Title:  Home Improvement

Author:  Miss Murchison

Rating: PG. 

Disclaimer:  All characters are the property of Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, etc.  Only the lame plots and dialogue herein are mine.

Notes:   Written in response to a challenge by Devil Piglet, who wanted stories about Spike and Xander as roommates. 

I swear I actually saw the bit of home decorating referred to here in S7.  Maybe I'm just delusional, but . . .

"Damn," said Xander, grimacing at the TV.  "You're not watching that again, are you?  What's the fascination of a bunch of insane interior decorators with a bizarre fixation on the color orange?"

Spike didn't take his eyes off Hildy's latest tour de force on Trading Spaces.  "They always call it pumpkin or tangerine or something and insist it's bloody well not orange."

            "It's orange," said Xander positively.  "Pumpkins are orange, tangerines are . . ."

            Spike leaned forward.  "Balls, what is that bitch gluing to the wall?"

            "I think that's hay.  Hay on the walls.  I can't believe she gets to be a TV star doing that.  I've done better stuff than that to fix up this place since Anya moved out."

            Spike's eyes were drawn involuntarily to the wall next to him.  "Yeah," he said, in his best sarcastic tone. "Hanging up your tools in the living room reeks of style."

            Xander was offended. "That pegboard is practical and decorative," he said.  "I like looking at tools, and they're handy when I need them."

            For once, Spike was at a loss for words, but his expression spoke volumes.

            "Well, I suppose you could do better!" said Xander.

            "Compared to this place, my crypt looked like a spread for Architectural Digest.  Well, it did until Buffy and the overgrown Boy Scout blew it up.  And I didn't have any money to fix it up."

            "No, you had to get by with what you stole," said Xander, trying for some sarcasm of his own.

            "At least I didn't steal kitsch," said Spike.  "And look at the rest of the walls!  What's not in bad taste is bland as hell.  You need some color in here."

            Xander was about to snap back a retort when he took a good look around.  "You have a point there.  I mean, the place came painted like this, but it is kind of bland."

            "Wouldn't take much to liven it up."

            "No," said Xander.  "Trip to the hardware store, couple of cans of paint . . ."

            "Bet K-Mart's having a fire sale," suggested Spike.  "Your choice of orange, cheap at the price of a donation to Martha Stewart's legal fund.  Tangerine, burnt ochre, raw sienna . . ."

            " . . .apricot, marigold, peach," contributed Xander.  "Or some other not-bland not-orange color.  We'll have to get other supplies too.  To do the job right, we'll have to tape, and put down tarps, and we'll need the right brushes and cleaners . . ."

            They looked at each other.  "Or we could microwave dinner and watch The Osbornes," suggested Spike.  "I've decided that tool set has artistic merit after all.  It's a functional collage reflective of your working class values."

            Fifteen minutes later, Spike grimaced at the set.  "Ozzy's sniffing the dogs' butts again," he said.  "Puts me off my blood, watching that bloke."

            Sighing, Xander reached for the remote.

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