Authors: cordelianne, reremouse, savoytruffle
Warnings: Inappropriate sex in the face of danger, Terminator references, real men
Summary: Xander's got places to be, things to do. Giles wishes Xander had given the Council a heads up. Spike figures, what the hell, the pay's good and it's not like he's got other plans at the moment.
Note: Now with fantastic movie poster by the talented katekat1010 beneath the cut. Both can be seen here. Thank you, kate!
Previous parts here.
Spike taps his fingernails on the steering wheel – stupid contagious tic – waiting for Harris to elaborate. Of course, the bloody elusive bastard remains silent and peering out the rearview window for their favorite not-a-slayer slayer-like stalker.
The situation’s giving him a headache.
“You know,” Xander turns around. “It’s kinda like we’re in a Terminator movie. If she’d had liquid metals hands to shoot off, it’d be exactly like it.”
Seriously, this what Harris is on about? Spike aims his ‘what the hell are you on, Harris’ look at the git beside him.
It’s a look he’s perfected.
“Maybe even scarier,” Harris continues, ignoring Spike’s look, “Can you shoot and load one-handed? Too bad Linda Hamilton isn’t here.”
“Yeah, she’s hot,” Spike admits.
Okay, that’s it, none of this bullshit evasion anymore.
He pulls into the next motel he sees, and turns to Harris. “’S full disclosure time.”
“To recap,” Spike paces, cigarette in hand. “Beetlejuice is your dumb idea of a funny name for a shrunken head…”
Harris glances back from where he’s keeping watch at the window and nods. The door beside him is blockaded with dressers and chairs.
“And Beetlejuice can take away a slayer’s power?” He crushes the cigarette in an ashtray and lights another one.
“Yep.” Harris runs a hand through his hair. “You know how crafty Beetlejuice is.”
“So you’ve been going around offering slayers what? To destroy their power?”
“Yeah, I’m basically Frodo with the one ring, on a quest to –” At Spike’s eye roll, Harris actually stops. “Well, except for the whole choice thing. That’s what it’s all about: giving the girls the choice whether they want the power they got from Willow’s spell.”
“If the girl gives up the power, it goes into Beetlejuice,” Spike reaches into a pocket, pulls out his flask and takes a long drink, passes it to Harris and returns to pacing, “and then you’re left with something that’s getting increasingly powerful and attracting some scarier-than-Illyria thing that hates me but wants the head.”
Harris flashes him a smile. “Yeah, basically it likes me more than you – but it’s all still big bad news.”
He joins Harris looking out the window at the empty motel parking lot. “Now what?” he asks the lone reflection in the window.
"We could have inappropriate sex in the face of danger," it suggests.
There's no sign of the Slayernator so Spike says, "Yeah, okay." Could use a bloody break from all the fleeing.
They keep their clothes on and frot like madmen.
And when they're lying in a sweaty heap later, Spike says, "I can, you know."
"Can what?" Harris is already casting nervous glances at the window again.
Spike zips his pants and sits up, fumbles a cigarette out of the package and lights up. "Load one handed."
"You're pretty hot, too."
There’s a loud banging at their door. Not a housekeeping knock, a ‘I’m going to bash your door down’ knock.
“Harris, move!” he yells.
Spike heaves the mattress upright to block the window as Harris fumbles with his zipper.
Before Harris has the button buttoned, Spike has grabbed him arm, yanking him to the bathroom. They make their escape out the just-big-enough sized window.
They run to the Hummer and peel out of the parking lot just in time.
Xander has the pedal to the floor. “Where are we going?"
Spike tears open the package that was improbably waiting for him at the motel's check in desk addressed to him. He hooks the headset over his ear and dials Giles. "Cleveland. Real man knows when to ask for help."
Xander's knuckles are white on the wheel. "Ask."
Spike drums his fingers on the seat, waiting for Rupert to pick up the bloody phone when Harris covers them with one big, warm, rough hand.
"Thanks," Harris says. "For - y'know," he gestures back at the motel and Spike's pretty sure he means the sex not the Slayer. "I needed that."