WHO: Xander and Spike. WHAT: Retrieving Dracula's sword. WHEN: Backdated; March 14th. WHERE: The Factory. RATING: PG-13. STATUS: Complete.
"Excuse me, pardon me - aw, nuts!" Grimacing, Xander shuffled back, red punch drenching the front of his plaid shirt. Great. Now it looked like he was bleeding to death. Growling in irritation, the one-eyed Scoob slid away from the apologetic man and snatched up a few napkin squares to dab at his shirt with. "Thanks, pal. Thanks a lot." Xander tossed the dirtied napkins aside and slid over to the front bar, looking a tiny bit agitated. It was fairly packed on the inside of the club, without a doubt, but that was to be expected in a place like this. It actually made him feel a tiny bit more comfortable with what he was doing. While, yeah, he was tucked inside of a funky fight club where people and vampires and demons were all dead set on bashing each others brains in, it was still a public place. And the sign at the front said that no unscheduled murders were allowed, so Xander was just hoping that they would stick to the rules.
Xander didn't often go out and make with the big action moves on his own. Usually he had Buffy or Willow or someone else hanging at his side during times of importance like these. Tonight, though, it was just him. He could have always dragged Anya along, but in honesty, Xander was kind of hoping to do this one on his own. He didn't often get the chance to take part in something important anymore. Heck, he rarely did. He supposed that was why Buffy had gone all spastic on everyone during those last few weeks of her time here in L.A. She missed home. The way things were supposed to be. The Scoobs stopping every Apocalypse, together, and it all just being one small, tightly knit group. Heck, Xander often complained about it, but he did miss it a tiny bit himself. Yet he also understood the importance of change. Even changes as big as living out of a hotel with a bunch of people who completely owned him in the superhero category. It was okay. Xander didn't mind being the support. But during times like these, he still wanted to go out and prove himself. Tonight? Things were gonna be different. Things were -
"What in the bloody hell are you doing here, Harris?"
He closed an eye and groaned. Xander didn't even have to turn around to verify just as to who that pesky accent belonged to. He did turn, though, just for the sake of getting a good look at him.
Bleached hair, tarnished leather jacket, a wicked smirk twisted onto his pale face. Yep, it was Spike all right. And, boy, did he look ever so pleased to see Xander walking through his territory. The last time they both had bothered facing each other in person had been when they were helping out with that demon problem that the city had been having. They didn't often cross paths; even their history in Sunnydale couldn't quite delete the amount of dislike that the two had for each other. Avoidance was an important factor in their relationship. Now, however, it seemed like Spike had forgotten that quality rule. Probably on purpose.
"It's business," Xander said, his irritation showing already. "Important business, mind you. So if you'll excuse me." He cleared his throat and stepped forward. A cold hand gripped him by the collar and Xander instantly lurched to the side. Struggling against Spike's iron hold, he tried to twist away from the vampire but, unfortunately, it was the strength of a super powered being against the strength of a Xander with a slight case of gummy tummy. Not a hard match to determine the outcome on. Head squeezed under Spike's armpit, Xander scrambled to break free and, finally, with a heavy groan, fell into a slump. Smirking, Spike gripped at his neck and dragged him away. A few patrons chuckled at the sight, but no one quite attempted to assist Xander as he was hauled off.
"Now you're going to tell me all about this pretty little business you have in my club, boy wonder," Spike said calmly, shoving him to the side when they hit the back area. It was closed off. Private. That kind of surprised Xander a little. Usually Spike wouldn't be so insistent on taking things to a private area, not when the chance to ridicule him in front of others was available. It seemed like Spike was capable of plucking thoughts from his mind, too, because just when Xander was on the verge of questioning him on it, Spike spoke yet again.
"There are some shady looking fellows running around here right now. Usually I'd say go ahead, have at it, get your ass kicked and get the hell out. Tonight?" Spike grabbed Xander by the collar again and lugged him out to the corner, where they were able to spy the people wandering about the club. "It's not a good night. See them over there?" Following Spike's nod toward a table perched in the corner, Xander took note of the group of particularly large demons settled awkwardly in their chairs. Wow. Really big demons. The grip on his collar slid away. "They don't look so tough..." Xander trailed off, looking uncertain.
Spike scoffed. "You're kidding, right? Look. Buffy, here or not, would beat me through and hang me out to dry if I let you run around here with those morons here. D'you have any idea of what they're capable of?"
"Something along the lines of killing, maiming, eating brai - " A rough slap delivered it's way to the back of Xander's head. "Ow! Hey!"
"Get out of here." Spike shoved him back toward the door. He could take the back exit out, duck through the alley, and happily tread his way back to the hotel. Spike was looking out for the idiot for a change - for Buffy, not because he really cared - and he was going to damn well seize the moment and make the absolute best of it even if it killed him. Xander should have been appreciative. Instead, he was marching back toward him. What. A. Moron. "Do you want me to physically chuck you out the back? Because I'm telling you now, tubby as you are, I could really get in a good toss. I'm thinking a few decent feet easy. It'll be like The Olympics. Xander Tossing. New record."
"I have to get back out there. I'm getting Dracula's sword." Xander moved to step past him but, yet again, he was thrown off his track by a rough push of Spike's hand.
"Dracula's sword?! Are you effing kidding me?" Looking fairly annoyed, Spike folded his arms over his chest and let out quite the huff. No, he did not have to breathe, but he could huff all he damn well pleased and there wasn't a thing that anyone in the world could do to stop him. "I can't believe you lot are actually relying on his sword to save the day. Oooh, it's Dracula. How special. He has a magical sword, he can do neat little tricks, no one can kill him. You know what? I'm sick of it, I really am. And really, what's with the outfit? Who wears capes anymore? That was so one hundred years ago."
Ah, right. Xander forgot that Spike had his issues with Dracula. At least he wasn't the one who had been mind controlled by the guy. Talk about a rough time. The things that he did? The things that he ate? Ugh. Just ugh. "Are you done ranting? Cause I have a sword I need to go get. It's the only way we're going to be able to stop those stupid vampires from ridding the world of all the Slayer mojo and whatever other evil badness it is that they're up to."
Spike still looked cross, but the rant was over. For now. "And you have to do it here. In my club. With those idiots out there." Spike looked back to the table in the corner. He was definitely far from amused. Xander's business wasn't with those big, ugly demons per say, but it still happened to circulate around them and they were all entirely unpredictable. A barbaric breed, the lot of them. They could very well strike at any moment. It was only because of the extra money that they had tossed in for their fights that Spike had allowed them entry in the first place. Now, with stupid Xander running around, he had to be twice as paranoid about something going amiss. And here he was thinking that he was just going to drink himself into a stupor for the night and be done with it.
This had to be done, he was well aware. Had to help with the Slayers. Do the right thing. It was what the good guys did. Damn, why did he want to be a good guy again?
Xander tilted the sword to the side, examining the hilt with an air of extreme fascination. Wow. All this trouble for one sword. He had spent money, he had made deals, pulled in a heap of favors for things as dirty and low as vampires. All of that was just to get in touch with Dracula himself. Then it all just came along easily. Dracula had seemed surprisingly pleasant about the entire situation. Heck, he had even wrapped the sword up nicely when Xander fetched it from the vampires who had been ordered to deliver it to him. All because of Sunnydale? Was that why he had been so quick to scrape the sword over? Or maybe he just wanted for them to clean up his mess for him. Probably the latter. Xander just didn't think that he and the Lord of Darkness would quite be able to have some kind of connection outside of 'hey, you turned me into your SLAVE.' Still. Very cool sword.
"He's still stupid."
Wrapping the sword back up, Xander squinted off at Spike, who was gloomily leaning against the wall in the corner. They were in the back area again. Having gotten the sword, Spike was quick to usher him out of the way. Now they were here, checking it out. Spike had been skeptical of it at first, but after seeing the thing for himself? He was sulking. In the corner. That spoke far more loudly about the matter than Xander himself could manage.
"And his hair is worse than Angel's. Do you know how hard it is to screw your hair up that badly?"
Xander rolled an eye. "No, but I'm sure that you know all about it, Oh mighty and powerful Captain Peroxide. Heck, I'm sure you even taught -" Another sharp slap. "OW!"
Spike shifted past him, looking rather calm for someone who had just vented in the form of popping him upside the back of the head. Digging into his pockets, Spike fetched out a cigarette and lit it up. Brow arching, he turned his blue eyes off toward Xander, he was still standing in place. One hand gripping the sword while the other rubbed at the back of his skull. And there was a glare. Definitely a glare. Spike, of course, seemed far from phased by it. "Take the back route out. Left, not right. You go right, you'll likely get eaten."
Nodding, Xander turned away from him and scuffled his way off to the door with the sword in hand.
"Oh, and Xander?"
He turned back, looking at Spike quizzically. "Yeah?"
Spike didn't say anything. But, just then, judging from the look on his face, Xander got the message. No, they didn't get along. They argued, they fought, it was the way things worked between the two of them. But he got the message all the same. It was all right working with you again too, Spike, Xander thought, a faint hint of amusement momentarily flickering across his face. It vanished just as quickly as the look on Spike's face did.
"Get out." The corner of his mouth turning upward, Spike gave Xander a full fledged salute before spinning off on heel and vanishing into the crowd. Shaking his head, Xander hoisted the heavy sword up and set off for the Hyperion. Maybe he wasn't the only one who felt out of place here after all. Even after all this time.