Shacking Up, 4
by
EntreNous
Chapter Seven: A Guy Who Doesn’t Smell
Of course, the interviews were by committee. The prospective candidates were marched in front of the panel on the couch made up of a perky blond with a whiff of “fuck-off” around the edges of her smile, a babbling redhead with penetrating questions, and a brunette who slumped miserably at his end of the sofa and sometimes sat with his head in his hands as the nominees were quizzed about their feelings on smoking, recycling, and chore wheels.
Some of the guys were freaky (“Looks like he’s been living in his parents’ basement” Xander commented at least once—entirely without irony), some were scary (Buffy started making a separate list of those names under the heading “potential problems—watch for obits” in a notebook) and some were so awkward that even Willow rushed to end things with a hearty “well, now!”
Spike was still there, making the most of his two weeks by playing the stereo at inconvenient hours and leaving splatterings of blood in the microwave. He’d scared off his fair share of prospective roommates, though he’d mostly sulked in his room after Buffy brightly offered to break his toes one by one.
Finally it was the last day of the two weeks, and Xander paced nervously in the kitchen as Spike rounded up the last of his things and a good number of Xander’s things. The girls were murmuring on the couch, and more applicants were due to start knocking any minute.
“What about that one?” Willow had the master list and she was pointing out names in the “maybe” column to Buffy.
“No, not *that* one.” Buffy wrinkled her nose. “He’s icky—and those boots.”
“Mmm. Then this?”
“Oh, I don’t think so. Didn’t his nose make a funny whistling sound?”
Willow looked at her blankly for a moment, then shuddered. “Guh. You’re right. He won’t do at all.”
Buffy leaned over the list and pointed her way down. “Nope. No. And, no! Ewww. Negative. That one, well?”
“No,” Willow said firmly. “That guy was a big old misogynist, and anti-magick at that. He kept saying ‘bitches’ and then thought he was being all sensitive when he changed it to ‘witches.’ Jerky jerk.”
“Hey, I have a radical idea. Hey, here’s a thought. Hey!” Xander had started quietly, but ended in a shriek when it was clear that the girls weren’t tuning in. “How about I take the list, I’m the one who says yes and no, I’m the one who asks the questions, and I’m the one who makes the decision. Damn, it’s my fucking apartment, and I’m the one who’ll have to live with the choice.”
Willow and Buffy looked at each other with knowing glances.
“Touch-chy.”
“I guess someone’s still a little mad that we got rid of his mayonnaise jars.”
“Those were perfectly good jars!” Xander hissed furiously. “They make good glasses! If I want to drink out of mayonnaise jars, then that’s my busi—”
“Now, Xander.” Buffy smiled at him patiently. “We’re going to get you new jars—I mean, glasses, real honest-to-god drinking glasses—if your new roommate doesn’t already have some.”
“What new roommate? Or am I missing something here? ‘Cause so far, doesn’t seem like anyone has passed inspection.”
Willow looked thoughtful. “That is true. Hmmmm. Well, we just want someone right for you, sweetie. And even if it has to take another two weeks for us to come and interview your prospectives, then that’s just what it’ll take.”
“No way! No two more weeks of this! We’re finding someone today.” Xander brought his palm down flat on the island counter. Then he sighed. “I know you all are trying to help. I really really get it. But you’re not marrying me off, okay? All’s I ask is that the guy doesn’t—”
“Smell. Leave his socks on the couch. Mess up my comics. Eat all my junk food. Come and stand over me at night and stroke my hair while I’m sleeping.” The girls ticked off the five requests in unison as they counted on their fingers in identical gestures.
“The last one still makes me giggle,” Willow confided to Buffy cheerfully.
“Fine. Fine! Who’s up next?”
Three more rejects and several eye-rollings from Xander later, and they had two more left on the list.
Nathan was the penultimate appointment, and he seemed generally agreeable. He shuffled in amiably wearing baggy carpenter’s pants, a pilly green sweater, and, from Buffy’s reluctant nod, acceptable sneakers. He made Willow laugh when he described the last place he’d looked at (“Man, it was like the wall was covered in cranberry sauce, the floor was covered in broken glass, and the realtor’s all ‘have some imagination,’ and I’m all ‘Nobody has that much imagination, dude.’ ”), and he made Xander sit up and take notice when he asked how Xander might feel about him hanging his Seven of Nine posters up in the living room. Even Buffy had joined in the friendly chorus of “we’ll let you know by tomorrow” when he waved at them enthusiastically, and took off down the hall whistling the Weezer “Sweater Song.”
“Gentlemen, I think we have a winner.” Buffy gravely announced, and rang an imaginary bell.
“He’s sweet!” Willow agreed with Buffy. “Xander?”
“I like him.” Xander said it firmly. The two girls nodded, pleased, and Buffy started to put the cap on her red pen and close her “potential problems” page in her notebook.
Just then the buzzer rang. Buffy glanced at her watch and grimaced. “Okay, guys, one more, and then we’ll be done, and you can call Nathan tomorrow.”
The last guy’s name was Davy (“Like Davy and Goliath,” Willow had snickered when she wrote his name on the list), and Xander narrowed his eyes at the newcomer a little and looked worriedly at the girls. Because Davy was dreamy.
“So, Davy,” Buffy smiled, leaning forward and skimming her hand over her calfskin boots. “What do you do?”
“Well, I work for an interior designer. Kind of like an apprentice. I’m studying that field, actually, at UC Sunnydale, working on my Master’s.”
“So you’re a decorator?” Willow asked. Her eyes trailed over his black jeans, black cashmere sweater, black belt, and (Buffy pursed her lips) really kickin’ black boots.
Davy laughed. “Not exactly. The interior design has more to do with corporate and commercial space—working with architects to develop plans and layouts for interiors while they work out structural and engineering issues. Lots of the ideas come from the architects, but the designer works with some knowledge of the mechanics on the aesthetic side of the interior.”
Xander kicked a little at lint on the carpet and braced himself for the conversation he was sure they were going to have afterward. This guy seemed fine, nice really, but Nathan seemed like the kind of guy he’d choose for a pal. The kind of guy he could watch kung-fu movies with at 3am. This guy—Xander wasn’t so sure this guy had even heard of Chow Yun Fat. But again, dreamy Davy, and the rest of the committee might give him more points for yumminess.
“—your last living situation?” Willow asked as she moved on with the set list of questions.
“Relationship ending.” Davy gave a short laugh, though it was clear he didn’t find it too funny. “It’s fine, it’s friendly, but I want to be living elsewhere, and I kind of can’t afford to live on my own right now with my tuition bills.”
“Sure of course,” Xander said quickly. He couldn’t care less about the relationship thing, and he just wanted to finish the interview quickly so they could finally order in some dinner and figure out where Nathan’s posters could go. But from the way the girls leaned forward, he could tell that they were interested.
“Oh, I’m really sorry.” Willow said genuinely, then started forward just a little and continued when Buffy jabbed her thigh. “So had you been dating her for—”
“Him, actually.” Davy said it mildly.
Buffy blinked. “Oh. Oh! Well that’s cool and all. I mean, not about the breakup and the moving, but about the person being a him and all. I mean, well, not like it needs to be cool, but hey, you know, well, with the—ow! Hey!”
Xander smiled easily at Davy as he patted Buffy’s shoulder affectionately and pinched her upper arm really hard to get her to stuff it. He wasn’t sure how he was supposed to react to the guy-guy thing. He’d never had a gay roommate before, but then he really hadn’t had any roommates before, because the evil undead steam-bath-vamp didn’t really count. However, it didn’t much matter because he’d pretty much decided on Nathan already. The main thing was that they not seem like a bunch of dorks to this guy Davy, who certainly didn’t deserve to be embarrassed about his significant others. Though Davy didn’t look embarrassed, he just looked a little amused, and maybe a little relieved now that Willow and Buffy were leaning back and no longer eyeing his shoulders and biceps appreciatively.
“Do you have a lot of furniture, or stuff you’d need to bring?” Xander asked.
It was the next question on the list, anyway, and it seemed better if they just get on with the interview. Buffy looked at Xander gratefully for taking the floor, pinched his arm just a little (now that’s going to leave a Slayer-strength mark) and then turned back to Davy.
“Not really. Most of the stuff was shared—” he smiled apologetically.
“That’s fine—I mean, as you can see the living room isn’t huge, and I’ve already got a couch and stuff. And hey, plus, because if you moved in here we’d only have to help you lift boxes instead of coffee tables and steamer trunks and crap.”
“Xan-derrrr,” Willow scolded, then grinned goofily at Davy.
“Right—so do you want the grand tour? We’re pretty much done with the questions part, and we’ll probably call people back tomorrow, so that’s what’s left, unless you have anything you want to ask.” Buffy gestured for Davy to stand.
After they’d shown Davy the rest of the apartment, which took about five minutes, and promised to let him know by tomorrow, the three of them sat back on the couch and looked back at the now-empty chair. Willow snapped her binder shut, and smiled at the other two.
“Okay, Xand—I think you’re in the enviable position of having to choose between the last two guys.”
“I vote Davy.” Buffy said decisively. “He seemed interesting, the interior design thing sounds cool, he dresses really well, so that could only be a good influence on Xander,” and here she moved just out of pinching range, “and he looks un-smelly.”
Willow looked to Xander. “Either one, I think—Buffy’s right about Davy, and I liked Nathan a lot, though he might be more likely to delve into your snack cakes. Plus he seemed like the kind of guy you’d like to hang with. I mean, Nathan, not Davy.”
“Well, why wouldn’t Xander want to hang with Davy?” Buffy argued. “I’m balancing Star Trek versus Trading Spaces here, and why would Xander want to live with someone just like Xander? He already lives with himself,” she concluded reasonably.
Xander waved his hand with finality, and said simply “I’ll call Nathan tomorrow, and if he’s interested, I’ll see if he can move in soon.” The others nodded, then nodded more vigorously when Xander asked that age-old important question: “Who wants pizza?”
They all turned when they heard a sharp rap at the door and Xander moved to answer it.
"I thought that was everyone," Buffy accused Willow, who pointed defensively at the list.
"It was everyone. See? Ends here. Ended."
Xander pulled open the door to find a very confused looking Davy. "What's up?" Xander asked. "Did you forget something, man? Or did you think of a question?"
Davy shook his head, and then laughed as his face relaxed. "I did have one question I forgot to ask — which one of you lives here again?"
"That'd be me." Xander said in an irritated voice. He was so looking forward to this process being over.
"Okay." Davy blinked, sort of glanced over at the girls, and then asked in a dramatic stage whisper, "How often are they over here, anyway?" Xander grinned.
"Davy, I'm taking back my vote for you if you're not going to play nice." Buffy warned as she rummaged in the cabinets in search of nacho cheese sauce and chips.
"I should probably watch out for that one, huh?" Davy whispered loudly in a conspiratorial manner. Willow giggled.
"More than you know, man." Xander sighed. They smiled at each other for a moment. Davy stuck his hand out, and Xander shook it. They nodded at each other; Davy waved at the girls, and took off.
"Pizza pizzapizza! So mote there be! Pizza pizza pizzapizza!" Willow chanted.
"Cut it out, Will" Buffy said around a mouthful of fake cheese and corn chips. "Last time you did that the pizza guy ended up teleporting into the shower with the water on. I'm not eating soggy pepperoni again, and I'm sure Xander doesn't want to give up more dry tee shirts for the cause of damp delivery guys everywhere. Right, Xand?"
Xander just looked thoughtfully at the door.
*********************
Chapter Eight: Down to Davy and Davy
Xander poked his head in Spike’s room—the empty room—around 9am. Of course, Spike had had to take off early this morning before sun-up, but Xander had kept to himself in his room until now. He didn’t have much of a good reason why he’d waited the extra hours, like he was nervous to find out if the vamp had cleared out for sure. But if Spike didn’t want to be his roommate, and if Buffy and the crew had decided he no longer had to babysit him . . . Well then, damn it, in that case Spike wasn’t a guest or a friend, and Xander sure as hell didn’t have to wave at him from the door or pack him a lunch for the trip to the crypt.
Around noon Xander decided he might as well try Nathan. For some reason he had been putting off calling his first choice candidate, even though the decision had seemed so clear yesterday.
"Hey, yeah, is this Nathan? This is Xander from yesterday. The apartment on the west side?"
"Oh hey, dude!" Nathan exclaimed. "Listen, I was just about to call you—"
"Really? 'Cause I wanted to tell you I'd like you to move in as soon as you can."
Nathan cleared his throat. "About two hours ago, that would have been the best news I'd heard all month. But around 10am my realtor phoned to tell me that I got a one-bedroom apartment that I had put a bid on a month ago. They had this whole application process, and it took a while for them to get back to her with the approval. It's a great price, and I'll be able to live on my own, finally."
"Oh, well . . . okay. Glad you got your own place." Xander tried to keep the disappointment out of his voice.
"Thanks, man. But, hey, we should hang out! 'Specially since I'm getting a new TV set delivered in a couple of days—one of those flat screen things—and my mom gave me the newest X-files DVD release. I'll probably be all set up for visitors in a week or something. And maybe you can loan me one or two of the UltraMan videos I saw on your shelf?"
They chatted for ten more minutes, finally settling on plans to meet up at the Bronze and shoot some pool in a few nights. Xander felt pleased, even though the living plans still weren't settled. He hadn't really had a guy friend for a while, not counting all of the different boys that hung around Buffy and Willow. It would be great to spend some time with Nathan.
He turned his attention back to the phone in front of him. He drummed his fingers on the table, and muttered "Looks like we're down to Davy and Davy. Maybe I should flip a coin?" He consulted Willow's list, and punched in the number.
"Davy? Yeah, Xander, from the . . . oh, okay. No, I just wasn't sure how many places you'd looked at, if you'd remember me. . . oh, well. Thanks. Um . . . so would you still want to move in here? I'd like to offer you the spot . . . Really? That sounds great . . . Do you need any help? If you don't mind the girls around, we should get Buffy to pitch in . . . Yeah, I know she looks small, but . . . you hit it on the nail, man . . . you're right, she is slightly dangerous. And a hell of a lifter. Hmmm? Tomorrow should be fine. Oh sure . . . you're welcome. It's no prob—stop thanking me, man. You must be glad to get out of that place you're staying in now . . . Right. At noon then. I'll get the second set of keys ready before that. See you . . . You're welcome, okay? Sheesh. Bye.”
Xander hung up the phone, then picked it up again to press *one* on the speed-dial. “Will, guess who's moving in tomorrow? Nope. Guess again. Come on, now you have a 100 percent shot of getting it right . . . Good one! And for that, you get the much-vaunted prize of helping me help Davy move in tomorrow. Uh huh. I knew you’d be pleased.”
He finished chatting with Willow, clicked the receiver, and pressed *two* on the speed dial. “Buff, guess who’s moving in tomorrow?
****************************
Chapter Nine: Tensions and Tickle Fights
As Davy had promised, they mostly had to help him with boxes rather than furniture. When Davy worried that his many boxes of design and architecture books would prove too heavy, Willow and Xander distracted him by showing him the fuse box and quizzed him about how many kitchen towels and wooden spoons he’d brought to the apartment, while Buffy easily carted that set of boxes inside.
Davy didn’t seem to mind that the girls stayed around to watch movies after. In fact, he didn’t appear concerned that Buffy and Willow were over a lot of the time in the days following. As an added plus, he seemed fairly gracious about the fact that sometimes Xander came in noisily at 2am or later. At least, he hadn’t complained to Xander’s face, and he hadn’t asked any questions. Good thing, too, because Xander didn’t want to have to hold forth on all things hellmouthy all the time.
And all of that was good, because on other fronts Xander had been right about Davy. No kung-fu at 3am. And Davy didn’t seem to partake of the same food groups Xander did. He actually cooked things he bought fresh, and he seemed happy to share. That was different. They didn’t really like the same music or movies, but hey, no blood on the counter, no peroxide leaking from the sink to bleach out the bathroom rug, and no New York Dolls blasting forth on the stereo at all hours. Everything seemed fine.
So Xander put together Davy’s futon frame for him on the day he moved in, and made Davy a set of CD holders with extra lumber from the site a week later. And Davy baked lasagna, and laughed at all of Xander’s jokes, and talked animatedly about design and always remembered to ask about the latest developments at the site where Xander worked.
A week, week and a half, two weeks went by. As far as Xander could tell, this was all normal roommate stuff. Davy and Xander got along fine. Buffy and Willow congratulated themselves. Giles seemed less worried about Xander. Everybody agreed that this worked well. Well, everybody except Spike. And Michael.
More on Michael later. As for Spike . . .
It was almost a week into the new living situation. When Davy returned home after running out to buy milk and paper towels, he walked in to find some blonde guy arguing with Xander. Davy entered the room gingerly—this man seemed different from Xander’s other friends. Maybe it was the fact that he was a guy—Davy had only seen girls around Xander—or maybe it was because the blonde was wearing butter-smooth black leather pants and a tight black t-shirt—or maybe it was because he appeared to be backing Xander into a corner, his face inches from Xander’s as they fought heatedly.
As near as he could make out the fight was about who owned the French Connection DVD. Or was it a stand-off over who had broken the videocassette of the Power Puff Girls movie? By the time he set the shopping bag on the counter, the floor seemed to have opened to all contentious topics. Popcorn was all over the living room floor, and there was a weird smell in the air, almost like a whiff of a slaughterhouse.
“You don’t even own a fucking DVD player!” Xander yelled in exasperation at the blonde, who resolutely ignored him, and squatted down to flick through the vinyl LPs that were in a milk crate on the floor. “And you cannot take back the White Stripes album. It was a gift. From you to me! Remember gifts? You present them to the recipient, and then you Can’t! Have! Them! Back!!!” Davy gaped for a moment at the scene that was about to explode, then turned in the hall to head to his room and close the door.
There was a brief tussle that Davy could hear even after he had retreated. There was some more shouting . . . a weird yelp and a crash . . . then a deadly silence . . . then a shriek followed by . . . laughter?
Somehow the scene in the other room had turned funny, and Davy peered out into the living room to find out why.
Xander was lying on his back on the floor next to the kitchen island, howling and shrieking as the slim blonde with a jagged scar on his eyebrow tickled him mercilessly.
“Like that, don’t you, pet?” the blonde taunted, and dove in for more torment.
Davy stepped out into the hall, turned his head to the side and frowned. “Um, everything okay in here?”
The two men on the floor paused mid-grope and turned their faces up to him like everything was absolutely simpatico.
“Yeah, we’re cool—what’s up?” Xander replied curiously. Davy looked at the popcorn on the floor, the weird red spill on the counter, and at the ripped t-shirt on Xander, which hadn’t been ripped when Davy had come in the door fifteen minutes ago.
“Oh. Nothing? I, uh, hi. I’m Davy.” Davy held out his hand automatically, then took it back uncertainly.
The blonde man turned himself over in one lithe movement, and lounged back, his shoulders and head propped on Xander’s stomach. He looked at Davy up and down coldly as Xander panted beneath him and tried to wiggle out from under him.
“Right. Well, I’m off, whelp.”
With a quick smack to Xander’s thigh (“Hey!” Xander protested, immediately rubbing the spot), and a derisive sneer at Davy, the man leapt effortlessly to his feet and slid gracefully out the front door.
Davy looked at the door for a minute, and turned back to look at Xander, who was still gasping and snuffling a little on the floor from the giggle fit. “Uh, and that was?”
“Oh. That was Spike. Haven’t you met Spike?” Xander asked reasonably, as if everyone in town knew who Spike was. “He was my—uh—roommate—well, he lived here, anyway, before you moved in.” Xander appeared to give up in the middle of his attempt to rise into a sitting position, and sprawled bonelessly out on the floor. “Oh, man! I haven’t laughed like that in a while.”
“Yeah,” Davy said uncertainly. “Well, I guess I’ll get back to my reading.”
“Sure,” Xander agreed absently, stretching out a little on the floor and yawning.
When Davy returned to the room an hour later, Xander was gone, the popcorn had been disposed of, the smell was effectively masked, and the counter was spotless. And Spike, of course, was long gone. Except that now Davy had met Spike, he wasn’t so sure about that part. Because Spike had looked at Davy very much like Davy had crashed some kind of private party in the apartment, and Davy felt a little less settled in.
The next day, everything seemed the way it had been before, and Davy went back to working on his semester project and putting in hours at the design firm.
He had intended to raise the topic of Spike with Xander, but he wasn’t exactly sure what questions he could ask someone he had only known for such a short time. Best to leave things alone, then, he thought. Just wait and see what would happen.
**************