Warnings: Foul language, AU, possible spoilers for S5 Buffy.
Summary: Gunn opens Spike's eyes. AU
Length: 1,450 words
"I don't need the fucking greedy bastard. He's just like all of the other whores before. Take me for what he can take, use me for what he can use, and then leave me when he wants to fucking leave me. The little shit never gave a fuck about anything more than himself, and being able to say he was fucking that name on the marquee. Fucking him, and fucking him over." Spike threw his whiskey bottle across the room to smash against the wall.
"Jesus, Spike, you have fucking lost it, man. I swear to God if we didn't have a show in ten minutes, I'd tie your fucking drunk ass down until you're sober, and then watch as I tell you just how fucking wrong you are." Spike glared at his manager, Gunn.
"d'like to see you try to tie me down, Charlie boy. Then again it might be fun." Spike leered at him.
"Put that shit away, Spike. You know it don't work on me, not to mention you ain't got the time, and I don't poach other people's lovers."
"What other people are you talking about, Gunn. I got no other people laying claims on me, now do I? Boy took what he could get and took off, he did. Little shit bled me as dry as he thought he could get away with, and then just took off."
"Spike, I'm your friend, and as your friend I'm telling you one last time, put that shit away right now, or you're gonna spend you're entire first set trying to pick up your teeth instead of singing."
Spike glared at him. "Are you taking his fucking side? How'd he buy the loyalty? Was it the same way he tried to buy mine, with a lousy ass blowjob? Maybe a handjob? Lord knows a loser like him had enough practice at that sort of thing to at least make that good."
The next thing Spike knew, he was being picked up off the floor, while he listened to someone on the PA announce the show had been canceled.
After he had managed to drink more than an entire pot of coffee and gained the ability to sit quietly for more than ten seconds, he found himself across the table from a stone faced Gunn.
"You sober enough to keep your fucking mouth shut?" He asked coldly. When Spike only nodded contritely his expression softened, slightly. "I got a couple questions I want you to answer for me, Spike. How long has Xander been touring with us?"
Spike took a minute, trying to think past the pounding in his head and the throbbing in his very tender nose. "Bout three, four months mebbe?" He asked.
"Ten months, Spike, boy's been here just a couple days shy of ten months."
Spike's forehead crinkled as he thought about that. 'Had it really been that long?'
"Now, Spike, what sorta job did you hook him up with while he was here? Maybe something easy that pays good? Or do you just set him up with some kinda expense account?"
Again, Spike didn't know what to say. He didn't ever remember the boy actually accepting money, the few time's he'd thought to offer. He did remember suggesting some sort of job, thought. Xander'd said something about not really being qualified. "If the boy didn't wanna work, who'm I to give him an allowance?"
"That 'boy' wandered around before and after gigs, troubleshooting, fixing equipment, running food and paperwork, loaded and unloaded gear. Not to mention all the star wrangling he did keeping your ass outta the rag sheets when you were too drunk or too stoned to realize you were being a fucking idiot in public. At least twice he talked your way out of a night in jail. If he were anybody else doing even half that shit, I'd be paying him at least a thou' every couple weeks or so, not to mention expenses."
"So how much was he milking me for then?" Spike asked with a sneer.
"Not a fucking dime, you jackass."
"Wot, you got him running around doing all that shite and not botherin' to pay him?" Spike asked confused.
"Oh I offered man, believe you me, I offered. He said that shit wasn't a job, it was just him helping out where he could."
"So he didn't take nothin'? What about that other stuff, whaddaya call it again, expenses. Boy got to tour the world on my dime. Hotel rooms ain't cheap ya know, and don't you tell me he weren't eatin'. Boy was always last one still at the feedin' trough." Spike said, trying desperately to hold onto his anger.
"Yeah hotel rooms." Gunn sneered. "He always stayed with you, moron. Unless, of course, you found something you liked better for the night. Then he'd either spend the night in the lobby or the bus. And yeah, he was always last one eating, cause he was always the last one to start. I ain't never once seen him even look at any of the food spreads until after everyone else had started, cept the time's he'd fix plates for people who was too busy or too lazy to take their egotistical ass down to get their own food. You know why he ate so late all the time, Spike?" He shook his head. "I didn't either, not for a long time. Then I figured it out, he only eats when he knows it's shit that's gonna get tossed out anyway."
Spike just looked at him, stupified.
"That's right, Spike, that's how much he's using you; he's working for free to make everything run smoothly for you, sleeps in strange places so you have privacy to cheat on him, and only eats the shit we're gonna throwaway anyway, and the one fucking time he needed something from you, you act like he's a fucking traitor and throw him out."
"He said he was leavin' me, what am I s'posed to do, thank him for it?" Spike snarled.
"You know, you really are a fucking idiot." Gunn said shaking his head. "Boy told you he had to leave, not that he was leaving you. Course you never once shut the fuck up enough to let him explain, did ya? No not big, bad Spike. You threw his ass out and told security not to let him back in, then got totally fucking shitfaced and missed the first concert you've missed since the two of you got together."
"Boy said he had to leave, that sounds pretty fucking clear to me, Gunn."
"Yeah well as I already said, you are a fucking idiot. He had to leave, had to go home. That woman he said was like a mom, Joy or something, well apparently she's bad off. They found a tumor and the doctors are gonna operate on Monday. He had to get to the greyhound station and get a ticket, so he could be there for her."
"Joyce is sick?" Spike asked. He dropped his now very pale face onto his arms for a few moments, then straightened up in his seat and began barking orders. "Cancel everything for the next two weeks, reschedule, reimburse, whatever you need to do, just get me a clear slate. Then make arrangements to get us to Sunnydale, yesterday."
"What are you going to do?" Gunn asked.
"I'm gonna make sure the finest lady I know has top rate care, and then I'm gonna make sure Xander Harris gets what he's owed."
"And what's that?"
"Well, I figure first he's owed the right to punch my lights out, then, I'd say he was due for me to get my head right outta my arse and show him how much I love him. Now go get the ball rolling."
"Sure thing, boss." Gunn said, climbing to his feet.
He was almost to the door when Spike's voice called him back. "Oh and Gunn, the next time I start acting like a complete fucking wanker, could you not wait ten months to point it out?"
"You got it, boss."