it's like a buddy movie (only without the buddy part)
Chapter Eight: The Three Most Beautiful Words in the English Language
Spike cracked open the other Guinness and peered back down at yet another ancient tome. Wouldn’t do to give in to the massive lump forming in his throat, especially not now. He coughed and took a swig from the can. When he saw Xander look at him askance, he swept his index finger along the edge of the book.
“Dust,” Spike claimed.
“I thought you didn’t breathe. How’s that work anyway?”
“Er… well, yeah. Don’t HAVE to breathe. That is, I --”
Xander rolled his eyes and returned to examining his own book.
“Well, if you’re not interested, why’d you even ask?” Spike mumbled quietly.
Out of the corner of his eye, he caught sight of Xander staring thoughtfully at his beer. “You know, I hate to say it, but this stuff isn’t half bad,” he observed.
“Told you so,” Spike said. “Which, I might add, are the three most beautiful words in the English language.”
“Okay, fine. I hereby acknowledge that you’re good for some things. Picking out alcoholic beverages and beating people up being basically the only things on the list.” Xander offered Spike a lopsided grin.
That, ladies and gents, is the smile of a bloke what’s halfway to bein’ sloshed, Spike realized.
“Easy there, mate. Not used to the good stuff. Packs a bit more of a punch.”
“Please. I’m not even remotely getting drunk here,” Xander asserted. “Anyway, it’s not like you can hold it much better.” He jabbed a finger accusingly at Spike. “I’ve seen you drunk, mister, and it’s not a pretty sight. There’s slurred speech involved and a decided lack of coordination.”
Spike laughed quietly. “Never claimed I don’t get right pissed from time to time, Harris, just sayin’ you’re not nearly as accustomed to…” He paused, then, an idea forming. Spike leaned forward. “You care to make this interesting?” he asked in a hushed, conspiratorial tone.
Xander frowned and drew his head back slightly. “Huh?”
“What do they call it at those infernal fraternity parties? Bit o’ the old chugging contest?"
Xander’s frown dissolved slowly replaced by a slow smile. “You’re on.”
Spike took out two fresh MGDs. “Start on even ground ‘ere.” He passed one across the table.
“Count of three.”
“One… two…”
“Three.”
Simultaneously, Spike and Xander downed their beers in long, uninterrupted gulps, slamming the liquid back as fast as possible.
Xander was on his last swallow when Spike banged his empty bottle down. He wiped his mouth on the back of his hand as Xander’s bottle clattered against his.
Spike narrowed his eyes and peered at Xander for signs of discomfort. “You all right there, lad?”
Xander belched loudly and rubbed at his chest with his fist. “Never better.”
For some reason, this was infinitely, uproariously funny. He resisted for a moment, but finally Spike let out a loud, gleeful laugh.
“Uh, yeah. And you’re FINE, huh?” Xander asked, voice dripping with sarcasm.
“Utterly. Feel brilliant.”
“Both of you?”
Spike stopped laughing and raised an eyebrow. “Both of me?”
Xander shook his head hard and looked at Spike carefully. “Oh, crap,” he muttered.
“Seein’ double, are we?”
“NO!”
Spike glanced down at the massive pile of books. “Know what I think?”
“That if you really wanted to help us, you’d stake yourself?”
“Keep that sort of thing up, and I’ll start to want to,” Spike growled. “No, seriously.”
“You’re thinking that Joey doesn’t love Pacey?” Xander grinned and took another sip of his Guinness.
“Well, she doesn’t!”
“Okay, okay, what do you really think, O Bleached Wonder?”
Spike suddenly thumped his book shut and stood up, swaying slightly. “I think this is gettin’ us abso-bleedin’-lutely nowhere, ‘s what I think.” He hiccupped and dropped abruptly back into his chair.
Xander nodded sagely. “Books, man. Lame.”
“Tiny print and useless drivel, all of it,” Spike agreed. “Well, ‘cept for Poe. And Shelley.”
“Shelley Long wrote a book?”
“No, the other one.”
“Oh, oh, right. Old book. ‘Frankenstein.’”
“That was his wife.”
“Whose wife?”
“Shelley’s.”
“Shelley Long has a wife?” Xander blinked. “I thought that was only legal in Vermont.”
Spike let out an exasperated sigh. “God, this night just gets longer and longer.” He drained the last of his Guinness and glanced around the darkened shop. “We’re doin’ no good ‘ere. Ought to give it a rest.”
“And do what?” Xander looked at his watch. “Sleep, maybe? Like humans tend to do in the middle of the night?”
“I’m thinkin’ something a spot more interesting,” Spike said with a smirk. “Better way than all this damn reading to get answers.”
“Anya set up a computer in the back,” Xander said. “I’m not sure I’m the greatest at the whole ‘net surfing thing, but I can give it a shot.”
“Piffle,” Spike said. He leaned back in his chair and cracked his knuckles. “Better’n that, even. Know just the ponce to beat to a bloody pulp, too.”
Xander winced. “Just so we’re on the same page here, it’s a BAD guy, right?”
Spike blinked in faux innocence. “Now would I ever long to pound on an innocent fellow, Harris? Perish the thought!” He stood up again and started off toward the back door that led down to the sewer tunnels. “C’mon, now! Time we got down to brass tacks!”
Xander groaned, but reluctantly rose to his feet. “Why do I have a feeling that this is SO not gonna end well?”
“Have a little faith, boy.”
“I mean, I’m sensing massive opportunities for badness,” Xander rambled on as Spike flung the door open. “’Titanic’ had a happy ending compared to what’s bound to happen to us.”
“What, ‘Titanic’ DID have a happy ending.”
“Spike, they all DIED!”
“Precisely.”
As soon as they entered the tunnels, everything went black.