Happy Thanksgiving to all the Americans out there! I hope you have a wonderful day, eat lots of yummy food … and hopefully have time to read some fic! *g*

It’s my day at fall_for_sx again, which means I’m posting the final chapters of It’s Not. If you missed the previous chapters, all the chapters are here. It also lives in tags here.

Title: It’s Not
Author: cordelianne
Chapter: 4/5
Pairing: Spike/Xander
Rating: R
Word Count: 1,640
Feedback: Yes please. Concrit is very welcome by email.
Disclaimer: Sadly not mine, Joss own them.
Summary: He wonders if Harris does that back in Cleveland. Day after day driving the same route, buying coffee from the same place, grocery shopping on Saturday, laundry on Sunday or whatever the fuck normal people do. Boring as hell, if hell were actually boring.
A/N: Thanks to spikedluv and truly_tazi for being such fabulous mods and for the opportunity to participate in fall_for_sx.
Thanks to the completely awesome and wonderful savoytruffle and spookymonkey for their invaluable pre-reading, betaing and support. Any mistakes are mine.

Previously…
Xander’s just feeling.

It’s fucking incredible.

Spike’s hand wraps around Xander’s dick and the sensation’s too much. He comes. Far off in the distance he feels Spike thrusting a few more times and then coming with him.

As Xander fades into sleep he realizes he hasn’t set the alarm. Again.

And he just can’t make himself care.

It’s Not
by Cordelianne

CHAPTER FOUR


The freeway stretches out in front of him. There are a couple of cars ahead, but he’ll leave them in the dust.

Spike turns up the Ramones, hits the gas and laughs. Those suburban suckers are sitting in a sea of SUVs and minivans, not moving, as they flee the city.

Spike’s going the opposite direction.

He wonders if Harris does that back in Cleveland. Day after day driving the same route, buying coffee from the same place, grocery shopping on Saturday, laundry on Sunday or whatever the fuck normal people do. Boring as hell, if hell were actually boring. That must explain Harris’ sudden interest in gay sex. But he’s not thinking about Harris. Harris leads to Sunnydale and that leads to Buffy. Spike’s been avoiding Buffy for a couple of years now and that’s working out for him. It’s how he wants it to stay.

He pulls up in front of a boarded up and graffitied former office building, now home to rats, squatters and Esanthal demons. He grabs an axe from under the seat and hopes Angel’s sources can be trusted.

He kicks the door in. The air is thick with piss, rot and blood.

Time to do his thing.

***

The motel’s a step up from the abandoned building, but not by much. Spike tries to care, but can’t. He falls onto the bed and turns on the TV.

He flicks past sitcoms and game shows, settles on a teen show. He gets caught up in the story even though it’s basically the same as other episodes he’s seen. There’s cheating, sex and angst. In other words, good TV.

Just when the fresh-faced blonde is about to choose between two identical looking blokes, Spike’s cell rings.

He flips it open with a scowl. “This better be important, big guy.”

“You think I call for fun?” Spike hears Angel sigh. “Just checking if you’re okay.”

He mutes the TV. “Yeah. The Esanthals on the other hand ...”

“Good.”

He waits for Angel to say more because he doesn’t normally check up on Spike. But Angel doesn’t say anything. Just sits there like an unhelpful blob on the other end of the line.

“Right,” Spike says. “’M in the middle of something so why – ”

“One Tree Hill?”

“Fuck off.”

“It’s a rerun. She doesn’t choose either of them.”

“Yeah?” Spike sits up and pulls out a cigarette.

“She says she needs space and some of that other empowering stuff.”

“She evolve in one episode?” Spike slips his lighter back into his pocket and inhales, savoring the tobacco.

“The next week she starts dating the new guy.”

Spike exhales. “That wanker. Hate him.”

“Yeah.” Angel returns to his annoying silence.

“Listen –”

“Did you see Buffy?” Angel gets it out quick, as if trying to avoid getting an answer he doesn’t want to hear.

“Steered clear.”

He hears Angel’s soft exhale. “Good.”

“Saw Harris.”

“Xander?”

“Yeah. Stayed with him. Nice place if you like beige. But better than a crap-ass motel.”

“Mine has a mini bar.”

“Bet it’s still crap-ass.”

“No, it’s … okay, yes. But the alcohol helps.”

Spike shifts the phone to his shoulder and pulls out his flask. He raises it as if he’s toasting the Queen. “Right you are, big guy.”

He takes a good long drink.

***

The shade of the I-55 rest stop outside Memphis is a good enough place to wait out the daylight. Necro-tempered cars can only take him so far.

He watches frazzled parents open their car doors and let their kids run free. One of them, a boy with an afro, runs over to Spike’s car and peers in at Spike who has his foot stuck out the window. The kid’s small enough that he can barely see into the car.

“You can’t drive like that.” The kid frowns, hands on hips. “Put your foot back in the car.”

Ballsy kid, Spike muses with appreciation. “Not driving.”

“But you’re in a car.”

Can’t fight the logic. “Got me there, kid.”

“Marty, get over here!” His mother shepherds the kid away.

Buffy would be that kind of mom. Not let her tyke talk to strangers and teach it how to be tough. Course she’s probably not ready for mother stuff yet. Or maybe she is. It’s not like Spike knows.

He’s not supposed to be thinking of the slayer. It must be the crosses everywhere. He can’t wait to leave the South.

Spike never should have stayed with Harris, it's not helping him forget about her. Just giving him something else he needs to forget. Not that the sex was bad …

The thought’s enough to get him reaching for his flask.

***

Back on the road he passes a seventy-foot replica of the Statue of Liberty, clutching a bible with one hand and holding up a cross with the other.

Good to know the people of Tennessee have their priorities straight.

He spots an open liquor store and makes a U-turn. Better restock – place like this, they probably don’t sell spirits on Sundays.

He reaches for the whiskey he drank with Harris, stops, and grabs another brand instead.

Bloody South, Spike decides.

***

When the demons he and Angel are tracking head to Cleveland – hellmouths are like magnets for baddies – Spike surprises himself by volunteering. Angel’s only too happy to keep avoiding the city.

The gray sky and banks of snow have him reconsidering his dislike of the South. And the salt’ll ruin his boots.

He finds himself turning onto Buffy’s street and doesn’t know why he’s here. Or what he’ll do.

Spike just couldn’t resist – not a second time – following the directions Angel had given him. In case you want to see her, Angel had said, pain in his eyes. Spike had crumpled up the paper and stuffed it deep in his duster pocket. And not removed it until today. He blames the snow, it brings out his romantic side – something else he’d shoved deep inside.

He parks a few houses away. The light from her front window shines onto the snow-covered lawn.

Spike smokes a cigarette and watches. He sees no one.

He finishes his second cigarette and tosses it out the window. It’s red against the snow for a moment and then snuffs out. It lands beside his first one. Spike starts up the car.

No way in hell is he becoming that loser again.

His car skids as he drives away.

***

Harris’ shoulders are hunched. The McDonald's bag swings in his hand like he’s forgotten it’s there. He stops when he sees Spike and gives him that same confused look from last time.

“Not expecting to see me again?” He sidles up to Harris. “Or do you think I’m not real? Been fantasizing about me?”

Harris snorts. “You really know how to get on a guy’s good side.”

But he opens the door. Lets Spike in.

They skip the foreplay. The McDonald’s bag falls to the floor.

Harris is bent over the table. Pants around his ankles. Gasping.

Gasping and pushing back. Spike fucks him harder.

He comes, grabbing Harris’ hand.

***

Spike sits straight up in bed. Reaches for his weapon, but it’s not there. He’s at Harris’. In Harris’ bed.

Beside Harris.

The boy twists and moans, and not in the good way. Spike watches him until there’s a sob. He shakes Harris.

“Harris. Wake up.” The twisting continues. “Harris. Xander.”

Eye flies open. The familiar stunned look greets Spike.

“Alright?” he asks, grabbing his cigarettes.

No response. He inhales on the cigarette, offers it to Harris who shakes his head, but a second later takes it, inhales and coughs.

Harris stops coughing and they share the cigarette back and forth.

“Are you –” Spike starts.

“I’m ready for sleep.” Harris rolls over.

Okay, boy doesn’t want to talk. Spike gets that. He sinks back into the bed, welcoming the blankness of sleep.

He’s drifting off, thinking of how he’ll kill the demons when he hears a quiet Thanks.

***

That’s it. Never again is he volunteering for something just so Angel can avoid an old flame. The blood pooling out of the cut on his side makes him wish he hadn’t decided to fight the good fight. Being a bloody hero can be bloody awful.

He stumbles into Harris’ apartment. Harris pauses with fork half-way to his mouth and glances at Spike. “Spike. You look horrible.” He returns his attention to the food.

Spike wants to be annoyed that Harris won’t really look at him, but his actual pain in the side is distracting. He collapses on the couch and manages, “Thanks for the concern.”

“What?” Harris actually looks at him for more than a second. “Are you – wait, are you bleeding on my couch?”

“Hope so.” Spike glares at Harris.

“Oh!” Harris jumps up. “I’ll get bandages.”

“While you’re at it, get me some back-up too. There’s still 3 more demons need killing.”

Harris stops. “I’ll call Buffy.”

“No.”

“No? That’s just silly, we –”

“No.”

Harris crosses his arms. “Listen. I’ll call her. Give her the info.” Spike wishes he was evil so he could kill Harris just to stop the you’re an idiot tone. “This way you can continue to hide out and be avoidance guy.”

“No. No contact with the slayer.”

“You do remember that there’s more than one now, right?”

“Just need back-up. You’ll do.”

“Me?” Harris actually sounds surprised.

“Yeah. Why not? Could use a good laugh.” Spike presses his hand on the cut.

“Wow, I feel so needed. I can see why you and Angel work alone.” Harris turns and goes into the bathroom.

He returns a moment later and tosses some gauze at Spike. It lands on his stomach. “Alright I’ll help. But only ‘cause you asked so nice. And I’m driving.”



Continues here.