Banner by the marvellous suki_blue. Thank you, hon!
Title: Unfinished Business, Part 4
Summary: What if the amulet was delivered to Xander instead of Angel?
Word count: 357
Disclaimer: These characters belong to Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy and all companies associated with Buffy the Vampire Slayer. They are not mine. I just have more fun with them.
Beta: snowpuppies, only the best bouncer in the world
Posted to: My journal and bloodclaim
Xander grabbed the phone before it could ring again and wake up the sleeping corpse in the barcalounger.
He blearily checked his watch and sighed. His boss was probably wondering why he was an hour late for work. He was indispensible: those planks of wood wouldn’t sand themselves. It’d probably been a bad idea to watch his phantom-y roommate until 5am. An even worse idea to do it while tossing down too many beers. But, hey, he had a right to be nervous.
The stripey chair hadn't worked out; apparently, Spike's attachment to hideous orange furniture was deep-seated. No pun intended. Spike had sunk in once or twice but always popped up again, the platinum blond head and bare feet the only things showing for several terrifying minutes at a time. His ass had scraped the floor but didn’t disappear through, at least. Old Lady might be okay with a ghost dropping through her ceiling once, but making a habit of it seemed like a really crap idea. Some things weren't easy to explain. Speaking of which...
Fumbling the phone to his ear, he coughed into the mouthpiece pathetically.
Putting on his very best croak, Xander replied, “Hi, Ernie. Sorry. I’ve been meaning to call. ‘Fraid I won’t be coming in today.” He coughed again.
His acting must’ve been Oscar-worthy because Ernie swallowed every gravelly word and told him to keep warm and come back when he was over the strep throat. He knew all that practice at bunking off school would come in handy one day.
“Not bad, boy. You have a future in lying through your teeth. And a past.”
Xander jumped and yelped. “Don’t sneak up like that! Clear your throat or something.”
“Ain’t got a throat to clear. Ghost, remember?”
“It’s not easy to forget. You want coffee? I’m a bit short of O-neg.”
At Spike’s nod, Xander made a pot, swigged down a couple of Advil with his first cup, then handed Spike a mugful. He watched in horror as the liquid sloshed straight through Spike and formed a brown puddle on the kitchen linoleum.
“Oh, fuck,” they sighed in unison.