes traveled the room. The vampire cleaned everything up, made himself at home and despite Xander's rather weak attempts to get rid of him, he was still here.
Shuddering, he yanked the boot on and laced it up. Time for the vampire to go, this was getting far to cozy for his tastes. He opened the bedroom door and strode out, all the while tucking his wallet into his back pocket. The scent of bacon, eggs, toast and coffee struck all at once in a dazzling allure that turned his stomach into knots.
He was starving.
"Ah right." Spike poked his head out of the kitchen. "Coffee there on the table, morning paper came early enough that I nicked it off the stoop. Breakfast be ready in just a minute. Going to have some orange juice?"
Xander blinked at Spike. "Um, no. Coffee is fine."
"Orange juice has vitamins." Did he just sing song that? Like a parent?
Xander shuddered.
"No, coffee's fine." He moved quickly to the table and sat down. The sip of coffee was more in self-defense, but the first taste was heaven. It was the strong bodied type, just enough sugar, and brewed so recently that Xander's toes curled despite his attempts to not enjoy it.
"Right then." A plate was slid in front of him, bacon still popping a little and the butter melting into the toast. "Eat up. I'm just packing you up some sandwiches and a thermos to take to the site. I'll pull out something for dinner and meet you at the shop after sundown. I'd go earlier, but there's no easy access to the underground from here and I'm not in the favor of a suntan this early in the summer. Any preferences? Chicken? Steak? Maybe something with grilled onions?"
Xander picked up his fork and blinked at Spike again. The vampire might as well have sprung a secondary head. "What?" He asked, feeling stupid.
"You know, some grilled onions, a little fillet of steak, mozzarella or jack cheese on some thick bread? Really, quite good."
"No, I meant what are you doing?"
"Offering to fix dinner so you have something to eat while you work at the shop. And offering to deliver it so I can give you a hand. Well, I reckon if you want a hand at the tedium that you call work."
"It's not tedious." Xander stabbed his fork into a piece of bread, sectioned it off and mopped up some egg yolk with it. "It's wood work, carpentry, build and creating."
"It's payback and an apology." Spike vanished back into the kitchen. "And it still requires food. You're about as thin as a ghoul at the moment, can't see the point in you vanishing if you turn sideways."
"Look, Spike – I'm still not sure why you're doing all this. But it's not going to work." He didn't sound very convincing.
"What's not going to work?" Spike reappeared toting a blue lunch box, which he set on the table lightly. A large silver thermos was placed next to it.
"This – domestic thing that you're doing."
"I'm not trying to do anything mate, just lending you a hand till you get all ship shape again." Spike sat down in a chair opposite him. "I can go through the bills if you want, get them all prioritized and write out the checks. Then you can check them over and sign them when you come –"
"Stop it!" He was going to stop eating to make his point, but he'd already cleaned up most of the plate without realizing it. His stomach was content with the offering and Xander couldn't believe how quickly he'd scarfed it all down.
"Look, let's get this straight." He pointed the fork at Spike. "Undead vampire." He jerked the fork back to point at himself. "Alive disgusted guy. We're not friends. We're not buddies. We're not roommates and you certainly don't need to be making me dinner and looking after me, much less going through my bills."
The fork hit the table with a clatter and Xander felt like he should thrust out his lower lip and stamp his foot to make the point. But he resisted the urge; he stood up abruptly, drained the coffee and went to grab the lunchbox and thermos.
"Aren't you going to put those dishes in the sink?" Spike asked mildly.
"No," Xander replied with belligerence. "If I want to live in a house full of dirty dishes and throw my napkin on the floor, I can. This is my apartment. Why don't you do us both a favor and just be gone when I get home?"
He stomped toward the door, thermos under his arm and lunchbox in one hand. He found his work jacket, neatly cleaned and hung by the door along with his hard hat that looked suspiciously polished. With a snarl, he snatched up both and flung open the front door.
"So was that chicken or steak then, mate?"
"Steak." Xander muttered over his shoulder before slamming the door behind him. He was almost to the worksite when the import of the words hit him.