Cherries

By Javawolf

Author's Note: Last week was tough, sorry the update is late. I had another wave of inspiration and a different story had latched on to my brain and wouldn't let me work on anything else until it was finished. (Oy...) Thankfully, two weeks of none-stop typing and it's nearing completion, which means I can pay attention to some other neglected stories. .:applause, applause:. Sadly, Cherries doesn't seem to be anywhere even close to finished. No, I shall torture you all a little bit longer. .:giggles maniacally:.

Finally, night had fallen. About bloody time, the writer of this fiction is getting tired of being cooped up in that freaking cabin! .:ahem:.

Spike hadn't decided if he needed to tie his room mate's wrists and ankles together. The sad little man seemed to be somewhat hot headed, and when he woke up he would not be pleased, much less willing to listen to the 'I'm Really Not Evil' speech. He'd been out cold for almost five hours straight, though Spike suspected this was due more to the level of alcohol the vampire could smell just pouring off of Dean in waves, then it was Spike's (only necessary) spur of violence.

Ah, leave the wanker here. Spike thought to himself. Like he's gonna try again with the beating he took. With a nod, approving his own plan, Spike left the little cabin with a feeling of pride at having come to a decision on his own. It'd had taken him five hours to do so, so this was a big deal. Not because Spike was incredibly slow, but because the narrator is incredibly lazy and would love to skip five hours ahead if it means she can go to bed at a reasonable hour tonight.

Slowly, Spike made his way up the stairs and out of the lower deck, onto the upper deck to greet glorious night. It didn't look as though anything had changed since the previous evening, except perhaps that now there were no glittering L.A. lights – only the dark water churning behind the ship. And it was colder. But the same people stalked along the wooden floor, the old man and his dog, Spike recognized Jonathon in the crowd. He didn't see Ivy, where was the child? Spike supposed she may have gone to bed already, though it was still pretty early.

He shook his head at himself. God he was pathetic, the only person on this bloody ship who could stand him was a five year-old. What did that say about him?

"Hey mate." Spike tried to smile friendly-like at the old man with the chess board. He was just sitting there, his dog at his side, staring absently at the game that didn't look like it had made any progress since last night. All the pieces were still in their places. The old man glanced up at him, a hopeful look on his face, only to be disappointed at what he saw and lower his gaze back to the chess board. He didn't respond to Spike greeting, so Spike assumed he hadn't heard.

"Er... Hullo. The name's Spike, can I challenge you to a game of chess?"

The old man didn't look up again, but now he spoke softly in a gruff voice. "No."

Spike was taken aback, cocking his head to the side. "Sorry?"

"I said no." A grunt.

"Well, bloody hell – are all you people warning each other about the crazed vampire pedophile in the black coat, or something? Must you all insist on scorning me, shouting at me or trying to kill me? What's your gripe, pal?"

The man was unfazed by Spike protest, merely shaking his head sadly. "I'm waiting for someone."

"Oh." Spike mumbled, bowing his head with guilt. "Er... Never mind about the vampire pedophile bit then, would you mate?"

The man nodded, patting his dog on the head and continuing to stare intently at the chess board. After some thought, Spike decided not to leave.

"So, how long have you been waiting for this person?" He asked, having a seat in the chair opposite the old man and receiving a glare. The man cleared his throat suggestively, but Spike didn't show that he'd noticed. Seeing no alternative, the man answered solemnly.

"Fourteen years. Since Margie died..."

Spike nodded understandingly. He'd seen lots of death in his lifetime, sometimes it was easy to forget just how lonely that can make a man. "Well, would you mind a game of chess? If whoever you're waiting for comes back before we're finished, I'll forfeit and I'll even help you reset the board, eh? What do you say?"

The gentleman pondered the proposition for a moment, not looking away from Spike's sincere gaze, as though waiting for his eyes to betray a lie. They never did, and after a time he nodded.

"Alright, you're on young man. Let's see what you've got against sixty years of hard practice."

Spike smiled gently. "Yeah, well – well see then." The game began, Spike's move was quick and easy to make, while the elder man pondered his move with a bit more attention. Of this, Spike was appreciative. He wanted to talk to someone more than he wanted to play a game, while at the same time he did rather enjoy chess. It's a game for sophisticates, whom Spike emphatically considered himself to be, despite what his so-called friends may believe. "So, what's you're name, mate?"

"Sal." The man grunted, finally edging a piece away from his side of the chess board. Spike responded with another quickly made move, and asked another question, forcing casual conversation on Sal, who didn't seem much in the mood to talk.

"Who are you waiting for?" He asked lightly. Sal jerked his head up to meet eyes with Spike, and a hush moment passed before he spoke.

"I don't know. Someone to –" He lowered his gaze again to ponder his next move. "Someone to care about, the way I did Margie."

Spike nodded. He knew that feeling well, but by this point he was used to it. Angel probably had to deal with it too, his history being just as bloody, more so even. Pity neither of them were Oprah lovers, they could probably help each other out by sharing feelings and just talking. But Angel and Spike had never just talked. If they had problems that needed therapy they beat them out of each other and that was that. You don't share feelings... It too human.

"You got someone to care about?" Sal asked sadly, mumbling the words 'check mate' as Spike stared incredulously at the board...

"Uh... Yes but, it's not a good thing – how did you...?" He glanced up at the elder man before him with utter disbelief. Sal smiled slightly.

"Sixty years of practice goes a long way. Sorry, son. Now how about helping me reset this board, eh?" He grunted, gathering all his captured chess pieces from Spike's side of the table, and pushing Spike's pieces toward him, signaling that he was expected to set them up in their proper positions.

Spike grimaced, but the grimace eventually spread into a grin. So... there was something to be said for devotion...

"Best out of three?" He prompted. Sal nodded.

"You're on."