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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.

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I'd been thinking. Long and hard. So long in fact that when I had decided to finally get out of the apartment, Bosco had practically chased me out. So that morning I stormed into the big loft I shared with my business partners, and promptly tripped over a trash can that stood in the middle of the floor. I kicked it away and into a pile of empty boxes.

"Godamm- SARAH!" I yelled, arms full of papers. She appeared from the back at the sound of my voice, sauntering over. "What is this."

"This? Oh, that. Matt and I were playing basketball."

I dumped a couple of packages in her arms. "Well, not to spoil your fun, but here's a little work for you. Savour it."

Matt came out of the back too, holding an impossibly large sandwich to his face. I pointed at him, starting in his direction. "YOU."

He grinned at me around a bite. "Hey, you're back."

"Matt-"

"You look like shit."

"Hey, guess what. Goodies for you. Don't chew too fast." I handed the rest of the packages to him and went over my work table to gather some things.

Matt handed the sandwich to Sarah and made his way to me. He always looked like a hacker when he needed a haircut. He watched me rummage through my mess. "So. Where're you going again?"

"N-Y-C, baby."

"Uh huh. And what for?"

I opened a drawer, then closed it again, looking for a particular strap for my camera. "Visiting a friend."

Matt turned to Sarah. "He's going to see a boy," he teased indirectly.

"Have you seen my blue strap?"

"Over there."

I grabbed it from under my phone and shoved it in my bag along with my camera and a book I'd been reading. I shouldered the bag, grabbing my jacket from the chair. I pointed a menacing finger at Matt, moving towards the door. "Touch my toys and die."

"I never do."

"Like hell you don't."

"Xander!"

"Whatever. Sarah." I gave her my house keys and kissed her on the cheek, heading for the door. "He's almost out of food. Grab some of the expensive stuff. He's going to hate it that I'm gone."

"You are so good to that dog."

I ran down the metal stairway, shouting over the sound of my own clanging footsteps. "I've got a cab waiting! I'll call you on Friday! Oh, and feed Matt too!"

I ran out of the building and jumped into the taxi, throwing my bags next to me on the backseat. The car peeled off and the cabbie looked at me in the rearview mirror. "It's going to be pretty tight, buddy."

"Just get me there." I slumped back, exhaling shakily. I peered out the window at the blurry scenery, and I knew at this point that I couldn't change my mind. Well I could, but I'd feel like a jackass doing it. So it was all or nothing.

"Where's that plane taking you?"

"New York."

"What's in New York?"

"I..." I gave this a little thought, then smiled lightly, watching traffic, tapping my fingers on the bag next to me. "I don't know."

* * *

I sat down, leafed through American Photo, ate peanuts, sat some more, and suddenly I was in New York, feeling stupid. Truth was, aside from my harebrained plan to come here and see Spike, I had nothing. I had a hotel reservation, and three days' worth of clothes. I had nothing. If there was a way to go at this even more half-assed, I was sure to get to it shortly.

I checked in and threw myself in the shower, where I stood under the hot jet, thinking. I did that a lot, whether or not I had something to think about. I certainly did today. I was still boggled by my own reasons for coming to New York and seek the prodigal hellion. Those exact reasons still escaped me; it was like trying to grasp a wisp of the steam around me, while all I could really do was run a wet finger on the slick glass door. It left a sleek, clear mark, and I looked at the word I had written. Spike. I stared at my work for a mo, th, then added quotation marks to it, and stepped back to lean against the cold wall. That's how he'd written it. "Spike". I briefly wondered why that was, then pushed the thought to the back of my head and grabbed the bar of soap. Tomorrow. I'd go tomorrow. Rested, and hopefully a tad less clueless.

Hours later, as I lay in bed watching the news on mute, I reached and grabbed my cel phone, barely giving any thought to what I was doing. I dialed, yawning explicitly.

"Hello?"

"I'm going tomorrow."

"Good."

"How's Bosco?"

"Sleeping like a baby. I, by the way, am fine too."

"That's a given."

"Go to bed, Xander."

"Yeah."

"What are you gonna do?"

"I don't know. Just... go, I guess. Say hi. See what eight years did to him. Get it done and go back home."

"Okay."

"This is silly, Sarah."

"It's not silly."

"It's silly. Why am I here? I don't know why I'm here."

"You'll know when you see him."

"You think?"

"Just enjoy your time away, for one thing. You deserve a break. You've been working your ass off lately."

"I love my job. You know that."

"You can afford to spend some time in New York giving yourself ulcers over this guy."

"I am, aren't I."

"Yes. Go to sleep. You still remember how that's done, right?"

"I'll call you tomorrow."

"Yes. Night, Xander."

"Night."

I flipped the phone shut and put it back on the night table, turning the light off. I left the TV on.

I still felt stupid.
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