NOTE: Thank you all for the massive amount of feedback. In response this
part turned out to be a good deal longer than the previously, enjoy.
"See something you like?"
The reaction Spike got wasn't one that he had expected. He had expected an 'eep', maybe some blushing and stammering. What he got was Xander turning with such speed, that he had the older man up against the wall, right forearm pressing warningly against his throat, and a knife to his balls before the vampire could even react. Spike was impressed, and a bit angry. No human should be able to overpower him; he really had lost his edge. Living on bagged blood for almost a decade had made him weak. Even when he could get his hand on human blood, it was always at least a day old and not nearly as potent as it would be fresh from the source.
He looked down at the man holding him and couldn't help but notice the coldness in his eyes. The same eyes that in the past always had held a glimmer of humour, even in the most dangerous situation, was now staring at Spike hard and emotionless. /It's almost as if he doesn't recognise me./ Then the younger man blinked and when those eyes opened again there was some warmth in them, and Spike was suddenly once again standing on his own, the knife disappearing just as fast as it had been drawn.
"Spike." Was courtly said in greeting, and the man in front of him dragged one hand; the same hand that had just moments ago held a knife to his groin, through his hair pulling it away from his face.
Spike ignored the shocked staring from the other patrons, waved away the gallery owner that had rushed over to see if he was all right, and continued to stare at the man before him. This stranger that looked like his Xander, but acted like. /well like a stranger./ His eyes was once again drawn to the human's face, this time to the left side of his face which had previously been shielded from view by his hair. It looked like someone had taken a dull knife or a sliver of glass and repeatedly dragged it over the young man's face: from temple to jaw, cutting it open. The massive mound of pale scar tissue, told Spike that the wounds had been deep, almost clear to the bone; it also told him that the damage was old, at least a couple of years.
/It must have happened right before he left Sunnydale./ Spike had kept tabs on the small group of evil-fighters after his departure. Not him in person, but he still had some contacts in Sunnydale that kept him informed of the latest big bad and apocalypse of the week. He hadn't heard of Xander being hurt and made a mental note to make some calls. His sources hadn't known that his reason to keep an eye on Sunnydale had been his desire to keep Xander safe, but they would. For their sakes he hoped that they hadn't known about his boys injuries. /If I had known, I would have been there./ It had been difficult to keep up with Xander when he had moved, since he didn't know anyone in San Francisco, but he had managed and when that hadn't been enough he had moved here himself.
The vampire was cut short in his inner musings when the man in front of him grew tired of waiting and simply stepped on his toes to get his attention.
*******
While Xander had been stared at, he had taken the time to do some inspecting himself. Gone was the black T-shirt and snug jeans, instead Spike was dressed in a navy blue shirt and dark grey khakis. //I guess I'm not the only one who's dressed up.// At first he hadn't recognised the vampire and had reacted on instinct, the same way he would to any threat. Living on his own, without the slayer to back him up, he had been forced to learn how to defend himself. He liked to think that he was pretty good at it, he had had the vampire up against the wall after all. He couldn't help but feel a bit superior. //Lost your edge, huh, Spike?//
The other thing that had made the man before him look like any other guy was that Spike had abandoned his previous bleached look and returned to his natural hair colour: a light brown. His hair was still held in check with more hair gel than Angel ever used, but the colour made him look more human, more average Joe than the big bad.
When said average Joe continued to stare instead of answering his question or even acknowledge Xander's presence, he took a step forward, right on the other man's foot to get his attention. //Ok, so I probably grounded my heal in a bit more than necessary, but it felt good.//
"Oww. What the hell was that for?"
"Glad to have you with me. I *said* how have you been and when you just kept staring at me I stepped on your toes."
"Stepped my ass, more like grounded a hole through my foot. I know I should have worn my steel tipped," Spike grumbled to himself while trying to get the feeling back in his abused toes.
Xander couldn't help but chuckle a bit, quietly of course.
Spike's head shoot up. "What's so funny?"
//Guess not quietly enough.// "Umm. Maybe we should start over. Hi Spike. Howì¥Á ø¿Ö6 bjbjäêäê-H-E-EÖ2ÿÿÿÿÿÿl:[pic]:[pic]:[pic]:[pic]:[pic]:[pic]:[pic]N[pic] s own. Xander told Spike all about what had happened since the vampire had left Sunnydale, pointedly ignoring the reason to why the older man had left. Xander couldn't shake the feeling that Spike had known everything he told him before hand. //I wonder if he has been looking out for me all this years? Nah, that would be too overprotective even for Spike.//
After they had steered around the subject of why Xander himself had left, he continued to tell the vampire about his job and his, at long last, liveable apartment. Just when they were getting to what Spike had been doing since he left, the gallery owner came over and among several apologies asked if she could have a word with Mr. Southfork. Xander tried to suppress his mirth at Spike being called Mr. and waved them on. He had things to do himself. Before Spike had so rudely interrupted he had only really looked at that one painting, and he wanted to see the rest without 'the artist' hanging over his shoulder. He vowed to himself that he would get the vampire's story later, and turned his thoughts to the earlier conversation.
It had surprised Xander how easy they had simply fallen into their old routine as they had spoken. It was as if no time had passed at all. Apparently Spike had thought that it was time to leave the past behind, and who was Xander to object. These last few years had been lonely, despite anything he had said to the group back in Sunnydale. Willow would have been knocking on his door in a couple of hours if he had ever confessed to anything along the lines. Even sooner if he had told her how lonely he really felt.
Some days he had had trouble convincing himself that he had made the right decision to leave. He liked living just fine, and being an ordinary guy fighting the demons of the Hellmouth didn't seem like a likely course to keep living. That it would take a close brush with death to finally make him leave, just confirmed that he had made the right choice. Reassured in the rightfulness of his actions, Xander turned his attention to the catalogue still in his hand.
There were a total of sixteen paintings in the main room and a small section of four portraits located in the small room in the back. Reading through the titles he discovered a few more he recognised and decided to start with those, since he didn't know how long Spike would be occupied. He also looked up the title to the blue painting he had been transfixed by; it was called 'The sky of my childhood'. Spike hadn't been a child for over a hundred year. //He must have painted that one from memory.// He found it a bit strange that he himself had instantly associated it with his own childhood.
The next painting that he recognised the title of, was the one named 'The Initiative'. He walked over to the large canvas that was listed as number eight in the catalogue. This one was all done in black and red, not unlike the ones he had imagined Spike to paint. It was clearly an expression of pain and hatred. As he looked closer he could se figures emerge from within the broad stokes of the brush. There was a man in fatigues and a man in a long coat. //Probably a lab coat.// There were also several small objects: a scalpel, a keypad and one of those small stun guns that Xander had seen Riley use. //Not the happiest painting.// Xander grimly thought and forced himself to walk over to the next painting.
This one was a little more cheerful. Done mostly in shades of green with some blue and purple tones it was called 'The Basement of Doom'. Xander chuckled to himself. //I wonder what the other customers must think of that title.// Just like in the previous picture he could make out figures in the brush stokes. There was the dreaded chair that Xander had tied Spike to in the old days, the lamp that Spike had almost stolen, the radio he did steal, and a lot of other knick-knacks that Xander almost had forgotten he had ever own. There was even a figure sleeping on the uncomfortable sofa bed that Xander realised must be himself. //It seems as if I made quite an impression after all,// Xander thought smugly.
He skipped the ones named 'The Factory' and 'Acatla', he had had enough of paintings of the angst variety for one evening. He glanced over at the gallery owner who seemed to have a heated discussion with 'Mr. Southfork'. Spike looked ready to bite her head off and storm out, or just bite her. It was hard to tell from this distance. Xander quickly calculated that he had about ten more minutes before he got company, and made his way over to the archway leading into the small back room that housed the portraits. The titles of the four paintings, which he had read in the catalogue, hadn't given anything away since they were all simply called 'Love'.
He stepped into the much smaller room and turned to the painting immediately on his left. It wasn't a conventional realistic portrait, it looked more like something of van Gogh, or even Picasso. Painted only in black and red Xander could still clearly see that it was a portrait of Angel, or Angelus since the man in the painting had old-fashioned clothes and long hair. //Huh, I didn't know that Spike had loved his sire. I wonder if he ever loved Angel?//
The next portrait was of course of Drucilla. Done all in black and purple, Xander remembered that Spike used to call her his wicked ripe plum. Where Angelus had been surrounded by means of torture, knifes and things the Xander rather not know what they were, Drucilla was surrounded by dolls, a complete tea set and several small animals, mainly birds and kittens.
He went back to the portrait of Angelus when he thought he saw. //Nah, it can't be.// But it was, there in the left bottom corner was a small tub of hair gel. Xander burst out laughing. He was laughing so hard he had to lean on the wall so he didn't end up on the floor. Luckily he was alone in the small room, but he did receive some questioning looks from the people just outside the connecting archway.
Pulling himself together he turned his attention to the third painting. Still giggling a little, he looked over the portrait of Buffy. All done in different shades of yellow with green nuances for background made it seem as if she was standing in bright sunlight. It was the opposite from the other two portraits where the background had been black, black as night. //Maybe not so strange. Angel and Dru are unquestionably night people while Buffy loves the sunlight.// The figures that could be seen in the swirl of colours where representative of Buffy. There were a stake, a cross //I wonder if it hurt to paint that// even Mr. Gordo could be seen in one corner. Just as in the previously paintings Xander could see why Spike had named them love. Both the portrayed and the way they had been portrayed spoke of love.
With one last look at the portrait of Buffy, Xander turned to his right where the last portrait was. What he saw made him stop dead in his tracks and his mouth fall open. His eyes turned glassy with unshed tears as he extended his right arm to lightly trace the silhouette of the portrayed with his fingertips. //Wow.//
"See something you like?"
The reaction Spike got wasn't one that he had expected. He had expected an 'eep', maybe some blushing and stammering. What he got was Xander turning with such speed, that he had the older man up against the wall, right forearm pressing warningly against his throat, and a knife to his balls before the vampire could even react. Spike was impressed, and a bit angry. No human should be able to overpower him; he really had lost his edge. Living on bagged blood for almost a decade had made him weak. Even when he could get his hand on human blood, it was always at least a day old and not nearly as potent as it would be fresh from the source.
He looked down at the man holding him and couldn't help but notice the coldness in his eyes. The same eyes that in the past always had held a glimmer of humour, even in the most dangerous situation, was now staring at Spike hard and emotionless. /It's almost as if he doesn't recognise me./ Then the younger man blinked and when those eyes opened again there was some warmth in them, and Spike was suddenly once again standing on his own, the knife disappearing just as fast as it had been drawn.
"Spike." Was courtly said in greeting, and the man in front of him dragged one hand; the same hand that had just moments ago held a knife to his groin, through his hair pulling it away from his face.
Spike ignored the shocked staring from the other patrons, waved away the gallery owner that had rushed over to see if he was all right, and continued to stare at the man before him. This stranger that looked like his Xander, but acted like. /well like a stranger./ His eyes was once again drawn to the human's face, this time to the left side of his face which had previously been shielded from view by his hair. It looked like someone had taken a dull knife or a sliver of glass and repeatedly dragged it over the young man's face: from temple to jaw, cutting it open. The massive mound of pale scar tissue, told Spike that the wounds had been deep, almost clear to the bone; it also told him that the damage was old, at least a couple of years.
/It must have happened right before he left Sunnydale./ Spike had kept tabs on the small group of evil-fighters after his departure. Not him in person, but he still had some contacts in Sunnydale that kept him informed of the latest big bad and apocalypse of the week. He hadn't heard of Xander being hurt and made a mental note to make some calls. His sources hadn't known that his reason to keep an eye on Sunnydale had been his desire to keep Xander safe, but they would. For their sakes he hoped that they hadn't known about his boys injuries. /If I had known, I would have been there./ It had been difficult to keep up with Xander when he had moved, since he didn't know anyone in San Francisco, but he had managed and when that hadn't been enough he had moved here himself.
The vampire was cut short in his inner musings when the man in front of him grew tired of waiting and simply stepped on his toes to get his attention.
*******
While Xander had been stared at, he had taken the time to do some inspecting himself. Gone was the black T-shirt and snug jeans, instead Spike was dressed in a navy blue shirt and dark grey khakis. //I guess I'm not the only one who's dressed up.// At first he hadn't recognised the vampire and had reacted on instinct, the same way he would to any threat. Living on his own, without the slayer to back him up, he had been forced to learn how to defend himself. He liked to think that he was pretty good at it, he had had the vampire up against the wall after all. He couldn't help but feel a bit superior. //Lost your edge, huh, Spike?//
The other thing that had made the man before him look like any other guy was that Spike had abandoned his previous bleached look and returned to his natural hair colour: a light brown. His hair was still held in check with more hair gel than Angel ever used, but the colour made him look more human, more average Joe than the big bad.
When said average Joe continued to stare instead of answering his question or even acknowledge Xander's presence, he took a step forward, right on the other man's foot to get his attention. //Ok, so I probably grounded my heal in a bit more than necessary, but it felt good.//
"Oww. What the hell was that for?"
"Glad to have you with me. I *said* how have you been and when you just kept staring at me I stepped on your toes."
"Stepped my ass, more like grounded a hole through my foot. I know I should have worn my steel tipped," Spike grumbled to himself while trying to get the feeling back in his abused toes.
Xander couldn't help but chuckle a bit, quietly of course.
Spike's head shoot up. "What's so funny?"
//Guess not quietly enough.// "Umm. Maybe we should start over. Hi Spike. Howì¥Á ø¿Ö6 bjbjäêäê-H-E-EÖ2ÿÿÿÿÿÿl:[pic]:[pic]:[pic]:[pic]:[pic]:[pic]:[pic]N[pic] s own. Xander told Spike all about what had happened since the vampire had left Sunnydale, pointedly ignoring the reason to why the older man had left. Xander couldn't shake the feeling that Spike had known everything he told him before hand. //I wonder if he has been looking out for me all this years? Nah, that would be too overprotective even for Spike.//
After they had steered around the subject of why Xander himself had left, he continued to tell the vampire about his job and his, at long last, liveable apartment. Just when they were getting to what Spike had been doing since he left, the gallery owner came over and among several apologies asked if she could have a word with Mr. Southfork. Xander tried to suppress his mirth at Spike being called Mr. and waved them on. He had things to do himself. Before Spike had so rudely interrupted he had only really looked at that one painting, and he wanted to see the rest without 'the artist' hanging over his shoulder. He vowed to himself that he would get the vampire's story later, and turned his thoughts to the earlier conversation.
It had surprised Xander how easy they had simply fallen into their old routine as they had spoken. It was as if no time had passed at all. Apparently Spike had thought that it was time to leave the past behind, and who was Xander to object. These last few years had been lonely, despite anything he had said to the group back in Sunnydale. Willow would have been knocking on his door in a couple of hours if he had ever confessed to anything along the lines. Even sooner if he had told her how lonely he really felt.
Some days he had had trouble convincing himself that he had made the right decision to leave. He liked living just fine, and being an ordinary guy fighting the demons of the Hellmouth didn't seem like a likely course to keep living. That it would take a close brush with death to finally make him leave, just confirmed that he had made the right choice. Reassured in the rightfulness of his actions, Xander turned his attention to the catalogue still in his hand.
There were a total of sixteen paintings in the main room and a small section of four portraits located in the small room in the back. Reading through the titles he discovered a few more he recognised and decided to start with those, since he didn't know how long Spike would be occupied. He also looked up the title to the blue painting he had been transfixed by; it was called 'The sky of my childhood'. Spike hadn't been a child for over a hundred year. //He must have painted that one from memory.// He found it a bit strange that he himself had instantly associated it with his own childhood.
The next painting that he recognised the title of, was the one named 'The Initiative'. He walked over to the large canvas that was listed as number eight in the catalogue. This one was all done in black and red, not unlike the ones he had imagined Spike to paint. It was clearly an expression of pain and hatred. As he looked closer he could se figures emerge from within the broad stokes of the brush. There was a man in fatigues and a man in a long coat. //Probably a lab coat.// There were also several small objects: a scalpel, a keypad and one of those small stun guns that Xander had seen Riley use. //Not the happiest painting.// Xander grimly thought and forced himself to walk over to the next painting.
This one was a little more cheerful. Done mostly in shades of green with some blue and purple tones it was called 'The Basement of Doom'. Xander chuckled to himself. //I wonder what the other customers must think of that title.// Just like in the previous picture he could make out figures in the brush stokes. There was the dreaded chair that Xander had tied Spike to in the old days, the lamp that Spike had almost stolen, the radio he did steal, and a lot of other knick-knacks that Xander almost had forgotten he had ever own. There was even a figure sleeping on the uncomfortable sofa bed that Xander realised must be himself. //It seems as if I made quite an impression after all,// Xander thought smugly.
He skipped the ones named 'The Factory' and 'Acatla', he had had enough of paintings of the angst variety for one evening. He glanced over at the gallery owner who seemed to have a heated discussion with 'Mr. Southfork'. Spike looked ready to bite her head off and storm out, or just bite her. It was hard to tell from this distance. Xander quickly calculated that he had about ten more minutes before he got company, and made his way over to the archway leading into the small back room that housed the portraits. The titles of the four paintings, which he had read in the catalogue, hadn't given anything away since they were all simply called 'Love'.
He stepped into the much smaller room and turned to the painting immediately on his left. It wasn't a conventional realistic portrait, it looked more like something of van Gogh, or even Picasso. Painted only in black and red Xander could still clearly see that it was a portrait of Angel, or Angelus since the man in the painting had old-fashioned clothes and long hair. //Huh, I didn't know that Spike had loved his sire. I wonder if he ever loved Angel?//
The next portrait was of course of Drucilla. Done all in black and purple, Xander remembered that Spike used to call her his wicked ripe plum. Where Angelus had been surrounded by means of torture, knifes and things the Xander rather not know what they were, Drucilla was surrounded by dolls, a complete tea set and several small animals, mainly birds and kittens.
He went back to the portrait of Angelus when he thought he saw. //Nah, it can't be.// But it was, there in the left bottom corner was a small tub of hair gel. Xander burst out laughing. He was laughing so hard he had to lean on the wall so he didn't end up on the floor. Luckily he was alone in the small room, but he did receive some questioning looks from the people just outside the connecting archway.
Pulling himself together he turned his attention to the third painting. Still giggling a little, he looked over the portrait of Buffy. All done in different shades of yellow with green nuances for background made it seem as if she was standing in bright sunlight. It was the opposite from the other two portraits where the background had been black, black as night. //Maybe not so strange. Angel and Dru are unquestionably night people while Buffy loves the sunlight.// The figures that could be seen in the swirl of colours where representative of Buffy. There were a stake, a cross //I wonder if it hurt to paint that// even Mr. Gordo could be seen in one corner. Just as in the previously paintings Xander could see why Spike had named them love. Both the portrayed and the way they had been portrayed spoke of love.
With one last look at the portrait of Buffy, Xander turned to his right where the last portrait was. What he saw made him stop dead in his tracks and his mouth fall open. His eyes turned glassy with unshed tears as he extended his right arm to lightly trace the silhouette of the portrayed with his fingertips. //Wow.//