437 - Relocate - Shanshu - Dragon's Phoenix - BtVS

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Title: Cruel Game
Fandom: BtVS
Prompt: 437 - Relocate
Rating: G
Summary: Part 6 of Shanshu
Word Count: 1296

“Honesty is the cruelest game of all, because not only can you hurt someone – and hurt them to the bone – you can feel self-righteous about it at the same time” – Dave Van Ronk (American folk and blues Singer, Guitarist and Song Writer, 1936-2002)

Golden light, spilling out through the glass walls of the Marriott, looked like hope. Will walked past, to where the light turned blue, and then crossed over to a darkened street. What had he been thinking? They weren't about to let him in, not at this hour, not without calling up first. And then what? Harris might bugger off. Hell, for all Will knew, Harris might call the boys in blue. Will couldn’t risk it. They had to meet, face-to-face, tonight, before he lost this chance forever.

Will turned and looked back toward the hotel. He'd have as much luck forcing his way into an armed fortress as he'd have sneaking in there. The doors, those that were locked, were alarmed, and all the entrances were watched through security cameras. If he tried to storm the gates, they'd send him packing; if he tried to sneak in, they'd catch him and cart him off. What he needed was a distraction. All he had was himself.

His cell started playing in his back pocket. Oh yeah, sneaking into this place, that would have worked. He couldn’t even remember to turn off the damn phone. It was the ringtone Millay, who'd set up his phone for him, had picked for herself. The lyrics seemed to be some sort of computer in-joke. “Hello. I know that you're unhappy. I bring you love and deeper understanding.”

Will waved toward the security feed as he answered. “Yeah?”

“Give it a couple more minutes.”

He raised one eyebrow and waited.

“No need to thank me. Here it comes in three, two, one.”

Will felt a whoosh of speed like wind bursting past to either side and then a girl before him leapt up as her skateboard flipped into the air. She landed on the ground, grabbing the skate in one hand. She was a little thing, so scrawny Will would have thought she hadn't eaten in a week if he didn't know her. “Joan? What are you doing here?”

Her hand reached out and punched his shoulder. “Repaying a debt.”

He knew what she meant, but she was wrong. There was no debt between them. He'd simply done the right thing, the gentlemanly thing. When he first met Joan, she'd been one of Charlie's strays, tiny enough that she'd looked little more than a kid, all long limbs and eyes bigger than they should be. Will, who'd benefited from Charlie's generosity himself after he'd been found with no memory along the side of the road, had naturally offered his own room. Yeah, he'd been paying rent by then but you didn't leave little girls sleeping on the couch even if they were older than they looked. The offer and the fact that he'd backed it up by taking the couch himself had done him a good turn. It seemed Millay had liked what he'd done. He'd moved into her room shortly thereafter. “It worked out,” was all he said.

There was a glimpse of movement from behind her. “Still, you did right by me and now we're here to do right by you.” She stepped aside, revealing a good dozen or more kids, teens and up, darting about on skateboards in front of the hotel.

As he watched three skated on into the lobby. “I don't want to get your friends in trouble.”

“Then you need to get where you're going so we can be gone before the cops show up.” With that she skated off to join her friends, waving back at him as she glided into the lobby.

Millay's voice sounded through the cell. “Go. Now.”

“Right. Thanks.”

The skaters gliding and darting about the lobby had created such a chaotic mess – at least to Will's eyes although it couldn't be complete chaos since they didn't crash into each other – that the receptionist didn't seem to even notice Will much less try to stop him. As he rose in the elevator, Will turned his thoughts to the man in room 805. Will could pound on the door all he wanted but would this Harris guy let him in?

The hallway was dead quiet. Will stopped and traced one finger over the numbers. Could Harris tell him whom he'd been? Would he? Only one way to tell. Will rapped his hand against the door. After about a minute there was a thump like that of a head hitting the other side of the door. It came from about head height at least. “Open up,” Will said. “Please.”

The door opened and Harris was standing there, eyepatch and all, in sweats and a t-shirt. His hair, standing up in untamed patches, suggested Will had woken him. “Get out of Africa, they said. Relocate to LA. It's practically home, they said, as if that made for a compelling argument. Why the hell I listened … Sure Angel's left town but now, suddenly, Spike's here, a Spike who's supposed to be dead but I guess I should have known better because when does anybody stay dead.”

Will didn't speak. Harris had called him Spike. Harris did know him. Standing there in the bright lights of the hallway, Will wondered if he shouldn't just turn and run. Harris, there in that dim room, could tell him of his past but what if it wasn't something he wanted to know, what if it was as dark and murky as Harris' room?

Harris gave him a long look-over. “Like the look. Very non-threatening.”

Non-threatening? What did that mean?

“I'm not inviting you in.”

Will's words, the one he spoke to Millay earlier that evening, came back to him: You have no idea what it's like, not knowing who you are.

“Although I guess that won't necessarily keep you out. I mean, hotels, not covered by that whole need an invitation rule are they?”

“I'm not going away.”

Harris rolled his eye toward Heaven as if asking for patience. “You couldn't have come some other time, oh I don't know, possibly high noon when the sun's shining all bright and deadly?”

Was this some type of criminal code? Deadly sunlight? Granted, skin cancer was an issue but that didn't seem to be what Harris meant.

Harris stepped away from the door with a sigh. “Fine, Fangless, come in. You are still fangless, right? Or should I have asked that before the invite?”

Will wasn't sure what Harris was going on about but he wasn't blocking the door so Will went in. It was a typical bland hotel room. The bedding was rumpled, but Will had already figured he'd woken the man.

Harris started in again before Will had worked out what to tell him. “I don't forgive you. I never will. Buffy won't either if that's why you're here. We put up with you because she needed you but that's over and done with. From here on out, we're quits.”

“Forgive me?”

“Not happening, pal.”

“Why would you need to … What did I do?”

Harris' barking laughter had a bitter bite to it. “You still don't get it, do you? Buffy, bruised and bloody on the bathroom floor. Ring a bell?”

Buffy. Harris had mentioned that name before. He'd said she needed you. She. Will could barely stammer out the words. “I hit a woman?”

“Hit? Try rape.”

Harris' words hit him like a punch to the gut. Rape? Will bolted for the door. As he hit the stairwell, he heard Harris call out, something about a mirror, but Will didn't stop to listen.