Title: Bored

 Author: meagan <[email protected]>

 Summary: Spike is bored. He goes for a walk.

 Spoilers: "Halloween, "Phases," "Grad 2." Season 4 rumors. And I've decided that I don't like certain things in "Grad 2," so I played fast and loose (so to speak) with that because it worked better.

 Disclaimer: They belong to Mutant Enemy, Sandollar, Kuzui Enterprises, Fox, WB, and anyone else I forgot. _The Simpsons_ belong to Fox, Film Roman Productions, Klasky-Csupo, and Gracie Films. _Xena_ belongs to Universal, Renaissance Pictures, Studios USA Television, and MCA. Rating: Um, G/PGish.

 Notes: Originally posted 4 August 1999 -- before the gang went off to college, so there are quite naturally some discrepancies between this fic and canon. I was working with a handful of spoilers. I felt like standing on my desk and belting out the Dead Kennedys' "At My Job" that week. Or at least cranking it full blast on my headphones. I could actually feel my brain turning to mush as I typed this fic out. So since my DK cds and tapes were not with me at work, I attempted to keep my brain alive by writing.

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  "I'm bored."

  Bad words. Scary words. At least they're bad, scary words when uttered -- well, okay, whined, really -- by a vampire with attention deficit disorder.

  "Well, you could help Giles research. Or help Xander clean up that mess you guys made when you made that juggling bet."

  Spike grimaced. "I'm not *that* bored." He sighed as best he could. "Besides, he lost, and the loser had to clean."

  "Hey, I only lost because you shoved me."

  "Whatever." The vampire sighed again. "I'm going for a walk."

  With those words, he wandered out the door. He wasn't quite sure what the evening had in store for him, but surely it *had* to be more interesting than sitting at Slayer Central, watching yet another mind-numbingly boring round of Name That Demon.

  So he wandered. Aimlessly. After a while, he found himself at Willy's bar. He grinned, remembering the good old days. Once inside, though, he felt utterly lost. Bored. The clientele just wasn't what it used to be. There was one sleepy-looking college-aged human sitting in one booth, writing furiously in a notebook and sucking down what appeared to be a toxic beverage, judging by the expression on his face. Willy's coffee. It had never been in high demand at the establishment, and the bartender had never quite bothered to learn how to make it correctly.

  And that was it. One lone college student settled in for an all-nighter, clearly so intent on his work that *nothing* would distract him. It was probably calculus or something else that did not lend itself to an extended philosophical discussion. Spike shook his head with disgust and left.

  Next stop: The bowling alley. League night. Immediately upon entering the building, he was accosted by a woman who appeared to be in her seventies.

  "Hey, are you single? You look like you would look good with my granddaughter."

  Quickly, he sputtered out, "Sorry, no, not single."

  "Too bad." The woman wandered off to repeat her query to the shoe rental guy, the grill cook, a random stranger at the bowling ball rack, and every person in line for the drinking fountain. Her determination to find a not-necessarily-suitable mate made him feel sorry for the granddaughter. He also took this as a sign that he was meant to flee the bowling alley.

  The Bronze. Always good for a bit of entertainment, or so he had heard. Immediately upon entry, he was accosted by a squealing blonde girl. "Ooh, who are you? Wanna dance?"

  "Uh, I don't think so." Was she *drunk*? Since when did the bartenders around here serve underage people? Then again, he might be assuming too much. For example, that she had obtained the alcohol there and not, say, out in someone's car. He noticed a tall, stocky man -- clearly built for contact sports like football -- headed their way.

  "Harmony, why don't you just go sit down quietly in the corner for a while?"

  She glared at the newcomer, indignant at his suggestion. "Shut up, Larry. I just wanna have some fun."

  "Right. And if someone realizes you're not twenty-one and drunk -- as they will if you continue to harrass and grope strangers -- you'll be tossed out of here faster than your clothes go out of style."

  Finally, his words seemed to sink in through her thick skull. She wandered off to a corner filled with giggling girls who, while they did not exactly *look* like her, still had the same air of condescension about them as she did. Spike turned his attention to his rescuer. "Thanks. I think I would have had to kill her if she had stuck around much longer."

  The human rolled his eyes in agreement. "I know what you mean.

  "So, I haven't seen you around before."

  "Really? I thought you looked vaguely familiar."

  Spike dug through memories, trying to figure out where this beefy guy could have seen him before. And then it hit him. "Well, a lot of people say I look like Billy Idol. Although I prefer Sid Vicious."

  "No, that's not it." The former jock shook his head, still trying to figure out the mystery. And then he grinned when it hit him. "Halloween two years ago! I was a pirate. You were a vampire." Recalling the events of that evening, he took a second look at Spike. He wanted to ask the next obvious question, but he wasn't quite sure how to phrase it. "So, do you know Buffy?"

  At this question asked in a far-too-casual tone of voice, Spike laughed. "Yeah, I do. And to answer your next question, yes, I am. But don't worry. She and I are on good terms, and you do *not* want to get on her bad side. At least I don't."

  Larry grinned. "Tell me about it. I *still* have flashbacks to the time she pounded me into the soda machine in high school."

  At the word "pounded," Spike's eyebrows shot up. "Oh?"

  "Yeah, I was trying to beat up on one of her friends." He sighed. "Man, I'm glad high school is over. I can't *believe* who I was then. But destroying that place really helped me heal, you know? Like, now that it's gone, I'll never be that asshole jock who beat up on kids just because it made him powerful." He paused. "And you know who helped me realize who I am? Buffy's friend Harris. The one I was beating up when she tossed me into the soda machine. I owe him a lot. He helped me realize who I am and that it's okay to be me."

  Spike stared. He could not believe the conversation he was having. It was some sort of surreal new age-y self-help line of thought. Time to run before this guy started in on the touchy-feely portion of evening. "Well, it's great that you've found yourself. Gee, would you look at the time? I have to, uh, go now. I just remembered I'm supposed to, uh, pick up some pizza for them. All-night study session, you know."

  He knew that confused eyes were following him. Why would he be at the Bronze if he was supposed to be on a snack run? But he shrugged. Since when did he care what other people thought?

  He happened upon a small coffeehouse that he didn't remember from previous visits to the area. Inside, he found a very smoky atmosphere and what seemed to be extemporaneous poetry. A poetry slam. Not exactly how he wanted to spend the evening, but it was better than listening to a jock newly in touch with his feelings talk about them.

  Five minutes later, he changed his mind. He would have much preferred to have stuck around at the Bronze and listened to that guy's ramblings, but Spike had already bailed with a lame excuse. If he wanted to remain on good terms with the guy -- and for some reason, a voice in his head told him that this was a very good idea, and for once, he decided to listen to that voice -- he would have to stay out of his way for the rest of the night so the lie would not be discovered. What else was open at this time of night?

  The answer was obvious, at least to him. He had watched enough episodes of _The Simpsons_ to be aware of the concept of a convenience store. The convenience, of course, rested on the fact that it was always open -- or at least open late at night. Maybe he could even find one with bored clerks who didn't mind if he just stood around and flipped through magazines all night.

  Unfortunately, the only convenience store he could find was closing by the time he found it. The last few customers were being rushed out with their last-minute purchases.

  After Willy's bar, the bowling alley, the Bronze, the coffeehouse, and the convenience store, he realized he was running out of options. In desperation, he picked the one place where there was always *something* going on. Where the people didn't frighten him. Where no one tried to play matchmaker for him. What a pathetic end to a pathetic night. Back to the very place he had left because it was too boring.

  And that's when he saw them. The last two customers in the convenience store happened to be the teenaged male portion of Team Slayer.

  Normally, this would not have struck him as odd. Those two spent a lot of time together. He had dismissed it as a friendship thing.

  But friends tended to not stand wrapped up in each others' arms buying condoms and lube at the local convenience store.

  This could be interesting.

  If nothing else, it would make future research gatherings more entertaining. After all, subtext was the only reason he watched _Xena_.

  ~~~ the end ~~~