Old Enemies... (S/X)

TITLE: Old Enemies...
AUTHORED BY: Tisienne
DISCLAIMER: I do not own Spike or Xander. I am simply borrowing them for the nonce and promise to return them to Joss & Co. none the worse for wear... unless they feel a bit of attraction to each other once they're back home... in which case, they can come live here forever. *grins*
RATING: 18 (NC-17)
A/N: It's 7 years in the future from S7:B... many things have changed and Andrew actually kept his trap shut.
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Part 1

"Mr. Alexander!" the voice called from amongst many as he blinked in the flashing light from the cameras. "Mr. Alexander, Treecie Azure from Neverless Magazine!"
He smiled a bit, knowing the mag the woman was talking about. It catered to horror and science fiction fans. He might have a chance of getting a less inane question than usual from her.
"Ms. Azure," he said quickly, trying to point at her although he had no idea of where she actually was, considering the amount of spots in his vision at the moment.
The young woman smirked a bit at having been singled out by the author; then she let it go and looked at her pad.
"I know a lot of people have been comparing you to Anne Rice, and I already know how you feel about that, so I'm not going to ask anything so common. Besides, your work is nothing like hers."
She grinned when a good number of the other reporters blushed or looked away. Yeah, she knew they were too straight-laced to even try finding a different topic to ask about.
Mr. Alexander chuckled a bit and nodded, leaning forward in an attempt to see the woman but failing because people kept taking pictures. He should be used to it by now, he figured... but he wasn't.
"Cool," he said. "So what do you want to know, Treecie?"
The woman blushed a little herself, then asked her question.
"How did you really lose your eye?"
She frowned a little, then glared at the so-called reporters around her. "I know you don't like to talk about it," she explained, "because it might affect sales, but... your last three books made the best seller's list and at this point I think we all know you're not really the same guy as in the books, so..."
Treecie shrugged. "Please... how?"
Harrison Alexander-- as he'd been known for some three and a half years-- laughed. He actually laughed. "Meet me for dinner and I might tell you," he said with an over-stated wink that set the rest of the reporters howling with laughter. The young woman was a stunner, after all. Who could blame him?
She grinned. "It's a date. So if you won't answer that... now, I mean... what do you like on your pizza?" The young woman winked, and he answered.
"Pepperoni and sausage. What does that say about me, Treecie?"
The redhead laughed. "I don't know. That you like meat...?"
He thought she knew how right she was. As far as her imagination went, anyway.
Still, nothing wrong with fluctuating, either.
He was a confirmed bisexual, even with the media, so he just laughed. "You could say that," he admitted, most of the other reporters laughing, although he noticed a good number of them trying not to look jealous.
* * * * *
The rest of the press conference had gone off without a hitch, mostly, and Harrison-- as he was calling himself then-- was pleased to find himself at a secluded restaurant with the stunner.
They had salad and appetizers, entrees and dessert... and still, he couldn't bring himself to tell her the truth.
He was enjoying her company, though, and that's why he didn't freeze up when she asked him about his inspiration for his character "Spark" in his books.
Sure, the character was a vampire who had earned his name due to torturing his victims with the smoldering end of a fire brand. Sure, the guy had spent a load of time trying to live up to the desires of his maker and had then gone and gotten himself a soul, but...
"There is no Spark," he told her softly, trying to hide the sadness in his own soul. "It's a story. That's all. I took my experiences growing up and... made them into horror and that's where the books come from, is all."
The reporter looked at him sadly, then shrugged. "Okay. But... the eye?" She smiled. "You did say you'd tell me if we went to dinner, and... here we are. At dinner."
The author laughed loudly and lied to her face. "I'd love to say I lost it in some big, heart-rending showdown... that some evil priest put it out by driving his thumb into the socket. That would be appropriately dramatic, right? Not to mention being just what happens to Lavelle in the book. But... just between you and me?"
She nodded, for some reason actually meaning it this time. "Off the record," she promised, shutting off even her internal mental recorder... the one that she relied on most times to recall inflections.
The dark haired man smiled again and nodded. "All right... and you're the only one I've ever told this to so if I read it anywhere, I'll know where it came from..."
He chuckled softly, seeing her waiting with bated breath for some big, explosive thing.
"It's like this," he said softly. "You know how when you're a kid and playing knights with your friends, using sticks for swords... and your Mom says 'be careful or someone's gonna lose an eye'...?"
He chuckled as the young woman fell into peals of laughter, trusting that her amusement would distract her from the pain in his one remaining eye.
Fortunately, he was right.