Old Enemies... (S/X)

* * * * * * * * *
Part 13

Finding out which room Elliot was in was easier than Spike had expected. He’d considered bribing someone for the information, but if he had to kill the bloke, he didn’t want to be remembered.

So he’d stopped during his stalk through the night to the Plaza Hotel and had bought a snow globe of New York in one of the better shops. It was an old one. Still had the buildings that came down on 9/11.

He’d paid a good bit extra to have it delivered immediately to the hotel, the bloke’s name written large on the box.

After that, it was even easier. Run quickly through alleys and back ways, beat the delivery kid there. Hang about by the front desk asking questions about tourist attractions until the kid showed. Then watch while the desk manager looked Elliot’s name up and tried to call the room. 1237. Right, then.

A quick stroll to the elevator banks, a fast rise to twelve, and then… yeah. He was going to find out what the hell was going on. Why Xander’d lied to him. Shit, his agent HAD to know where he was staying, right? Right. And he might even know… how he could get the bloke back.

The anger still simmered, bubbling at the back of his brain and scorching his heart with its heat. But that was nothing to the sudden hope that maybe… maybe he could fix whatever it was he’d done wrong. Maybe he could make it up to the bloke who’d become more important to him than his own existence.

He was for damned sure going to try, anyway.

* * * * *

Harris had finally fallen asleep, the tears slowing then stopping as exhaustion took over.

It had taken Elliot only a few moments to extricate himself from the hold his friend had on him.

He’d wriggled from under the arm pinning him down, then he’d pulled the bed spread up from one side, tucking it gently around the sleeping man and almost laughing at what he knew his friend would call a ‘Harris burrito’.

Having lived in New York before the publishing house transferred him to DC, Elliot actually knew which building this Will lived in. He also knew he’d manage to get up to the man’s apartment, even if he had to blow the guy on the desk. There was no way he could let whatever had happened destroy his friend. Harris was more fragile right then, after one night with Will, than he’d EVER seen him.

It wasn’t that good ‘I’m so sore I might break if I try to sit down’ kind of fragile, either. Elliot knew that kind well.

No, it was more of an ‘I’m broken inside and if I sit down I might never get up again’ sort.

And that was unacceptable.

Even if Harris was right and Will or Spike or whatever didn’t want to see him again, Elliot was for damned sure going to make sure the bastard at least wrote him a note or something. He OWED Harris that much.

For a moment Elliot wasn’t sure whether he meant himself or Will, but either way, something was going to have to be done. Harris was not just his best friend. He was his biggest client. And NOBODY screwed with his friends or clients in the bad way.

One hand rose, pushing lightly at a hank of hair and Elliot frowned as his fingers brushed over the strap of the eye patch. He doubted it would be comfortable to sleep in, but Harris was very adamant about nobody seeing him without it. Not even Elliot. He sighed and left it in place.

Eye patch… eye patch… there was something about…

He blinked, eyes widening as he remembered what Will had said the night before. Will could overlook that Elliot was blond if he’d wear an eye patch? Oh… this was good. It was all some sort of misunderstanding. It HAD to be. Why else would WILL have been looking for someone to wear that sort of thing? He seriously doubted that the other blond had a pirate fetish.

He smiled just a little and moved quietly to the door, taking one last look at the man on the bed. “I wish this was a mood I could fuck you out of, Harris, but… I don’t think it’s just a mood. Fortunately, I think I know the man for the job.” He blew a kiss at the sleeping brunette, then slipped from the room and turned towards his own, his hand still on the lever.

If he was going to head out, he wanted to put on some REAL clothes. The ones he’d worn for the signing were far too conservative for his after-hours liking.

* * * * *

He smelled it as soon as the elevator doors opened. Xander… and Elliot, though the blond man wasn’t anywhere near as impressed on his sense-memory as the man he was truly hunting.

He wondered for a moment whether Xander hadn’t really lied. He’d never said that he and his ‘El’ had separate rooms, after all, but… no. They hadn’t smelled that close. Not like they’d been sharing a bed, anyway.

Spike’s boots thudded ominously on the carpeted floor as he strode towards the end of the right hand hall, watching room numbers and inhaling deeper and deeper the closer he got. He could smell Xander more fully now… the slight tinge of the salty sweat clearer. Maybe the young man and his agent WERE sharing a room.

He almost hoped so. It would save him having to torture Elliot, after all. He had a few doubts about how happy his Xander would be when he found out he’d hurt his friend.

Still, all in a good cause, Spike figured.

Find the bloke. Figure out what he’d done wrong to make Xander leave him and not come back. Fix it. Yeah. That was a plan Spike could live with.

He didn’t think about what he’d do if he couldn’t fix things. He already knew. But he hoped the dark haired young man would listen to reason because he didn’t particularly want to turn him. He liked his heat far too much to sacrifice it so soon.

He saw the door open a good twenty feet down the hallway and frowned as he recognized the bloke exiting it. Sure, Elliot was dressed in nine to five finest, but there was no mistaking the bloke.

Spike frowned and glanced at the room door beside him. 1235. And there was one more between him and the door Elliot had just walked out of.

“Odds on th’ left, evens on th’ right,” Spike muttered, looking to the other side just to be sure. He was right. And that meant… “Xander…” he growled, the sound more a moan as the open door allowed him to smell his beloved even more intensely, as well as the salty taste-scent that wasn’t sweat.

Elliot had almost shut the door when he felt the slender but strong body slam into him. He lost his grip on the door as he struggled, pushing the form away.

He blinked quickly, sure he was imagining things because he’d thought he’d seen golden eyes, but when he blinked again, they were regular bright blue. Or as regular as they could be, considering the package they came in.

“Will!” he cried softly, trying not to wake his friend through the slit of the door, “Thank God!” If the blond had come looking for Harris, then… he’d been right, Elliot was pleased to realize. It was just a miscommunication of some sort.

His nostrils were flaring, Spike knew, but at least he’d managed to control the demon. He had a feeling that no matter what Xander had told Elliot, he hadn’t mentioned that part. If he had, the human wouldn’t be smelling so…

Spike inhaled again, deeper, then chuckled to himself. The bloke was angry, relieved, sad, upset… a lot of things, but not afraid. Elliot didn’t know about him. Good.

“He’s cryin’,” Spike said softly, unable to hold back the concern in his voice, not that he wanted to. “Why’s he cryin’? What’s hurt him? I’ll… I’ll kill it, whatever it is.”

Elliot sighed. MEN. He shook his head slightly and reached out, taking a hold of Spike’s arm. “No… I don’t think you really need to kill yourself, Will… but I think we need to talk. About Harris.”

Spike let the other man lead him almost blindly to 1237. Kill himself? But he’d never said… and why would… and that was when it hit him.

HE was the one who’d made Xander cry. He didn’t know how, he didn’t know by what method, but… it was HIM.

“Oh, bloody hell,” he groaned dismally as he collapsed into the chair Elliot had led him to. “Bloody fuckin’ hell.”