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Dancing About Architecture	By : mcee Category: > Spike(William)/Xander > Spike(William)/Xander Views: 4638 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Buffy the Vampire Slayer (BtVS), nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 1-Dancing About Architecture
- 2-2/?
- 3-3/?
- 4-4/?
- 5-5/?
- 6-6/?
- 7-7/?
- 8-8/?
- 9-9/?
- 10-10/?
- 11-11/?
- 12-12/?
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If I peered over my shoes, I could see the tiny ribbon of pink tainting the sky on the horizon, promising of yet another sunny day. I blinked and stared listlessly at the coming dawn, slumped in the big armchair with my legs stretched out in front of me on the matching ottoman. Both forearms propped up on the large armrests, I uncrossed my legs and crossed them again at the ankles. My shoulders started to feel numb from sitting like this with my chin resting on my chest, but I was unsure as to how else I should deal with this sudden case of insomnia. Boring myself to sleep seemed like as good an idea as any. If only I were bored. If only my racing mind could acknowledge my conscious efforts to side-step the issue at hand. I took great care to avoid looking at the coffee table next to me, where the disruptive missive had been abandoned, hours ago, in favour of something - anything - less upsetting. Sunrise, as it was, was barely cutting it.

Annoyed, I blindly reached for the letter but was caught mid-movement by the ring of the phone right next to my head. I jumped and cursed, my heart racing from the sudden loudness. I grabbed the cordless and hit 'talk' with a shaky thumb before bringing the cold plastic to my ear.

"It's five in the morning, Sarah," I said tonelessly, sinking back in the armchair.

"Hey, you're up. Listen, about today's shoot, you need to get there at two instead of three. Mr. Caldwell called last night and he's saying you said two the first time."

"Sarah. It's five in the morning."

"Yes. Do you need anything? I'm on my way to the pastry shop now, I'll get something fresh. I know you like those almond things, but they're always out when I go later, so if I go now I can get them, plus I love the smell of freshly ground coffee beans. The women there are really nice. You should go sometime."

"I'm hanging up now."

"It's five in the morning - what are you doing up?"

"Goodbye, Sarah," I sang at the phone as I hit 'end'.

I stared over my shoes again, phone in hand because I didn't want to make the effort to put it back on the table. Then the room got too silent and I glanced at the phone again, thoughts actually forming inside my head this time. I hit 'talk' again, and the second speed-dial button. It rang once.

"Hello?"

"I thought you were going to the pastry shop."

"I'm on my way out."

"Cancel my two o'clock."

"Xander!"

"Cancel my two o'clock. Did I ever tell you about this guy Spike?"

"No. What do you mean cancel your two o'clock?"

I reached for the letter and shook it open, getting up with renewed energy. "He's this guy I used to know back home."

"The British guy?"

"Yes. Well no, not him. But he's British too."

"You never told me there were two British guys."

"He wrote me a letter."

"Just now?"

"Got it yesterday."

"Xander, I can't cancel your two o'clock."

"He wrote me a letter."

"So you said. What about it."

"He's dead, Sarah."

"He's dead?"

"Did I mention he wrote me a letter?"

"How can he be dead and write you a letter?"

"I don't know."

"I'll cancel your two o'clock."

* * *

Sarah stared at me from behind her steaming cup, looking like I had just attempted to explain the chaos theory to her.

"So he's an asshole."

I sighed. This wasn't going very well. But I had to tell her. Kinda. "He's not an asshole. He's... Spike. Yeah he's a jackass, but he's a part of 'home', you know?"

"I thought you didn't miss home."

"I don't. But I don't regret my time there either, Sarah. I grew up there. That stupid town, it made me what I am today."

"If you're going to wax clichés at me, you should've told me beforehand, I wouldn't have gotten decaf."

"I thought he was dead," I sighed, and it felt like the most off-target delivery.

"See, this I still don't get. How can you think he was dead, then oops, he's not. I mean how does that happen."

"He..." How could I go into this without bringing up the whole demon thing? I loved Sarah, but her current neuroses were quite enough without adding to the fold. "Spike was always getting in trouble. Then he got into really BIG trouble one day with a- with this guy, and he got injured in b- in a fight." Dammit, way to maneuver around a vernacular that still came naturally. "He layed low for a while, then one day he disappeared. We... it looked very much like-" I swallowed awkwardly. "Like the other guy won."

I picked up my danish and put it back down again at a different angle, knowing that if I were to look up I'd only encounter a concerned female frown. I didn't know how to deal with that, because I didn't know how to deal with me in the first place.

What the hell was this? Spike. So he was alive. Presumably well. Well enough to suddenly, out of nowhere and after eight years of utter absence, reach out and randomly pick me to send a note to. 'Hey, I'm alive. See ya.' Lot of good that did. But more interesting yet, why was *I* feeling like I'd been knocked the wind out of?

So he was evil. But if there was something I had learned from years of running around Sunnydale, it was that evil didn't always mean evil. There was Angel. Anya. And tipping the scale at the other end, there was Faith. All of them together proving once again that labels were just that - labels. As far as I could tell, Spike had, if not a soul, at least a heart. And in the last years the chip had changed his ways ultimately for the better. Hey, it wasn't perfect, but the Big Bad had, along the way, become a little good. Maybe a bit contrived at first, then almost willingly so. Near the end, you would've asked anyone within our group, and the reluctant answer would've been that yes, Spike had actually belonged. So I figure, that's why this sudden news shook me so. Yeah, that was it.

And now what. Now... now he was alive. Somewhere.

Sarah excused herself and went to the washroom, and I took the letter out of my pocket. It was already wrinkled, like an old love letter. Ha. Right. I twirled the envelope between my fingers, mind still wandering. I looked at the written surface blankly. Then less blankly. I brought the paper closer to my face and read the return address, which I had readily dismissed the first time.

It read, "William Sawyer, 1202-642 East 58th Street, New York, NY." Alive, in New York City. Hiding under a pseudonym.

Now what.
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Dancing About Architecture