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Title: The Resolute Urgency Of Now
Author: Emelye
Pairing: Spike/Xander
Rating: Mature
Summary: "Dru gave me a hundred years of grand passion. What she never gave me was one chance to be first in her affections. Five minutes with you and I feel like the only man in the world. I'd trade ten lifetimes with Dru for ten more minutes with you."
Disclaimer: Not mine, all theirs.
Warnings: None.
Xander unpacked his things in silence as Spike, hunched under a packing blanket, brought yet another box in from the curb.
“Oi, how many more boxes you got out there?”
Xander looked around the previously uninhabited guest room of Spike’s new lair and took a quick count. “Dunno—maybe five or six?”
Spike’s jaw dropped. “Jesus bloody Christ, whelp, you’re here for a week—what in the hell do you need all this rubbish for?”
Xander carefully peeled the newspaper off his limited edition Lyta Alexander plate and set it carefully on the stand resting on the dresser. “Just figured if there was enough danger of someone trying to kill me in my apartment, who’s to say they wouldn’t trash the place or blow it up or something? Kinda wanted to make sure I had anything valuable with me just in case.”
Spike looked incredulously from him to his Babylon 5 collector’s plates. “An’ this crap constitutes valuables to you, does it?”
Xander wagged an imperious finger at him. “I’ll have you know the show won two Hugo awards for outstanding…something or other.” Which reminded him. “Which reminds me, there’s a TNG marathon on SciFi starting in twenty minutes. Mind if I watch in your room?”
“It’s two in the bloody afternoon! I do have to sleep at some point, you realize—“
“I know, and I’m sorry but it’s the only TV in the house and I’ll be quiet as a mouse—you won’t even know I’m there! Pretty, pretty please?” Xander pleaded turning his most pathetic expression on Spike.
Spike gave him a look of utter disgust. “Fine, but you’re bringing the rest of this shite yourself. I’ve smoked up the whole downstairs an’ it’s starting to smell like sausage down there.”
Xander clasped his hands together and bowed in thanks. “Thank you, Fearless Leader.”
“Your accent’s terrible, Boris.”
Spike bent down to shift a pile of boxes impeding his path to the door and the hem of his shirt raised slightly, exposing the small of his back. Xander stared in fascination, then realized he was staring, realized he was fascinated, then realized he was stuck in a mental loop of staring and trying to figure out what the hell this sudden fascination with Spike’s knobbly spine meant when the doorbell rang and all such thoughts fled rapidly.
Both heads turned to the window where the suggestion of bright daylight peaked out from the edges of the blackout curtains.
“It’s too early, right? Can’t be them yet, can it?” Xander asked, irritated by the obvious tremor in his voice.
Spike shook his head, seemingly to reassure himself as much as Xander. “No, couldn’t be. Don’t worry,” he said, looking Xander in the eye. “I’m sure it’s just one of the birds, or summat.”
Xander nodded. “Right,” he said, taking a dented sword in dire need of reconditioning from a duffel bag next to the bed.
Spike pulled a stake from his sleeve and fingered it absently as they proceeded single file down the staircase toward the door. Xander took a deep breath behind him and raised the sword to ready as Spike steeled himself, reached forward and opened the door.
“Hello boys—oh!” Joyce startled and nearly dropped her casserole dish.
Xander rolled his eyes and dropped his arms to his side, feeling very stupid. Spike, likewise, put his stake away.
Joyce smirked in understanding. “Expecting someone else, I take it?”
Spike sighed. “Sorry, Joyce, just a bit on edge,” he said, stepping aside for her to come in.
“It’s all right, Buffy’s told me what you boys are doing and I thought you might like a little housewarming gift.”
“Joyce, you didn’t have to do this,” Xander told her, taking the casserole dish she handed him.
“Oh, that’s not the present. That’s just lasagna. No, this is the present,” Joyce said, stepping back out and returning with a long box, quite heavy and wrapped fashionably in blue stripped paper.
Spike grinned. “What’s all this, then?” he asked.
Joyce smiled in response. “Well open it, and I’ll explain.”
Spike looked at Xander and with a shrug they moved into the dining room. Xander set down the lasagna and moved over to where Spike was tearing through the paper with gusto, revealing a white box. Lifting the lid, Xander stared in momentary confusion as Spike reached down and caressed the charred red paint on the fire axe. Taking it in his hands, he turned to Joyce.
“This isn’t…”
“The same one? I doubt it, but I did take it out of the school. I just thought you might like a reminder.”
Spike looked no less gobsmacked. “Of what? My first, spectacular defeat? No offence, luv, but this isn’t a great comfort—”
“Of what makes you special. Both of you. I know the others are pretty upset with you right now because you chose Xander. I thought a reminder of what a human without any special powers can do against a vampire might be a good thing to have.”
Xander was astonished.
Spike grinned broadly and tightened his grip on the axe momentarily before handing it to Xander and pulling Joyce into a tight embrace. “Right you are, luv. Right you are.”
Joyce hugged him back before turning to Xander and fixing him with her sternest maternal glare. “You be careful, Xander Harris. My Buffy needs you. Both of you.”
With promises to that effect, Xander hugged Joyce and the two men saw her out.
Closing the door, Spike looked back at him, radiating confidence. Xander couldn’t help but grin. Spike matched his with interest and before long the two were laughing and nearly vibrating with hopeful anticipation for the battle to come.
“Come on, Harris, wasn’t there something on the telly you wanted to watch?” Spike called back over his shoulder as he made his way back up the stairs.
Bemused, he replied. “What happened to you getting your beauty sleep?”
Spike smirked at him and batted his eyelashes. “Hardly need that, now, do I? ‘Sides, we’re gonna win, aren’t we? Too excited to sleep.”
Xander laughed. “Fine. I’ll bring the lasagna.”
Spike had, in fact, dozed off midway through the second hour, which Xander thought was criminal considering it had been a Q episode, but then the doorbell rang and Xander left Spike to rest while he directed traffic. Giles was first to arrive, bringing with him an ornate, silver samovar for the buffet, followed by Buffy, rubbing the inside of her elbow and glaring in his direction.
“Xander, this samovar has been in my family for—” Giles fretted.
“And we’ll return it to you tomorrow, washed, polished and thrice blessed by Buddhist monks. Everything you should need is in the kitchen,” he gestured through the archway. “Where’s Dawn, I thought she was helping you cook?”
Buffy glared at Xander. “It seems she’s been such a good little helper this week, she forgot to do any homework.”
“Ah.”
“Yes, Buffy will be assisting me in her stead,” Giles explained.
Xander blanched. “Giles are you sure that’s such a—”
Buffy’s murderous look stopped him finishing that sentence.
“You know, I just meant she’s already contributed so much.”
Buffy rolled her eyes. “I’m chopping cabbage. That’s it.”
Just then, Tara and Willow arrived, followed closely by Riley. “The fighting is all downstairs, you said?” Riley asked, halfway to the door.
“Yup,” Xander confirmed as he took the two large shopping bags from Tara’s hands. “There should be mineral oil and rags down there to clean the weapons. You need me to get you the room plans, or anything?”
“Nah, I think we’re looking at a fairly basic security set up down there, and Willow’s got the spells to power it up without tapping into the electrical.”
“Awesome. I can’t thank you guys enough for this.”
“Hey, it’s our town too! I don’t want some stinky old Master coming in here to muck up the works.” Willow stuck out her chin defiantly.
Xander pulled her into a one armed hug. “That’s my girl.”
“Xander,” Willow said, turning in his arm to look up at him.
“Yeah, Will?”
“I saw Anya at the Magic Box today. She—she told us you broke up. Is that true?”
Xander looked away. “Yeah. And we’re going to need to get together about that one-on-one real soon, but I can’t think about that right now and still cope with hosting Satan’s Supper Club tonight.”
“Oh, Xander…”
“Please, Will?” he begged.
She nodded sadly before disappearing into the cellar with Riley.
Tara set up shop in the parlor, pulling out various items of clothing for himself and Spike the others deemed more appropriate for receiving visiting dignitaries than ripped jeans and Hawaiian shirts. Xander tried to tell them he had perfectly good dress clothes, but he was roundly ignored. As he poked through the bags, Tara pulled thread through her needle and began stitching the hem of a pair of trousers.
The doorbell rang again.
“Ah, deadboy, how delightful you could drop—”
Xander stopped as he took in the imposing figure of the tall African woman standing on the front stoop.
“I am Awiti, Childe of Isma’il, Master of Khartoum. I come to challenge William the Bloody, Master of Sunnydale, on behalf of my Sire.”
“Um, well, I’m his second, so I guess, on his behalf I accept your challenge. Oh! And could you tell your Master dinner is at ten?”
Awiti cocked her head, apparently confused by his demeanor. Xander shrugged internally. It wasn’t as if he could help it, he was just winging this, after all.
“I will let him know Mister…”
“Harris. Alexander Harris”
“Mister Harris, human servant of William the Bloody. My Master and I will return at ten this evening.”
“Um, thanks.”
Awiti nodded and left. Xander closed the door and leaned against it only moments before someone started banging on it loudly. He winced and stepped back with a sigh.
“Come in, Angel.”
“Thanks, I…where is everyone?”
“Busy. Dawn’s grounded, I think,” he added as an afterthought.
“Well get Spike down here, we need to go over his script for tonight.”
Xander’s eyebrows rose at Angel’s tone. “Why don’t you just give me the information and I’ll pass it along when he wakes up.”
“Don’t be ridiculous, Harris, you’ll never remember…”
“Just give me the damn spiel, Angel.”
Angel’s expression was sour as he spat. “Fine. He needs to know that everything is done in order of seniority. That should be nothing new to him. Henri is the oldest, followed by Spike, then Isma’il and Katarine. Below her will be Henri’s consort, Manon, then Isma’il’s childe, Awiti, followed by Katarine’s minion.”
“Where do I fit into all this?”
Angel smiled with obvious pleasure. “You’re a human servant, Harris. A Renfield. You’re at the very bottom of the food chain. You remember what that’s like don’t you?”
“Vividly. So besides bug eating, what else am I expected to do as Spike’s second?”
“Do? Nothing. Consider yourself honored if they acknowledge your existence and don’t even think about speaking before you’re spoken to. You address Spike as Master at all times and never, ever make eye contact.”
“Terrific. Is that all?”
“Tell him he’d better have his company manners on tonight or neither of you stand a chance of making it to the first trial.”
“Always a pleasure, Angel. Don’t let the door hit you on the way out.”
Before Angel could reply, the doorbell rang again. A smaller native looking man stood next to a black haired beauty with a smile than promised more than Xander had ever been offered. The timid looking man appeared to be waiting for her to speak, but she gestured for him to go first.
“I offer a challenge to William the Bloody on behalf of my Mistress, Katarine of Sao Paulo,” came the abrupt response in broken English.
“Um, thank you. On behalf of William the Bloody, Master of Sunnydale, I accept. I’m sorry I didn’t quite catch your name…”
The man looked startled. “Alvaro,” he said.
“Alvaro, very nice to meet you. I’m Xander. Please tell your Mistress dinner is at ten.”
Looking utterly perplexed, he nodded briefly before scampering back down the steps.
The woman chuckled. “Henri was right. William is keeping interesting company these days.”
“Uh, thanks?”
“Please, call me Manon,” she told him, offering her hand. He took it. Unsure if she meant for him to kiss it or shake it, he opted for covering it with his other hand for a moment before releasing her.
“Manon. Won’t you come in?” Xander said tensely, wanting to extend every courtesy to their ally’s second.
“You’re too kind. Angelus,” she said upon seeing Angel behind him. “Still here I see.”
Angel looked flustered by her intense and obvious distaste for his presence. “Mistress De Sauveterre, it is an honor to see you again.”
“Yes, it is,” she told him. “Now leave us, I wish to speak to Xander.”
Angel blinked. “As you wish,” he said, obviously not used to being dismissed in such a fashion. “Harris, I’ll be back at the—”
“Yeah, we’ll call if we need anything,” he told him, not taking his eyes off Manon who smiled brightly.
Angel left grumbling.
“I’m sorry the house is kind of full at the moment. If you want, I can show you the garden and we can talk there,” Xander offered.
Manon took his arm. “Please do Mister Harris. Oh, before we go any further. I officially challenge William on behalf of Henri and all of that,” she said airily. Xander’s jaw dropped and she laughed. “Only a formality, I promise. He’ll forfeit. He always does, but it’s the best way to weed out the less serious contenders.”
“Um, thank you, I think. And, uh, we accept.”
“Splendid. Now this garden I’ve heard so much about…”
Xander renewed his grip on her hand. “Right this way,” he told her, leading her out through the back door into the garden. They chatted amicably for a while, talking about the flowers and her garden back in New Orleans before Xander led her to a bench near a trellis of jasmine and asked what he’d been dying to know since he’d heard Henri make mention of her to Spike.
“So how do I do this?”
“Do what?”
“This whole…second thing. Spike said I have to be ready in case someone takes him out in a fight but I’m looking at you and Awiti and Alvaro and I’m getting the picture that there’s more to this gig than that.”
Manon smiled gently. “The others behave as their roles dictate. Alvaro is minion to Katarine and will attend her needs as she directs. Awiti is Isma’il’s childe and she takes a more active role, though she attends him at his bidding as well.”
“But not you.”
“No, not me. I am consort. I am equal to Henri.”
“So if you’re not serving him—”
“I did not say that. I serve him as he serves me. As I wish to serve him.”
“He says you’re the reason he’s stayed in power so long. You must be doing something right.”
Manon smiled and blushed prettily. “Yes, well, Henri is sweet as spun sugar. It is no hardship to be his claimed.”
“So what is it? What do you do that’s different than the others?”
Manon fixed him with a measuring gaze. “Are you asking out of curiosity or because you wish to serve your Master as I do?”
Xander swallowed, unsure how to answer. “Angel’s pissed at me and won’t tell me anything useful. I just don’t want to screw this up.”
“I can only tell you that I love Henri, and that all I do stems from that.”
Xander sighed and ran his hands through his hair. “I get that, but can’t you give me some pointers or something? I’m not a vampire or a human consort and I don’t want him to fail because I wasn’t enough. Because I couldn’t do something someone else could have, do you understand?’
Manon pursed her lips. “Someone like Angelus, you mean?” She asked, tenderly stroking the stunning purple bruise on Xander’s jaw.
He cut his eyes away and shrugged miserably.
“I will help you—” she told him decisively.
“Thank you,” said Xander fervently.
“—I wasn’t finished,” she told him sharply. “I will help you. But there are only a few hours until the others arrive and I have preparations of my own to make. Therefore, you will listen carefully to my instructions, do everything I say, as I say, without question, and if you manage to get through the evening, we will speak further on the subject tomorrow. Do you agree?”
Xander heart raced as he considered the implications of her words. “I don’t have to kill anyone, do I?”
Manon bit back a smile and raised an eyebrow in challenge. “Do you agree, Mister Harris?”
Taking a deep breath, Xander nodded. “Yeah, I do.”
“Very well then listen carefully. A vampire has no conscience; they are creatures of sensual impulse. They seek after and thrive on the satisfaction of their senses. It is the closest thing to a religion to them, this sensualism. It is not a matter of morality, but of natural instinct. Satisfy your Master’s senses and his mind will be clear for the task at hand.”
“How do I do that?”
“That is a matter of his tastes. You already have provided something pleasing to the eye—”
She gestured to the garden, though her eyes never left him. “—What else do you know of him?”
“Um, well, he likes punk rock.”
“Then you should play his music where he will hear it before the others come.”
“Okay, music, check. What else?”
“Taste, touch, scent.”
“Um, well, taste is pretty much covered by dinner I think.”
“Touch?”
Xander froze, unsure what she expected.
“Vampires crave warmth, Mister Harris. Do you have a bath?”
He sighed and relaxed. “Yes, yes we do.”
“Then you will bathe him.”
Xander’s voice rose two octaves of it’s own accord. “Bathe him?”
Manon smiled gently. “Make of it what you will. Oh, and use this.”
“What is it?” Xander asked as he received the ornate glass bottle from her handbag.
“To perfume his bath. Tobacco and cassis.”
Xander took it helplessly. “Couldn’t hurt to try it I guess. Anything else?”
Manon led Xander back inside to the parlor, walked past the quietly sewing Tara to the bookshelf and trailed a finger across the spines of the volumes there before resting on one and handing it to Xander.
“Howl and Other Poems,” he read out from the cover.
“Whitman would be too cerebral for the occasion, don’t you think?”
Xander shrugged. “I’m going to have to take your word for it. So, what, I dunk him in the tub, put on his tunes, throw down an impromptu poetry slam in the bathroom and we’re good to go?”
Manon shook her head fondly. “As you say. But do not forget to look and listen. These are tools, but the result is up to you. If you wish him to succeed, you must look to his needs as your own. Allay his fears and calm his nerves.”
Xander nodded absently, walking her to the front door. “I can do this,” he told himself.
Manon rested her soft, manicured hand on his shoulder. “I believe you shall, Mister Harris.”
And with a wink and a smile, she turned on her heel and left him to take care of Spike. He smiled to himself.
I am Xander, comfortador extraordinaire.
“I can do this.”
Chapter Six
Author: Emelye
Pairing: Spike/Xander
Rating: Mature
Summary: "Dru gave me a hundred years of grand passion. What she never gave me was one chance to be first in her affections. Five minutes with you and I feel like the only man in the world. I'd trade ten lifetimes with Dru for ten more minutes with you."
Disclaimer: Not mine, all theirs.
Warnings: None.
Xander unpacked his things in silence as Spike, hunched under a packing blanket, brought yet another box in from the curb.
“Oi, how many more boxes you got out there?”
Xander looked around the previously uninhabited guest room of Spike’s new lair and took a quick count. “Dunno—maybe five or six?”
Spike’s jaw dropped. “Jesus bloody Christ, whelp, you’re here for a week—what in the hell do you need all this rubbish for?”
Xander carefully peeled the newspaper off his limited edition Lyta Alexander plate and set it carefully on the stand resting on the dresser. “Just figured if there was enough danger of someone trying to kill me in my apartment, who’s to say they wouldn’t trash the place or blow it up or something? Kinda wanted to make sure I had anything valuable with me just in case.”
Spike looked incredulously from him to his Babylon 5 collector’s plates. “An’ this crap constitutes valuables to you, does it?”
Xander wagged an imperious finger at him. “I’ll have you know the show won two Hugo awards for outstanding…something or other.” Which reminded him. “Which reminds me, there’s a TNG marathon on SciFi starting in twenty minutes. Mind if I watch in your room?”
“It’s two in the bloody afternoon! I do have to sleep at some point, you realize—“
“I know, and I’m sorry but it’s the only TV in the house and I’ll be quiet as a mouse—you won’t even know I’m there! Pretty, pretty please?” Xander pleaded turning his most pathetic expression on Spike.
Spike gave him a look of utter disgust. “Fine, but you’re bringing the rest of this shite yourself. I’ve smoked up the whole downstairs an’ it’s starting to smell like sausage down there.”
Xander clasped his hands together and bowed in thanks. “Thank you, Fearless Leader.”
“Your accent’s terrible, Boris.”
Spike bent down to shift a pile of boxes impeding his path to the door and the hem of his shirt raised slightly, exposing the small of his back. Xander stared in fascination, then realized he was staring, realized he was fascinated, then realized he was stuck in a mental loop of staring and trying to figure out what the hell this sudden fascination with Spike’s knobbly spine meant when the doorbell rang and all such thoughts fled rapidly.
Both heads turned to the window where the suggestion of bright daylight peaked out from the edges of the blackout curtains.
“It’s too early, right? Can’t be them yet, can it?” Xander asked, irritated by the obvious tremor in his voice.
Spike shook his head, seemingly to reassure himself as much as Xander. “No, couldn’t be. Don’t worry,” he said, looking Xander in the eye. “I’m sure it’s just one of the birds, or summat.”
Xander nodded. “Right,” he said, taking a dented sword in dire need of reconditioning from a duffel bag next to the bed.
Spike pulled a stake from his sleeve and fingered it absently as they proceeded single file down the staircase toward the door. Xander took a deep breath behind him and raised the sword to ready as Spike steeled himself, reached forward and opened the door.
“Hello boys—oh!” Joyce startled and nearly dropped her casserole dish.
Xander rolled his eyes and dropped his arms to his side, feeling very stupid. Spike, likewise, put his stake away.
Joyce smirked in understanding. “Expecting someone else, I take it?”
Spike sighed. “Sorry, Joyce, just a bit on edge,” he said, stepping aside for her to come in.
“It’s all right, Buffy’s told me what you boys are doing and I thought you might like a little housewarming gift.”
“Joyce, you didn’t have to do this,” Xander told her, taking the casserole dish she handed him.
“Oh, that’s not the present. That’s just lasagna. No, this is the present,” Joyce said, stepping back out and returning with a long box, quite heavy and wrapped fashionably in blue stripped paper.
Spike grinned. “What’s all this, then?” he asked.
Joyce smiled in response. “Well open it, and I’ll explain.”
Spike looked at Xander and with a shrug they moved into the dining room. Xander set down the lasagna and moved over to where Spike was tearing through the paper with gusto, revealing a white box. Lifting the lid, Xander stared in momentary confusion as Spike reached down and caressed the charred red paint on the fire axe. Taking it in his hands, he turned to Joyce.
“This isn’t…”
“The same one? I doubt it, but I did take it out of the school. I just thought you might like a reminder.”
Spike looked no less gobsmacked. “Of what? My first, spectacular defeat? No offence, luv, but this isn’t a great comfort—”
“Of what makes you special. Both of you. I know the others are pretty upset with you right now because you chose Xander. I thought a reminder of what a human without any special powers can do against a vampire might be a good thing to have.”
Xander was astonished.
Spike grinned broadly and tightened his grip on the axe momentarily before handing it to Xander and pulling Joyce into a tight embrace. “Right you are, luv. Right you are.”
Joyce hugged him back before turning to Xander and fixing him with her sternest maternal glare. “You be careful, Xander Harris. My Buffy needs you. Both of you.”
With promises to that effect, Xander hugged Joyce and the two men saw her out.
Closing the door, Spike looked back at him, radiating confidence. Xander couldn’t help but grin. Spike matched his with interest and before long the two were laughing and nearly vibrating with hopeful anticipation for the battle to come.
“Come on, Harris, wasn’t there something on the telly you wanted to watch?” Spike called back over his shoulder as he made his way back up the stairs.
Bemused, he replied. “What happened to you getting your beauty sleep?”
Spike smirked at him and batted his eyelashes. “Hardly need that, now, do I? ‘Sides, we’re gonna win, aren’t we? Too excited to sleep.”
Xander laughed. “Fine. I’ll bring the lasagna.”
Spike had, in fact, dozed off midway through the second hour, which Xander thought was criminal considering it had been a Q episode, but then the doorbell rang and Xander left Spike to rest while he directed traffic. Giles was first to arrive, bringing with him an ornate, silver samovar for the buffet, followed by Buffy, rubbing the inside of her elbow and glaring in his direction.
“Xander, this samovar has been in my family for—” Giles fretted.
“And we’ll return it to you tomorrow, washed, polished and thrice blessed by Buddhist monks. Everything you should need is in the kitchen,” he gestured through the archway. “Where’s Dawn, I thought she was helping you cook?”
Buffy glared at Xander. “It seems she’s been such a good little helper this week, she forgot to do any homework.”
“Ah.”
“Yes, Buffy will be assisting me in her stead,” Giles explained.
Xander blanched. “Giles are you sure that’s such a—”
Buffy’s murderous look stopped him finishing that sentence.
“You know, I just meant she’s already contributed so much.”
Buffy rolled her eyes. “I’m chopping cabbage. That’s it.”
Just then, Tara and Willow arrived, followed closely by Riley. “The fighting is all downstairs, you said?” Riley asked, halfway to the door.
“Yup,” Xander confirmed as he took the two large shopping bags from Tara’s hands. “There should be mineral oil and rags down there to clean the weapons. You need me to get you the room plans, or anything?”
“Nah, I think we’re looking at a fairly basic security set up down there, and Willow’s got the spells to power it up without tapping into the electrical.”
“Awesome. I can’t thank you guys enough for this.”
“Hey, it’s our town too! I don’t want some stinky old Master coming in here to muck up the works.” Willow stuck out her chin defiantly.
Xander pulled her into a one armed hug. “That’s my girl.”
“Xander,” Willow said, turning in his arm to look up at him.
“Yeah, Will?”
“I saw Anya at the Magic Box today. She—she told us you broke up. Is that true?”
Xander looked away. “Yeah. And we’re going to need to get together about that one-on-one real soon, but I can’t think about that right now and still cope with hosting Satan’s Supper Club tonight.”
“Oh, Xander…”
“Please, Will?” he begged.
She nodded sadly before disappearing into the cellar with Riley.
Tara set up shop in the parlor, pulling out various items of clothing for himself and Spike the others deemed more appropriate for receiving visiting dignitaries than ripped jeans and Hawaiian shirts. Xander tried to tell them he had perfectly good dress clothes, but he was roundly ignored. As he poked through the bags, Tara pulled thread through her needle and began stitching the hem of a pair of trousers.
The doorbell rang again.
“Ah, deadboy, how delightful you could drop—”
Xander stopped as he took in the imposing figure of the tall African woman standing on the front stoop.
“I am Awiti, Childe of Isma’il, Master of Khartoum. I come to challenge William the Bloody, Master of Sunnydale, on behalf of my Sire.”
“Um, well, I’m his second, so I guess, on his behalf I accept your challenge. Oh! And could you tell your Master dinner is at ten?”
Awiti cocked her head, apparently confused by his demeanor. Xander shrugged internally. It wasn’t as if he could help it, he was just winging this, after all.
“I will let him know Mister…”
“Harris. Alexander Harris”
“Mister Harris, human servant of William the Bloody. My Master and I will return at ten this evening.”
“Um, thanks.”
Awiti nodded and left. Xander closed the door and leaned against it only moments before someone started banging on it loudly. He winced and stepped back with a sigh.
“Come in, Angel.”
“Thanks, I…where is everyone?”
“Busy. Dawn’s grounded, I think,” he added as an afterthought.
“Well get Spike down here, we need to go over his script for tonight.”
Xander’s eyebrows rose at Angel’s tone. “Why don’t you just give me the information and I’ll pass it along when he wakes up.”
“Don’t be ridiculous, Harris, you’ll never remember…”
“Just give me the damn spiel, Angel.”
Angel’s expression was sour as he spat. “Fine. He needs to know that everything is done in order of seniority. That should be nothing new to him. Henri is the oldest, followed by Spike, then Isma’il and Katarine. Below her will be Henri’s consort, Manon, then Isma’il’s childe, Awiti, followed by Katarine’s minion.”
“Where do I fit into all this?”
Angel smiled with obvious pleasure. “You’re a human servant, Harris. A Renfield. You’re at the very bottom of the food chain. You remember what that’s like don’t you?”
“Vividly. So besides bug eating, what else am I expected to do as Spike’s second?”
“Do? Nothing. Consider yourself honored if they acknowledge your existence and don’t even think about speaking before you’re spoken to. You address Spike as Master at all times and never, ever make eye contact.”
“Terrific. Is that all?”
“Tell him he’d better have his company manners on tonight or neither of you stand a chance of making it to the first trial.”
“Always a pleasure, Angel. Don’t let the door hit you on the way out.”
Before Angel could reply, the doorbell rang again. A smaller native looking man stood next to a black haired beauty with a smile than promised more than Xander had ever been offered. The timid looking man appeared to be waiting for her to speak, but she gestured for him to go first.
“I offer a challenge to William the Bloody on behalf of my Mistress, Katarine of Sao Paulo,” came the abrupt response in broken English.
“Um, thank you. On behalf of William the Bloody, Master of Sunnydale, I accept. I’m sorry I didn’t quite catch your name…”
The man looked startled. “Alvaro,” he said.
“Alvaro, very nice to meet you. I’m Xander. Please tell your Mistress dinner is at ten.”
Looking utterly perplexed, he nodded briefly before scampering back down the steps.
The woman chuckled. “Henri was right. William is keeping interesting company these days.”
“Uh, thanks?”
“Please, call me Manon,” she told him, offering her hand. He took it. Unsure if she meant for him to kiss it or shake it, he opted for covering it with his other hand for a moment before releasing her.
“Manon. Won’t you come in?” Xander said tensely, wanting to extend every courtesy to their ally’s second.
“You’re too kind. Angelus,” she said upon seeing Angel behind him. “Still here I see.”
Angel looked flustered by her intense and obvious distaste for his presence. “Mistress De Sauveterre, it is an honor to see you again.”
“Yes, it is,” she told him. “Now leave us, I wish to speak to Xander.”
Angel blinked. “As you wish,” he said, obviously not used to being dismissed in such a fashion. “Harris, I’ll be back at the—”
“Yeah, we’ll call if we need anything,” he told him, not taking his eyes off Manon who smiled brightly.
Angel left grumbling.
“I’m sorry the house is kind of full at the moment. If you want, I can show you the garden and we can talk there,” Xander offered.
Manon took his arm. “Please do Mister Harris. Oh, before we go any further. I officially challenge William on behalf of Henri and all of that,” she said airily. Xander’s jaw dropped and she laughed. “Only a formality, I promise. He’ll forfeit. He always does, but it’s the best way to weed out the less serious contenders.”
“Um, thank you, I think. And, uh, we accept.”
“Splendid. Now this garden I’ve heard so much about…”
Xander renewed his grip on her hand. “Right this way,” he told her, leading her out through the back door into the garden. They chatted amicably for a while, talking about the flowers and her garden back in New Orleans before Xander led her to a bench near a trellis of jasmine and asked what he’d been dying to know since he’d heard Henri make mention of her to Spike.
“So how do I do this?”
“Do what?”
“This whole…second thing. Spike said I have to be ready in case someone takes him out in a fight but I’m looking at you and Awiti and Alvaro and I’m getting the picture that there’s more to this gig than that.”
Manon smiled gently. “The others behave as their roles dictate. Alvaro is minion to Katarine and will attend her needs as she directs. Awiti is Isma’il’s childe and she takes a more active role, though she attends him at his bidding as well.”
“But not you.”
“No, not me. I am consort. I am equal to Henri.”
“So if you’re not serving him—”
“I did not say that. I serve him as he serves me. As I wish to serve him.”
“He says you’re the reason he’s stayed in power so long. You must be doing something right.”
Manon smiled and blushed prettily. “Yes, well, Henri is sweet as spun sugar. It is no hardship to be his claimed.”
“So what is it? What do you do that’s different than the others?”
Manon fixed him with a measuring gaze. “Are you asking out of curiosity or because you wish to serve your Master as I do?”
Xander swallowed, unsure how to answer. “Angel’s pissed at me and won’t tell me anything useful. I just don’t want to screw this up.”
“I can only tell you that I love Henri, and that all I do stems from that.”
Xander sighed and ran his hands through his hair. “I get that, but can’t you give me some pointers or something? I’m not a vampire or a human consort and I don’t want him to fail because I wasn’t enough. Because I couldn’t do something someone else could have, do you understand?’
Manon pursed her lips. “Someone like Angelus, you mean?” She asked, tenderly stroking the stunning purple bruise on Xander’s jaw.
He cut his eyes away and shrugged miserably.
“I will help you—” she told him decisively.
“Thank you,” said Xander fervently.
“—I wasn’t finished,” she told him sharply. “I will help you. But there are only a few hours until the others arrive and I have preparations of my own to make. Therefore, you will listen carefully to my instructions, do everything I say, as I say, without question, and if you manage to get through the evening, we will speak further on the subject tomorrow. Do you agree?”
Xander heart raced as he considered the implications of her words. “I don’t have to kill anyone, do I?”
Manon bit back a smile and raised an eyebrow in challenge. “Do you agree, Mister Harris?”
Taking a deep breath, Xander nodded. “Yeah, I do.”
“Very well then listen carefully. A vampire has no conscience; they are creatures of sensual impulse. They seek after and thrive on the satisfaction of their senses. It is the closest thing to a religion to them, this sensualism. It is not a matter of morality, but of natural instinct. Satisfy your Master’s senses and his mind will be clear for the task at hand.”
“How do I do that?”
“That is a matter of his tastes. You already have provided something pleasing to the eye—”
She gestured to the garden, though her eyes never left him. “—What else do you know of him?”
“Um, well, he likes punk rock.”
“Then you should play his music where he will hear it before the others come.”
“Okay, music, check. What else?”
“Taste, touch, scent.”
“Um, well, taste is pretty much covered by dinner I think.”
“Touch?”
Xander froze, unsure what she expected.
“Vampires crave warmth, Mister Harris. Do you have a bath?”
He sighed and relaxed. “Yes, yes we do.”
“Then you will bathe him.”
Xander’s voice rose two octaves of it’s own accord. “Bathe him?”
Manon smiled gently. “Make of it what you will. Oh, and use this.”
“What is it?” Xander asked as he received the ornate glass bottle from her handbag.
“To perfume his bath. Tobacco and cassis.”
Xander took it helplessly. “Couldn’t hurt to try it I guess. Anything else?”
Manon led Xander back inside to the parlor, walked past the quietly sewing Tara to the bookshelf and trailed a finger across the spines of the volumes there before resting on one and handing it to Xander.
“Howl and Other Poems,” he read out from the cover.
“Whitman would be too cerebral for the occasion, don’t you think?”
Xander shrugged. “I’m going to have to take your word for it. So, what, I dunk him in the tub, put on his tunes, throw down an impromptu poetry slam in the bathroom and we’re good to go?”
Manon shook her head fondly. “As you say. But do not forget to look and listen. These are tools, but the result is up to you. If you wish him to succeed, you must look to his needs as your own. Allay his fears and calm his nerves.”
Xander nodded absently, walking her to the front door. “I can do this,” he told himself.
Manon rested her soft, manicured hand on his shoulder. “I believe you shall, Mister Harris.”
And with a wink and a smile, she turned on her heel and left him to take care of Spike. He smiled to himself.
I am Xander, comfortador extraordinaire.
“I can do this.”
Chapter Six
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Xander wanting to do his best to be Spike's Renfield is delightful. He's just so earnest in his role of comfortador.
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