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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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I had this annoying jump in my step that people who get up early on purpose get. I'd woken up at eight, feeling strangely carefree, and had casually thrown on the first things I'd grabbed out of my bag. Then I'd spent all day poking around the neighbourhood, going to a particular camera shop I'd been wanting to check out for a while, eating lunch by myself at a nice little terrace on a very busy sidewalk. At some point I had even considered visiting a gallery, but then had realized that most of the day had gone by (surprisingly fast, come to think of it), and that I could now head over to wherever it was Spike now called home, with the reasonable assessment that he'd be home and up. And now I stood on 58th, seriously questioning my choice of wardrobe.

I wondered idly what I was wearing last time I saw Spike. This whole business was making me feel very much like a twenty-year-old again, and I peered down at my outfit hesitantly. I mean, I wasn't that far off. It was a particularly balmy mid-May, and I'd donned comfy chinos with a pale green shirt and my black jacket. I couldn't have been more casual had I tried. But I refused to let myself obsess over how I looked for this reunion, all the while ignoring the blatant fact that I very much *was*.

I was holding a half-drunk cup of coffee, and I realized I was drumming my fingers against it, which is something I do when I'm nervous. This was ridiculous, I told myself, peering at the apartment building in front of me. I was going to show up, he would look me up and down with a smirk and then carry on like we'd just spent the previous night side by side watching the Slayer's back. He would light a cigarette and not offer me one, because he wouldn't know that I'd quit fourteen months ago. Because he wouldn't know I had started in the first place. It would be weird for me, and he'd just shrug it off, and that would be it. I'd go home, the end. See, easy. Go.

I tossed the cup into a nearby trashcan and dug the address from my pocket, just in case I didn't remember the apartment number. I did. Hell, I remembered the zip code. I hadn't even bothered to transcribe the address - I was carrying the jagged corner of the envelope he had addressed himself addressed.

I crossed the street between cabs and impatient commuters. A pleasant doorman in a nice suit greeted me when I came in, and the whole thing struck me as funny. When had Spike gone soft? A doorman? A foyer? *58th Street*? Not sumptuous per se, but really... nice. Clean, proper upper-middle-class. The people who lived here made a very good living but couldn't afford to park a car in the City. That kind of people.

A thought stopped me dead in my tracks in front of the elevator. What if Spike was living with someone else? Someone who would want all this? Darla and Drusilla had long been dealt with, and Angel was in L.A. still, doing whatever it was that he did there. But still, Spike had a particular affinity for the concept of 'family'. Who was to say he hadn't teamed up with some old friends from his roaming days? Or sired himself a playmate? Or found a substitute for Angel? Those thoughts alone almost made me turn around, but in all honesty I didn't feel like going past the doorman again. With all this dithering, I fervently hoped there wasn't any secu cam camera pointed my way.

Suddenly, like only a person with a business card and real grown-up debts could, I rationalized my behaviour in a heartbeat, chalked it up to my missing home a bit, and hit the elevator's 'up' button without thinking about it any further. It felt like boarding an upside-down ride I'd been bullied into going on, and just like any ride it was over all too soon, and damn it if his door wasn't the first one in front of the elevator. I had hoped for a little buffer between me and impending doom, but it looked like I had to face the music and stop dabbling. The complete absurdity of the situation briefly came to mind, and I knocked with renewed bravado, remembering that this was a guy I once had no problem tying to a chair. If anything, he owed me.

I was about to knock again when the other elevator door opened behind me. Instinctively I turned to see who it was, and in a moment that could have been even less than a second, I had met pale blue eyes I knew all too well, looking back at me over tortoise-shell glasses that fell too low on the bridge of his nose. Had I had a weaker disposition, I might have fainted. As it was, I stared at Spike, stunned motionless, and he mirrored my reaction.

Truly, you could've thrown anything at me. I was prepared for everything. I had envisioned every possible scenario, every imaginable outcome of this meeting. I was, by all means, prepared, despite my nervousness. The Big Bad could've come at me at any angle, I would have sparred it. Awkwardly, no doubt there, but I would have. All this, of course, assuming I would be dealing with SPIKE.

I swallowed thickly, wishing I could blink. "... Spike?" I managed to croak out.

He stared back a moment more, blankly, then smiled softly. "Xander," he let out quietly.

"You..."

"What- what are you doing here?"

"I... well. You... Spike?"

"Yes. It's me, Xander." Now the smile had crept to his eyes, and he stood a little straighter, holding his house keys in both hands.

This is where I took a mental step back and paused the scene, taking in what I had before me.

It was Spike. No doubt about it. There were things about him I'd have recognized anywhere: his shoulders, sharp chin, straight nose, clear blue eyes. But the rest made something in my stomach flip-flop confusingly. For one, his hair. Blond, still, but much darker, and falling in longish curls over his brow and ears. Then the glasses, dark, rectangular, stylish, framing his face like he was born with them. He wore brown slacks and a white shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. The topmost button was undone, and an expensive tie hung around his neck loosely. He had a brown leather bag under his arm, overflowing with papers and books. His suit jacket was slung over it. For some reason my gaze stopped at his wrist, where a nice watch hung off protruding bones.

He cleared his throat. I looked up, startled.

He gestured towards his door with his keys. "Let's go in." He walked past me and fiddled with the doorknob for a few seconds, then swung the door open. He threw me a sideways glance and stepped inside and out of my sight. I gulped, hesitated, then followed.
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