The Costs of Negotiating

by
EntreNous

“I don’t like the sound of this,” Angel said bluntly. He glanced around at his assembled team, waiting for someone to agree. When no one spoke, he crossed his arms and glared at the ceiling. “But apparently the rest of you do, so . . .”

Wesley leaned forward in his chair. “Think of it as an opportunity. Before this proposal came up, we had thought that all lines of communication were permanently closed.”

“And we’ve done mediation for other groups before. Clearly we think that the process can work. Why shouldn’t we bring our own concerns to the table if we have the chance?” Gunn asked reasonably.

“Because I don’t think that we can win this,” Angel said.

“It shouldn’t be about winning and losing,” Fred put in.

“When Andrew and his all-slayer posse were here, they made it very clear that they no longer trust us.” Angel drummed his fingers on the desk. “Tell me why they would propose negotiations? What else could it be -- they’re trying to get something else from us.”

“Perhaps they do want something,” Wes conceded. “Still, that shouldn’t bar us from assessing the potential for closing the current gap between our operations.

“Fine,” Angel said shortly. “She can . . . they can send their emissary to engage in ‘talks.’ But I don’t want to invest in this. You’re all working on extremely important projects; I’m not interested in diverting your attentions to a lost cause.”

Lorne cleared his throat. “Angel, if you don’t want any of us to sit in on the big pow wow, who’s going to take our side? Lost cause it may be, but shouldn’t we have a body at the table?”

Fred looked thoughtful. “What about -- ”

“Spike!” Angel exclaimed in exasperation. “This is a private meeting. What do you want?”

“Oh, very nice,” Spike frowned as he sauntered over and hopped up on Angel’s desk, hefting an ornate crystal paperweight with studied interest. “Someone helps distract the riff raff while a certain CEO plays mortal combat with the urban cowboy, and when all’s said and done, it’s out in the cold for Spike.” He tossed the paperweight in the air, barely preventing it from crashing and shattering as it hurtled downward. “I like how that works.”

“What do you want, Spike?” Wesley asked.

“ ‘m bored,” Spike announced. “Thought I’d come ‘round and see what you lot had mucked up recently. Might as well lend a hand and set things right.”

“You want something to do?” Angel asked slowly. “It so happens that I do have a project that you could take on.”

“No way, Angel,” Gunn interrupted. “He shouldn’t be the one to -- ”

“Surely you aren’t going to --” Wes protested at the same time.

“Well, Spike can be very charming when he wants to be,” Fred said with a small smile. “And from what you say, he has the inside track with their camp . . . seems like they owe him.”

“What with saving the world and all,” Lorne added. “Maybe our own platinum vampire is the best one for the job.”

“Then it’s settled,” Angel said. “Spike will negotiate our side with the representative from the Slayer-Council Coalition.”

Spike started at that. “With . . . no, she wouldn’t come herself,” he muttered under his breath. Then out loud he asked “Not that bit of fluff, Andrew?”

“We can promise that that won’t be the case,” Wes said dryly. “Nonetheless, I highly doubt that Spike should take up -- ”

“Oh, piffle,” Spike said. “Don’t’ get all worked up because he didn’t choose you, Percy.”

Wes threw his hands in the air and left the room. Gunn followed hot on his heels.

Spike slapped his hands together and rubbed his palms briskly. “So, who’m I meeting with?” He turned to Angel who was . . . smiling? He looked to Fred and Lorne for some type of explanation, but they apparently had decided that it was a good time to leave the room. “You look pleased as punch about something.” Spike glanced around uneasily, but there wasn’t anyone left in the room besides him and Angel. “What’re you so happy about? Who the hell am I meeting with?”

“Oh, you’re meeting with Xander Harris,” Angel observed as he closed his folder with a snap and rose from his chair. He strode out of the room past Spike, stopping at the door to remark, “Why can’t all the times I delegate responsibility be this much fun?”

********

“He’s waiting for you,” Harmony called out as Spike paused outside the conference room.

“What?” Spike asked. “He knows it’s me who’s meeting him?”

“Um . . .” Harmony thought about that. “I don’t know that part. He seemed a little surprised that I was working here.” She smoothed out her hair with her lacquered nails and leaned forward conspiratorially. “There was some distracting stuff while we were chatting. He just has the one eye now. It looks really sexy.” She plucked at her blouse, brushing off some imaginary lint and straightening the sleeves. “Do you know that his girlfriend died? I might ask him to have a drink later.”

“Fair game then, is he?” Spike rolled his eyes. He pushed into the room with determination.

“Harris,” he said shortly.

“Spike,” Xander nodded. He was seated at the table looking calm and collected.

Not a complete wreck appearance-wise, Spike noted with some interest. Less puffy than the last time he’d seen him, more toned than he recalled, and sporting an oddly natural-looking tan. Strange to see that after a few months of humans and demons with carefully applied spray-tanner darkening their skin. And the one eye did look . . . sexy.

Spike realized that he was still staring while Xander relaxed in his chair, waiting for him to re-focus. He gave himself a little shake and started in. “Aren’t you at least going to spit out your coffee?” Spike gestured at the mug that Harmony must have fixed, sitting on a tray with cream, two kinds of milk, and three kinds of sugar. Probably about five teaspoons of sugar in there, if Harris was still taking it the way Spike had watched him mix coffee during their two experiments in roommate living. “Andrew almost blew a fuse when he saw that I was alive. Seems like you could at least jump or gasp.”

“Yeah,” Xander said. He looked less than impressed with Spike’s corporeality. “I got a long call from him about that. Heard you all had an interesting little visit.”

“That’s putting it mildly,” Spike said. He held out his hands and examined them. “Do you know that they can re-attach bits and parts of you at this dog and pony show? Should see someone here about your eye, maybe.”

“No thanks,” Xander said derisively. “I don’t need any help, especially freaky supernatural sell-your-soul help, from Wolfram & Hart.”

“So you don’t want help. Then why are you here?” Spike asked. “Last I heard you all didn’t trust Angel. Won’t work with him, that’s for sure. Why come at all?”

“Spike, why do I ever do the things I do?” Xander asked with raised eyebrows.

“Because Buffy tells you to?” Spike guessed after a moment.

“Yeah, well . . . I was going to say for the greater good, but you got me there,” Xander said sarcastically.

Spike watched him carefully. “You know that you and I want the same thing, don’t you?”

“If you’re going to tell me that even though it seems like we’re on different sides we’re all fighting the good fight, I’m so going to throw the milk at you,” Xander remarked. “Or maybe the sugar cubes. Haven’t decided that part yet.”

“No,” Spike scoffed. “We’re all . . . First of all, I’m not on any side here. That’s why I’m in the room with you. Objective-like and all that. This,” he gestured around the conference room, “This is a temporary gig for me while I get my bearings. Sure, I’m helping out occasionally, but I’m not signed on for the duration like Angel is.”

“Angel,” Xander repeated. “Why was I the only one not shocked to hear that he went over to the dark side? I tell you, I’ve been suspicious of that guy from day one.”

“Yeah, well, he’s always been about the dark side,” Spike said. “That’s what I mean when I say that we, meaning you and I, both want the same thing.”

Xander slid one palm forward and back on the tabletop. “You know we’re not going to reach some kind of agreement here, don’t you? Do you want to know why I came --”

Spike held up his hand. “Don’t care, actually. Sometimes I find the less I know about office politics the better.”

Xander actually smiled then, though it was a nasty sort of a smile, Spike noted. “What do you want out of this?”

Spike stretched slightly and twisted his lips up in a smile. “What’s the best thing either of us could hope to accomplish in this type of situation?”

Xander’s eyes drifted to the ceiling as he contemplated this question. “Um . . . Annoying the fuck out of Angel?”

“Right you are,” Spike said with a firm nod. He flicked two fingers up, producing a gleaming corporate credit card. “What say we continue these negotiations elsewhere?”

“You know what kind of stuff they don’t have in Africa?” Xander said thoughtfully.

“Mexican food, I imagine,” Spike replied.

“Among other things,” Xander said. “That’s a good start though. Where can we get some of that around here?”

*********

“A lot,” Xander said after thinking hard.

“I ask you how many pitchers of margaritas we’ve had, and the answer is ‘A lot’?” Spike examined the charges with exaggerated care, waiting for the numbers to stop jiggling around the piece of paper.

“Not like we need to know how much they charge us,” Xander reasoned.

“True enough.” Spike signed off on the bill with a flourish and shoved it towards the waiter with a nod. “Where to next? What else don’t they have in Africa that’ll let us do more damage to Angel’s expense account?”

********

“Lessee . . .” Spike swayed slightly. “You still need hats.”

“Why the fuck do I need hats again?” Xander asked as he braced himself against the counter.

Most of the shops on Rodeo Drive had long since closed for the night, but it was amazing how many doors the Wolfram & Hart name could open even after hours. There were three salesgirls moving discreetly, piling accessories onto the heap of clothing that they’d already approved for purchase.

“You have a head, don’t you? Besides, I think we’ve bought all the clothes they have in your size. Oh, send this all back to this address, there’s a love,” Spike instructed the nearest clerk, waving at Xander to give her the paper with his address.

“We’re going to ship this all back to Kenya?” Xander asked in confusion.

“Why not? More for the ever-growing corporate tab,” Spike said. “Now about that hat . . . ”

“I’m only getting a hat if you get a hat,” Xander bargained. For some reason this seemed to move him greatly, and he laid his hand over his heart. “Then we can wear our hats somewhere else. We’ll be like the guys who go places together . . . wearing hats,” he finished uncertainly.

“Not with this hair,” Spike shot back, his hand hovering protectively near his head. “A hat would make it all flat and lifeless.”

Xander reached for his drink and took a large swallow (the manager had kindly supplied them with more margaritas when they saw fit to demand that she do so). “Does you hair glow when it’s totally dark?” Xander asked as he turned towards Spike. He reached out a hand and poked at Spike’s hair experimentally, then rested his hand gently on Spike’s head. “For some reason I’ve always wondered about that.”

“I’ve no idea.” Spike’s hand drifted further upwards, and met Xander’s; their fingers intertwined automatically. “Should we check?”

********

“Why are we breaking back into the office?” Xander asked. “Can’t you get in here anytime you want?”

“Because it’s more fun if we break in,” Spike explained.

“And this is the best place for total darkness why?”

“I told you this part already,” Spike said accusingly. He waved a single finger at Xander with drunken menace. “Even though the poof has the place sun-proofed, he still has rooms that seal out all possible light just in case. Do you want to see if my hair glows in the dark or no?”

“ ‘kay,” Xander said, nodding vigorously to emphasize his agreement.

In the security room, the night team saw that Spike had decided to break in again even though he had all-hours access to the building. Following instructions received after previous such incidents, they placed a call to Angel alerting him to the situation.

“Plus, you know, we’re not finished in the quest of things that will make Angel snarly,” Spike continued, suddenly cheerful once more.

“I don’t know about that,” Xander said. “We spent a lot of money tonight. That should make him mad -- a lot.”

“ ‘A lot’ is a favorite quantity of yours, isn’t it?”

“You were the one signing off on everything,” Xander yawned. “I don’t know what it all added up to. It’s just too bad I won’t be around to see Angel’s face when he gets all those bills.”

“That is a shame,” Spike agreed. “I suppose we’ll have to think of something we can do that he can see while you’re still here, something that’ll really get him worked up.”

Xander screwed his face up tight, trying to come up with what that something could be.

“Come on,” Spike said impatiently, dragging Xander off to one of the lightless rooms.

********

Angel sighed as he trudged out of his elevator. Dawn was approaching and he had just gotten to sleep when the guards’ call had awoken him. The last clear sighting of the pair had been on the floor’s reception area; after that Spike had apparently smashed the lenses of most of the security cameras in their path with glee.

Even though they’d crept in like thieves, Angel guessed correctly that they would have headed back to the very same conference room where they’d met that morning. Spike was nothing if not predictable.

He expected to find some sort of irritating scene upon opening the door, but when he flicked the switch and suddenly bathing the room in simulated daylight, he froze in his tracks.

Spike had pinned Xander up against the wall and the two of them were frantically kissing as they pulled at each other’s clothes.

“What the fuck is going on?” Angel shouted.

“Well, what does it look like?” Spike replied with venom. He touched his lips, glowering at Angel for interrupting the groping session. Xander had blushed only slightly when the two of them had pulled apart, and together they turned, standing shoulder to shoulder, and looked at Angel defiantly. “We were out all night coming up with ways to upset you, and we came back here to see what would happen in the dark with my hair, and things were just starting to get really interesting when you decided to come along and ruin it all.”

“And you decided that this,” Angel gestured angrily at Xander’s undone shirt, Spike’s extremely mussed hair, and their kiss-dazed expressions, “all of this would be the perfect way to get me upset.”

“Um, not exactly,” Xander responded. “More like we were considering the perfect way to get you upset when we started making out.”

Angel spun on his heel and stalked out of the room. “It’s a lost cause, I said. Let Spike do it, and it’ll keep him out of my hair and Xander from finding out any critical information, I told them. There’s nothing they can do together that will make things any worse, I thought to myself.”

His voice trailed off as he entered his own office and slammed the door.

“So did you hide the files before he came in?” Spike inquired.

“Oh, yeah,” Xander said. He patted the paper bag that had been holding the leftover enchiladas (and now held the key reports) and smiled that nasty smile once more.

“Good cover, that,” Spike said, waving his hand between the two of them.

“Yeah. Good cover.” Xander agreed. He cleared his throat and stared at Spike.

“Well, since we’re already here,” Spike said hastily.

“Right, exactly,” Xander nodded, and they resumed their former positions up against the wall and started tearing at each other’s clothes once more.

The End

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