What Was Lost

by SpikesKat

Chapter 4

Riding high on having found a job, one that wouldn’t leave his body aching after a hard day’s work spent out in the sun, Xander checked into a cheap motel several blocks away from the beach and his new place of employment, and on the spur of the moment, treated himself to a phone call with his friends. It wasn’t often that he called – every few weeks or so – and he’d not done it prior to his breakdown in Texas, mainly because he’d not wanted to deal with their plaintive pleas for him to return, to come home. 

What they’d not realized was that Xander didn’t know where home was anymore. And returning to California without coming to terms with his life, and what he wanted for himself now that the fighting was done wouldn’t have helped matters. 

After a long heart-to-heart with both Buffy and Willow, where he’d skimmed over his downward spiral with lengthy pauses and an oftentimes tear-filled tremor to his voice, Xander had stressed his need to get out and see the world, to experience life without the constant threat of looming doom, to just bask in the joy of living. While the two women had not agreed with his decision, they’d respected it, and each successive call he’d made since then had been full of lighthearted banter, missing since their formative years together, and their eager questions about where he was and what he’d seen. 

“Guess who?” he announced abruptly when Buffy answered the phone. 

There was a sharp squeal of delight from the Slayer, in which Xander just barely managed to remove the phone from his ear or wind up going deaf, then a shouted “Willow! Xander’s on the phone!” and more shrill cries in the background. Another extension was picked up and Xander was treated to Willow’s famed babble. 

“Xander! Where are you? How are you? I’ve missed you; it’s been so long since you called. And why has it been so long? Are you—?” 

Until Xander was forced to cut her off or risk not getting a word in edgewise. 

“I’m alive. I’m fine. I’m on the east coast. Myrtle Beach, as a matter of fact. I got a job, as a bartender of all things, and I may actually stay for a few months. We’ll have to see if the boss likes me.” 

“Of course he’ll like you,” Willow told him. “What’s not to like?” 

Xander grinned. “Well, either way, it’s just temporary. Their regular guy got hurt and is out for a few months.” 

“Good. That’s good. Not for the guy, because… um, not wishing hurt on anyone. But, good for you that you can step in until he’s better.” 

Xander laughed and felt a pang in his heart, almost like homesickness. He missed his friends. Missed what the three had managed to get back since he’d gone away. After he finished his stint at the bar, he just might entertain the thought of returning to California. Maybe he’d surprise them all and come home for Christmas for a few days. It would mean leaving prior to the time he’d allotted himself in Myrtle Beach though; he’d have to see. 

A half hour later, Xander hung up the phone and shook his head. He’d been passed around to just about everyone – including Angel, though their conversation was exceedingly brief – and had even managed to chat with Dawn, who took turns berating him for the length between his phone calls and extolling the joys of being a junior in high school in Los Angeles, and all the cute boys there were. 

“Will have to go home, just to keep Dawnie out of trouble,” he mumbled as he stripped out of his clothes and made his way to the bathroom to get cleaned up for work. 

~*~*~*~*~ 

Xander was surprised to see the kitchen in full swing when he got to there about twenty minutes before he was due to start. 

“Hey,” he greeted the man that appeared to have four hands as he hefted, dumped, stirred and seasoned a huge batch of chicken wings. The guy looked up and a smile appeared. 

“You must be Alex. I’m Scott. Gimme a sec and I’ll show you were you can put your coat.” 

“Uh… okay. You… uh… need some help with that?” Xander asked, eyeing the huge bowl filled with season wings. 

“Nah, they’ll marinade a bit.” Scott wiped his hands on his towel and gestured to a door opposite the one Xander had come in. “Come on. It’s happy hour right now, and Mike’ll be glad you’re here a few minutes early.” 

Scott wasn’t kidding, Xander thought as he followed after the man and got his first good look at the nightclub. Most of the seats were filled and several people were milling about, talking in groups of twos and threes. He’d figured with it being the middle of November and given that the city was situated so close to the water, that the place would be deserted; his walk along the boardwalk had suggested as much. Obviously, he was wrong. 

He followed behind Scott as the man wended his way through people and tables to a door marked “Employees Only.” 

“You can hang your coat up there,” Scott told him, pointing to a row of pegs on the far wall of the employee lounge. “Time clock is here. Mike’s old-fashioned so we’re still in the dark ages as far as that goes.” 

Scott handed Xander a thin, oblong piece of paper with his name – Harris, Alex – scribbled across the top. He eyed the thing, flipping it back and forth as if trying to make sense of it. 

“Just stick it in the slot.” 

“Like this?” Xander held the time card above the hole on top of the clock so that the bottom was closest. 

“Uh huh.” 

Xander shoved it down, heard a whir and then a loud punch and pulled the card back out. 

“That’s it. Put it in one of the empty slots and I’ll take you out to the bar.” 

After that, everything blurred in Xander’s mind – officially meeting Mike, his boss; being given a rundown of the cash register in between Mike serving drinks to the people hanging out at the bar; getting into the swing of things and ringing up his own sales. 

It all meshed together until he happened to look out at the crowd several hours later and his gaze landed on Spike. Spike, who was alive – undusted – and appeared in relatively good health, even sporting his “recently-acquired-soul-having” hairdo. Spike, who stood with arms akimbo and stared down a man that easily had a good foot on him and appeared hell bent on getting into the VIP lounge. Spike, who, as if sensing someone’s regard, turned away and began scanning the crowd— 

‘Oh shit!’ 

Xander ducked behind the bar on the pretext of retrieving something from behind the counter. Not to look the complete fool to those clustered around the bar, he delved into one of the cupboards and his hand closed around… a martini shaker. Shrugging, he stood up and breathed a sigh of relief to see a customer blocking his line of sight to the vampire across the room. 

“What can I get ya?” he called out as he made a production of cleaning out the shaker and drying it off, setting it beside the blender when he was through. 

“Bud Light.” 

And then another customer, and another order. Until he finally relaxed and once more got into the swing of things. 

Before he knew it, the DJ was announcing last call. 

~*~*~*~*~ 

“Not bad, Harris,” Mike told him, clapping him on the back. 

“Uh… thanks,” he replied, oddly pleased by the man’s praise. Not since Evelyn had he rated anything more than a grunt as he was handed his paycheck at the end of each – or week, depending on the job. And, he had to admit, he’d had fun tonight; no one had mentioned his eye patch, and he’d even been hit on by a few of the female customers, something that had left him flushing in embarrassment and stammering out an unintelligible reply. 

“So, you gonna hang around for a bit? Give the job a go?” 

Everything in him was telling him no. To grab his gear and leave Myrtle Beach behind, leave Spike behind, as fast as he possibly could. 

Then he heard snark, complete with British accent, getting louder as Spike got closer. 

“Yeah, Harris. You gonna help old Mike out of a pinch?” 

Xander lifted his head, eye wide and unable to look away as the vampire drew near. Or more like swaggered. The look on his face was classic Big Bad, right down to the half sneer and quirked brow. 

His mind was screaming “no… no… no.” The denial was on the tip of his lips; he could see it in Spike’s eyes. 

When he answered in the affirmative, confirming his desire to stay on, he was just as surprised as the vamp – at least he thought Spike was, until he got a second look and noticed his carefully blank face. 

“Good! Good!” Mike was beaming. Another slap to his back and Xander was left alone to finish cleaning up his work space. Something he did quickly, eager to escape being in the same vicinity as Spike. Not that it mattered though, because the vamp had disappeared before Mike had finished thanking him for sticking around. 

He was still cautious as he retrieved his coat and clocked out, drawing the tattered ends around his lean frame before he stepped out into the cool night and began the short walk back to his motel room. 

Xander rounded a corner and spied his motel in the distance. As he did so, he felt the hairs on his back stand on end, Hellmouth self-preservation instincts long buried, springing to life suddenly. He glanced around, trying his best to see into the darkened shadows with his good eye. 

“Take the boy out of Sunnydale, but can’t take the Sunnydale out of the boy,” a voice called out, and Xander jumped nearly a foot in the air then whirled in the direction it had come from. 

“Spike!” Xander hissed. “You nearly gave me a heart attack!” 

“Should know better than to walk the streets alone at night, Harris. Rather sloppy for one of the Slayer’s own, doncha think? Some soulless demon could sneak up on you and have himself a tasty treat.” 

“Then I guess it’s a good thing you came along when you did,” Xander replied, too weary to bother arguing with Spike. “Old habits die hard, huh?” 

“We’re not on the Hellmouth, boy, and I’m not the Slayer’s watchdog anymore. You get offed wandering the streets at night and it’s your own bloody fault.” 

“Contrary to popular opinion, I can look out for myself,” Xander snapped. Amazing how with a few brief sentences, Spike had managed to stomp all over his self esteem and reduce him to the Slayer’s bumbling sidekick. 

“Just see that you do.” Spike turned and walked away, but stopped after only taking few steps. “Harris?” 

“Yeah?” 

“If the Slayer or Angelus suddenly shows up here, you better hope I don’t find you.” 

“Pfft. Whatever. Like I’d tell Buffy where you are.” 

“Just see that you don’t.”

~*~*~*~*~ 

Spike let himself back into the nightclub and headed straight for the bar. When Mike had told him about a new bartender named Alex Harris, he’d thought nothing of the name. He’d made a vague gesture in acknowledgement and gone about his business of getting ready for the happy hour crowd. 

Upon seeing Harris back behind the bar, working in tandem with Mike, he’d felt a seething rage, felt the demon rising to the surface at having what he considered his turf invaded. It had taken everything he had to suppress his anger, to keep his human mask in place as he concentrated on the increasing crowd at The Rave. 

He eventually managed to dismiss the human from his mind and confront him after the club closed. Only… things hadn’t gone according to plan. 

“When do they ever?” he muttered as he took a swig of whiskey. 

He’d had every intention of running the boy out of town. Then he’d gotten a look at the boy’s eye. Xander always did wear his heart on his sleeve, and his pain was palpable. 

So, he’d puffed up, turned on the Big Bad, threatened the whelp with bodily injury if he snitched to his friends, then disappeared. 

But not before making sure Xander got back to his room safely. 

“Too bloody right, old habits.” 

He just hoped he wasn’t making a mistake in trusting the boy to keep his secret.

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