Title: Murder at the Neptune Express
Pairing: Spike/Xander, Logan/Weevil (eventually)
Word Count: 869
Feedback: Yes please! Concrit is very welcome by email.
Disclaimer: Sadly not mine, Joss and Rob Thomas own them.
Summary: This is set in the summer of 2005, after season one of Veronica Mars and 2 years after BtVS ended (one year after AtS ended).
Spike and Xander are a couple when the story starts and are both working with Buffy, Giles and the other slayers and watchers, etc. They go to Neptune to investigate some suspicious reports.
A/N: Thanks to the completely awesome and wonderful savoytruffle and spookymonkey for the invaluable betas. Any mistakes are mine.
For previous chapters go here.
Murder at the Neptune Express
“Are you sure this’ll work?”
Xander shifted from foot to foot, and looked over his shoulder for the twentieth time in the last five minutes. Spike glanced up at him from his crouch beside the glass door he was trying to open with a credit card.
“Done this plenty. It’ll be fine.”
“But don’t these fancy houses have lots of security and alarms?” Xander whipped his head around to check for salivating guard dogs.
“That’s why I slammed against the door first.” Spike was doing his I’m spelling this out cause you’re an idiot voice, which Xander pretended to ignore. “If the security system was on that would have set it off.”
“Oh. I thought you were trying to break the door down.”
Spike shrugged. “Would have been easier that way. Faster than this.”
“Geez, you’d think that people would have their houses secured to the max after what’s happened.” Xander shook his head.
“People are idiots.” Spike jiggled the door hard, there was a click and it opened.
“Wow, I’m so impressed that worked! You’re definitely getting sex later.”
“Was that ever in question?” Spike peered inside. “Okay, be quick. Grab any clues you can find and get out.”
“Right now I hate the random rule that vamps need to be invited to enter a house. Who made that up anyway?”
“Now you see why I keep you around.” Spike pulled Xander close and kissed him, running his hands along Xander’s back. “You’ll be fine. And I’ll be right here.”
Next thing Xander knew he was inside the darkened living room. He clutched his flashlight for moral support, maneuvering blindly around the furniture towards a hallway that looked like it might lead to bedrooms.
His heart was pounding so hard, he was sure it would have set off the alarm system if it had been on. He felt like he was sweating everywhere and tightened his grip on the flashlight to avoid any dropping incidents.
Why did James Bond never look like he was even the tiniest bit nervous when he did things like this? Why couldn’t Xander be that cool? He tried to channel Bond’s suaveness but all he could think was Shaken not stirred, a thought that told him a lot more about the state of his own stomach than it did about successful stealth.
The first several rooms proved unhelpful and oddly empty of any personal objects, as if no one really lived here. Xander was starting to feel even less suave when something further down the hall caught his eye. Shining his flashlight on the door illuminated a nameplate with Trina’s Domicile on it. Tacky and Paris Hilton-like? Sure. But as obvious as a neon sign, so therefore good? Oh yeah.
In contrast to the other rooms, this one was brimming with stuff. It seemed strange for a girl who’d just returned home for a short visit. He closed the door behind him and shone his flashlight around the room.
Xander scanned the piles of clothes that littered the floor and sighed. He decided to check any bag and purse he could find and focus on the tops of the dressers. They were cluttered with make-up and other things Xander thought of as “girly stuff.” He picked up any papers that were lying around and stuffed them in his pockets. He even cleverly riffled through the trashcan.
He vowed to never to look through a girl’s garbage again.
Satisfied he’d done a thorough search and hopeful that his pockets contained many leads, he opened the door.
“Of all the gin joints in all the towns in all the world, he walks into mine. Except, wait, who the hell are you?"
Xander wondered if this was what having a heart attack felt like: your heart trying to break free from your chest and take off down the hall.
The source of Xander’s heart attack had one hand clenched into a fist and the other gripping his phone.
Xander held his hands up. “It would be great if you didn’t hit me. I’m actually here to help.”
“Right. You burglars are so considerate. You’re really here to de-clutter my house, right?”
“Trina’s room’s the only one with clutter. From what I saw the rest of the house has been cleaned out. It’s like a ghost town, well a ghost house I guess.” When in trouble, Xander went with an old standby: babbling. “Not that I think there’s actual ghosts here or anything. It just feels like a tumbleweed might roll down this hallway at any moment.”
A frown passed over the guy’s face.
“Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t have already called the cops.”
“They can’t help you find Trina. I can.”
“How do you know Trina?”
“I don’t, but I think I know who has her.”
“I’m really not worried about my sister, she’ll turn up soon enough. She’s probably just off living it up.” The guy swept his arm in the air in a half-dramatic, half-dismissive gesture. “Having the time of her life.”
“There are no big dance numbers for her.” Xander decided to try the eye contact thing. “Trust me on this, if we don’t find her soon she’ll be dead.”