FIC: Xander Harris versus Destiny (3/?) (Mature)
Title: Xander Harris versus Destiny (3/?)
Authors: cordelianne, reremouse, savoytruffle
Pairing: Spike/Xander
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Excessive sweat, inappropriate guffaws, cheap tequila
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.
THANK YOU: And a special thank you to katekat1010 for making two fabulous movie posters for this fic!! You will find one below the cut. Both can be seen here.
Previous parts can be found here.
Sweat rolls down Xander’s back, mocking him.
He’s going with Plan B next time.
So what if Tijuana’s like three thousand miles closer than Indiana?
Subterfuge has never been Xander’s forte.
The car in front of him pulls up to the booth and now it’s just Xander waiting at the line.
The sweat has spread to his face now and his palms are clammy and he’s sure he looks guilty as hell. He reaches for the towel in the passenger seat but then the car in front of him drives off and he’d better go because he doesn’t want to look like he’s hesitating.
Guilty people hesitate, right?
Or do they not hesitate?
Maybe he should have hesitated, but it’s too late now because he’s already at the booth and the sweat is rolling down every conceivable part of his body and now his clothes are gonna be all damp when he spends the night sleeping in them on the dirt floor of the dingy border jail they’re going to toss him in, along with the drug mules.
Like that time in Algeria.
You’d think he’d have gotten better at this.
But you’d be wrong.
He needs an excuse - quick.
“No air conditioning,” he says, gesturing wildly about the car with one hand as the other grips the wheel. “Stupid piece of sh-crap,” he says at the last moment. Can they arrest you for swearing?
He lets out of laugh that’s more of a bark - too loud and too short.
The man in the mirrored glasses doesn’t respond. He holds out a large and judgmental hand. “Passport?”
Xander hands it over, running through his lie again and again in his head.
Shit, it’s never going to work. He looks too old. He’s got lines of his face. Not to mention the lack of an eye. Do old guys with eye patches even go to college?
Xander doubts it.
If they do, you sure don’t see them on TV.
Pirate college, maybe.
Xander’s on the verge of another inappropriate guffaw when the border guard hands back the passport.
“Purpose of your visit?”
Xander swallows the guffaw.
It’s all Buffy’s fault, he decides.
She may have taught him how to kill a Kushtik demon, but she couldn’t lie worth shit.
And now he can’t either.
“Just heading down for Spring Break,” Xander says. It doesn’t seem like enough. “You know…uh…chicks…tequila…” Or maybe that’s not the kind of thing you say to a border guard. “I mean, um…good clean fun in the sun…. With my friends.” Xander glances around his empty car. “Who are…um…already down there. Waiting. I was just, you know, writing a…”
And then Xander’s mind goes completely blank. The hamster wheel has stopped spinning. What do people write in college again? Essays? Book reports? That doesn’t sound right.
He glances up, hoping maybe the guard knows and will finish his sentence.
At which point Xander notices that the guard is waving him through.
Possibly has been for a few seconds now.
And probably stopped listening to Xander a few seconds before that.
The guard’s starting to frown now.
Xander hits the gas too hard and the car jumps forward.
He tosses a sheepish grin back toward the frowning guard but the guard’s not frowning anymore or even paying attention to Xander at all.
He’s moved on to the next car.
Which, Xander notices, is full of college kids.
Heading down for Spring Break.
Xander watches in the rearview mirror as the kids flash their passports and the guard waves them through.
Spike taps his glass on the bar.
It’s full of tequila again within seconds.
Spike raises he glass to the bartender before tossing back the shot.
Cheap liquor, no wait, no limit.
He thinks he could get used to this.
Especially since he’s still got the Council credit card, but he no longer has Giles looking - well, listening - over his shoulder.
Of course he can’t take a step in any direction without tripping over a raucous and randy college student.
Which might have been fun back when he could eat them.
These days, it’s just really bloody irritating.
And, really, what’s the point of cheap liquor when you’ve got the Council credit card?
Spike taps his glass on the bar again, but holds up a hand when the bartender goes to refill it. He points to the wall behind the bartender, toward the high shelf where the good stuff sits.
The bartender smiles.
Spike turns on his stool and scans the beach behind him as he waits for the bartender to fetch his new drink.
It only takes a minute to find Xander. He’s standing by a fire pit, chatting up some birds.
Spike never would have figured Harris for a Spring Break type of bloke.
At least not these days.
But, then, what does Spike really know about Harris these days anyway?
Authors: cordelianne, reremouse, savoytruffle
Pairing: Spike/Xander
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Excessive sweat, inappropriate guffaws, cheap tequila
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.
THANK YOU: And a special thank you to katekat1010 for making two fabulous movie posters for this fic!! You will find one below the cut. Both can be seen here.
Previous parts can be found here.
Sweat rolls down Xander’s back, mocking him.
He’s going with Plan B next time.
So what if Tijuana’s like three thousand miles closer than Indiana?
Subterfuge has never been Xander’s forte.
The car in front of him pulls up to the booth and now it’s just Xander waiting at the line.
The sweat has spread to his face now and his palms are clammy and he’s sure he looks guilty as hell. He reaches for the towel in the passenger seat but then the car in front of him drives off and he’d better go because he doesn’t want to look like he’s hesitating.
Guilty people hesitate, right?
Or do they not hesitate?
Maybe he should have hesitated, but it’s too late now because he’s already at the booth and the sweat is rolling down every conceivable part of his body and now his clothes are gonna be all damp when he spends the night sleeping in them on the dirt floor of the dingy border jail they’re going to toss him in, along with the drug mules.
Like that time in Algeria.
You’d think he’d have gotten better at this.
But you’d be wrong.
He needs an excuse - quick.
“No air conditioning,” he says, gesturing wildly about the car with one hand as the other grips the wheel. “Stupid piece of sh-crap,” he says at the last moment. Can they arrest you for swearing?
He lets out of laugh that’s more of a bark - too loud and too short.
The man in the mirrored glasses doesn’t respond. He holds out a large and judgmental hand. “Passport?”
Xander hands it over, running through his lie again and again in his head.
Shit, it’s never going to work. He looks too old. He’s got lines of his face. Not to mention the lack of an eye. Do old guys with eye patches even go to college?
Xander doubts it.
If they do, you sure don’t see them on TV.
Pirate college, maybe.
Xander’s on the verge of another inappropriate guffaw when the border guard hands back the passport.
“Purpose of your visit?”
Xander swallows the guffaw.
It’s all Buffy’s fault, he decides.
She may have taught him how to kill a Kushtik demon, but she couldn’t lie worth shit.
And now he can’t either.
“Just heading down for Spring Break,” Xander says. It doesn’t seem like enough. “You know…uh…chicks…tequila…” Or maybe that’s not the kind of thing you say to a border guard. “I mean, um…good clean fun in the sun…. With my friends.” Xander glances around his empty car. “Who are…um…already down there. Waiting. I was just, you know, writing a…”
And then Xander’s mind goes completely blank. The hamster wheel has stopped spinning. What do people write in college again? Essays? Book reports? That doesn’t sound right.
He glances up, hoping maybe the guard knows and will finish his sentence.
At which point Xander notices that the guard is waving him through.
Possibly has been for a few seconds now.
And probably stopped listening to Xander a few seconds before that.
The guard’s starting to frown now.
Xander hits the gas too hard and the car jumps forward.
He tosses a sheepish grin back toward the frowning guard but the guard’s not frowning anymore or even paying attention to Xander at all.
He’s moved on to the next car.
Which, Xander notices, is full of college kids.
Heading down for Spring Break.
Xander watches in the rearview mirror as the kids flash their passports and the guard waves them through.
Spike taps his glass on the bar.
It’s full of tequila again within seconds.
Spike raises he glass to the bartender before tossing back the shot.
Cheap liquor, no wait, no limit.
He thinks he could get used to this.
Especially since he’s still got the Council credit card, but he no longer has Giles looking - well, listening - over his shoulder.
Of course he can’t take a step in any direction without tripping over a raucous and randy college student.
Which might have been fun back when he could eat them.
These days, it’s just really bloody irritating.
And, really, what’s the point of cheap liquor when you’ve got the Council credit card?
Spike taps his glass on the bar again, but holds up a hand when the bartender goes to refill it. He points to the wall behind the bartender, toward the high shelf where the good stuff sits.
The bartender smiles.
Spike turns on his stool and scans the beach behind him as he waits for the bartender to fetch his new drink.
It only takes a minute to find Xander. He’s standing by a fire pit, chatting up some birds.
Spike never would have figured Harris for a Spring Break type of bloke.
At least not these days.
But, then, what does Spike really know about Harris these days anyway?