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Here's Your Heinken	By : mcee Category: > Spike(William)/Xander > Spike(William)/Xander Views: 2396 -:- 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
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I'm merrily engaging in what must be my sixth minute of continuous sleep when I'm jolted awake by being tossed halfway out of my seat. I hold on to the table groggily as our mastodon on wheels maneuvers around parked semis and RVs to finally stop with a loud mechanical sigh. The bus is dark and quiet as drowsy bodies stir awake and extricate themselves from couch/seat/blanket. Mike, the driver, pops open the large door and scampers out and away in search of coffee strong enough to make Canadians wince.

I can hear the voices of the rest of the crew and band outside, glad to be out in the fresh night air stretching their legs. Must be pretty packed in the other bus, but I understand their wanting to stay away from Spike and me for extended periods of time. Hell, I'd like to tie Spike up on the roof sometimes too. But the truth is, it often ends up this way, me and Spike and Oz alone together, and that's fine because we know each other. There's history there, and now now we're not actual monsters deep down inside, beyond the personae we're so used to sporting that it's become second nature. Okay so Oz hasn't changed much - didn't need to with his measured pragmatism - but Spike and me, we're not the Sunnydale idiots we were when we first got on this bus, years ago. Spike has evolved into a different kind of idiot, while I've hardened, embittered, morphed into something I'm not always proud of, but that gets the job done. The three of us, we can look at each other more easily than we can look at ourselves. Makes it okay.

Oz jumps down the stairs and into the night air with renewed energy and I'm about to follow when I realise the presence usually crowding my personal space is missing. I climb back in and hear the little muffled snore. I stand over Spike for a moment, watching him sleep on the couch. He's curled up onto his side, his arms wrapped around his middle for lack of a blanket. He's kicked his boots off and his socks are half pulled off, like a kid's. Spike breathes when he sleeps, and it makes him lick his lips continuously, leaving them parted and moist. The cold from outside is seeping in through the opened door; Spike shudders and curls up further, his head nestled in the crook formed by the back of the couch and the armrest.

I grab his duster (the same, he's never gotten rid of the thing) from a nearby seat and lean down to shake his shoulder gently. "Will... We stopped. Wanna go grab something to eat?" I whisper, because nobody likes a crabby Spike, especially not me. I like a sleepy Spike better - so sweet, and I actually get to see the real him, glimpses of it.

He blinks groggily and looks up at me. "Wha?"

"Rest stop. You hungry?"

He sits up, still not completely awake. "Yeah... a little bit." There's food on the bus, but this is a luring tactic I've been using since day one. I hand him his boots and he gets up to put them on, leaving them unlaced.

"Come." I start walking out and he follows, still hugging himself, shoulder hunched forward. His hair is sticking out every which way, and he squints at the cold air, looking around us. I offer him his coat and he slips it on wordlessly. We hurry inside the restaurant area, away from the chilling night wind. Robbie, Spike's bodyguard, follows us in discreetly, making himself practically invisible despite his impressive size.

We all spread out, taking over most of the quiet rest stop, going for different junk foods at the concessions that are still open. I watch Spike order french fries and a giant Diet Coke, oblivious to the fawning girls on the other side of the counter. Sometimes he forgets who he is, but the world never lets him get away with it for long. Absently I order some sort of combo, watching Spike quietly retreat to a table occupied by a couple of our sound guys, currently scarfing down huge burgers like they were Tic Tacs. I grab my tray and join them.

The tables around us slowly fill out with our crowd (there's almost two dozens of us), permeating the room with the low buzz of mostly male conversation. Spike is sitting slightly slouched with both knees propped against the table, arms outstretched to jab a french fry into a tiny container of ketchup. His mouth unwraps from the straw of his drink only long enough to munch at the fried delicacy. He repeats the pattern until there are no fries left, and I realise I've been watching him the whole time. I catch myself before it becomes even more obvious and try to join Cal and Steve's conversation.

By the time I'm done with my own meal and relatively into a talk about wire casings and C-clamps, the herd has slowly begun to break away and back towards the caravan. Spike is already gone, and Mike goes for a refill of his uber-coffee. Oz wanders back to me as I make my way out with a quick last look over my shoulder. He wipes powdery white donut stuff from his mouth, pushing past the double glass doors and back into the bracing cold. By now I'm completely awake again. Knowing Spike, he's probably already curled up under the comforter in the back of the bus, sawing logs. Some creature of the night he is.

Oz shoves his hands in his pockets, sounding casually concern. "You ate?"

I roll my eyes. "Yes, mom."

"You don't eat enough, you know."

"Wanna get off my ass? I eat plenty. In fact I ate enough junk tonight to clog a whole artery. And you had a donut."

"Cream-filled."

"Oh. Well. You're all set then." But my snark is dampened by my distracted concern at the figure strolling towards us as we approach the bus.

I peer suspiciously at the surly washed-out has-been trudging past us all slouched and belligerent-looking. There's not a moment spent with Pete that doesn't lvedlved us fighting. Not Spike/me fighting. That's stupid. Harmless. But Pete and I, we give a bad name to petty arguing. And he already gives a bad name to drummers. It gets ugly. Which is exactly why I'm not wild about having him travel the rest of the way with us, which seems to be what he has in mind.

"How you doin', Pete-o."

"Fuck off, Harris."

See? "Where're you going?"

He stops halfway up the bus stairs and looks down at me with as much contempt as he can muster behind the effect of whatever booze cocktail he last indulged in. "In. The bus. Got a problem with that?"

I follow him in, angry already. He sprawls his sorry carcass all over the couch, where Spike was sleeping sweetly earlier. That makes it even worse. "As a matter of fact, I do. I hate you, Pete. You hate me. Why try your luck?"

He gazes up at me with a sneer. "What're you gonna do about it, Harris? Punch me?"

I've got that twitching behind my left eye again. Oz puts his hand on my arm and steers me toward the table. I'm fuming. "Why haven't we fired him yet? He's not even that good of a drummer. Also, I HATE HIM."

Oz sits across from me. "He does make you want to egg his mother's house."

That gets me smiling, which was his intention all along, I bet, the sneak. "Oz! Such venom! Calm down!" Mike starts the bus and the familiar rumbling soothes my nerves. I turn back to our unfortunate parasite. "Alright. Enjoy the couch. By all means. Just stay quiet, Spike's sleeping in the back."

"Whatever."

"No, YOU whatever!"

* * *

I let out a yawn that threatens to dislocate my jaw, all the while trying to be quiet enough so that I don't wake up Oz (he's so tiny, he fits in a booth) and the other waste of skin busy snoring in my air. Quietly I extricate myself from my own little booth. Time to check on Spike, see if he didn't massacre his pillow in his sleep again. Messy, that.

I tiptoe to the back of the bus, as much as a guy my size can tiptoe through a space this narrow. The door isn't latched properly and it clicks against the metal lock with the motion of the bus. I push it inward and squint, my eyes adjusting to the darkness. We pass by one of the lights that illuminate the highway every two hundred feet, and the dim brightness passes over the empty bed in front of me.

"AAAAAAH!!!"

I hear a dull thud behind me and turn around, my heart going a million miles an hour. Oz scrambles to his feet and rushes to me.

"What's wrong!"

"SOMEONE STOLE SPIKE!!"
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Here's Your Heinken