"This is lame," Xander announced.
"Got that right," Spike said.
"Why can't Angel get his stupid packages himself? What's Giles doing being Angel's receiving service? And how come we're the ones that have to deliver the box? Do you realize how stupid we look trolley-ing this thing through the streets on a hand-cart?"
Spike sighed and shrugged further into his coat. "Look, we'll drop the big bad box off, then I can go get my blood at your place and you can go back to wallowing in that sad existence that you're calling a life these days."
"My life is not sad," Xander said with a frown.
"Got no bint. Not getting sex. Get fired every other week. Live in a glorified laundry room." Spike paused as he counted off the first four items on his hand, then brightened when he thought of the last. "Got no style whatsoever."
"Shows how much you know," Xander retorted. "I've had the same job for a couple of months now, and at the end of the month I'm moving in to a new place.
Signed the lease a week ago. Bye bye basement; hello semi-swanky bachelor pad."
"Cheeky!" Spike said. He grinned at Xander and tapped a cigarette out of its carton. "Moving on up then, are we? Won't forget about your old buddy Spike when you're tacking up your miserable comic book paraphernalia on the white walls of that soulless new apartment unit?"
"Whatever," Xander muttered. "At least I'm not living in a crypt."
Spike raised his eyebrows and wagged his tongue at Xander. "Hurt, really, I'm hurt that you can't drum up a better comeback than that."
Xander shot him a look, and Spike drew on his cigarette merrily as they finished the walk to the mansion in silence.
"End of the line," Xander said finally when they got to the steps leading down to the courtyard. "Either we lift the trolley or we carry the thing down by hand."
Spike cocked his head at the box. "Let's give it a go carrying it. Faster that way."
"Okay," Xander said, snapping the cords securing the box to the hand cart off. "Ready?"
"Yeah," Spike said through the cigarette dangling out of his mouth. "Heave . . ."
"Ho," Xander finished.
They lifted up the box rapidly and stumbled back, ending up sprawled on the pavement with the offending item on the ground between them.
"Hey!" Xander cried indignantly.
Spike rubbed his elbow and grabbed his still-lit cigarette from where it had landed, shoving it impatiently back into his mouth.
Xander pointed at the box and sputtered. "That doesn't weigh anything at all!"
Spike curled his lips in derision. "Thanks ever so for stating the obvious."
"The hell? Why the big production with the cart?"
Spike shrugged.
"This is nuts," Xander said. "I can carry that thing down there by myself."
"Yeah, but maybe I'm here to make sure the beasties don't get you," Spike said with a twinkle in his eye.
"Look, just wait here, okay?" Xander lifted the extremely-light box up and trudged down the stairs. Spike just grinned and followed at his heels.
Xander set the box down and rapped at the door. Nothing. "Geez, he isn't even there. For all that, he's probably out of town or something, and this whole stupid trek -- aaaarrggghhh!!" he shouted when Spike tapped him on the shoulder suddenly. "Don't you ever follow directions?"
"Step aside while I open the door," Spike advised coolly.
"Fine. Guess we can just leave it here. Giles didn't say anything about a person-to-vampire delivery, so . . ." Xander muttered as he followed Spike inside. He set the box on the floor and brushed his hands off. "All right. Let's get out of here."
Spike toed the box with interest. "Aren't curious about what's inside?"
"No," Xander said, but he paused before he got the word out.
"Wonder if it's some sort of cape," Spike mused. "Can picture Angel swooping around here all by his lonesome, baring his fangs at motes of dust. Cape'd be light."
"And thank you for that nightmare image. It's probably nothing. Literally nothing, since it doesn't weigh more than the cardboard," Xander said firmly.
"Nothing, eh?" Spike ran a finger along the seam of the box. "No harm in opening it up then, is it?"
"Maybe," Xander said. He took a step closer to the box and Spike.
"Come on, then," Spike said. He grabbed Xander's hand and pulled him closer to the box. "We'll open it together. Go halves on anything worth taking."
"Not going to be anything to take," Xander insisted, but he skimmed his hand over the top and watched Spike expectantly.
"See, it's not even properly closed," Spike argued. Xander took a look at the heavily taped box with DO NOT OPEN written all over it and raised both eyebrows.
"There'd be a proper lock on it, and a tougher material than this, if it was something really dangerous," Spike explained.
"That does make sense," Xander said slowly. His hand went to his pocket and came out with a round of utility tape. "And I've got this -- forgot that I snagged it from work -- so we can shut it up again."
"There you go," Spike concluded. Xander took out his pocket knife, and Spike shook his hand to turn fingernails into talons, and they sliced the tape sealing the box quickly, meeting halfway and opening it the cardboard flaps together.
"Holy --"
"Christ --"
They looked at the box and then at each other.
"It's a bit of fluff," Spike said disbelievingly.
"Like a big ball of cotton-fluff," Xander agreed. "And . . . a bunch of glitter?"
"Sparklies," Spike confirmed. They looked at one another for a long moment, then burst out laughing.
"Is Angel going to make some . . . arts-and-crafts paper heart . . . with that . . . stuff?" Xander gasped out.
"What a sad sod!" Spike crowed.
"Maybe it's to get Buffy to be his . . . Valentine," Xander got out, and they laughed so hard that they held on to one another.
Spike wiped his eyes and Xander shook his head as they wound down. They grinned at each other while Xander taped the box back up nice and tight, and traipsed out into the night, occasionally lapsing into loud snorts and guffaws and leaning on one another for support.
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Archive/Distribution: At my site, http://www.geocities.com/entrenous88/ soonish and at list archives. Anywhere else, please ask first.
Disclaimer: All Btvs and Ats characters belong to Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy and affiliated production companies. I do not profit from this story in any way. No infringement is intended. The story, however, does belong to me.