snippit #4
By heidi
 

jester, nondescript, laboratory, thermometer

**********

Spike walked through the streets of Sunnydale as if he owned the city.  As long as he didn't meet the slayer, or a human with a grudge match, he could think that he did own the city.  But since he escaped the Initiative, and that bloody laboratory of theirs, he had been forced to deal with things differently than before.

No more eating on any person stupid enough to be out walking at night.

No more blood and mayhem.

All that existed for him was the offerings of a fool.  The fool whose house he was currently heading for.

Xander Harris, the court jester of the Scoobie gang.  The boy actually wasn't that bad once you got to know him.  Much to Spike's surprise, the boy wasn't as stupid as he'd thought.  The mind worked in mysterious ways, and mysterious was the best way to describe Xander.  The leaps of logic that he took at times boggled the mind, but often the final destination was dead on.  Then there was the boy's courage.  There was nothing spectacular about Xander, he was almost nondescript, actually, but when faced with a dangerous situation, he fought like an animal.  An animal that called out to the demon in Spike.

Spike found himself walking with a little more bounce to his step at the idea of seeing his little Xander tonight.  And if he was lucky, that's exactly what he would be seeing, Xander's little Xander.  Definitely nothing nondescript about it.

Heading into the basement, he was disappointed to see the room was dark, indicating that Xander wasn't around.  Flopping onto the sofa, Spike spread himself out into a comfy sprawl, picked up the remote, and started flipping his way through the stations on the TV.

Finding a prime-time showing of Passions, he settled down for an hour of deceit and deception.

Twenty minutes later, he was so caught up in how Barbie was hiding her pregnancy from Grant, that he didn't even hear the human enter his room.

"Geeze Spike.  Make yourself at home.  Oh right, you already have."  Walking in front of the sofa, Xander punched the off button to the TV.

"OI, What you think you're doing?  I was watching that."

"Huh, It's alive, oh right, you're dead, aren't you.  Guess this means I don't need the thermometer after all - not that it would actually register anything."

"Hey, I heard that."
 

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