A/N: Hope we get a few more people reading *this* time around :OI It's gonna get good, believe you me; just stick it out while I muck through the exposition.

Dedication: This chapter is to Rainyday88, thank you so much for your continued support! I can't tell you how much it means to me :O)




Anya and Spike spend most of the day in bed catching up on sleep and other activities that have been neglected over the past two days. It's not until nearly four thirty in the afternoon that they finally peel themselves off the mattress and get ready to head back out on the road. Anya gets up from the bed and wraps herself in a sheet, leaving Spike naked on top of the comforter. He groans as the cold air hits him.

"Where're you going, luv?"

"To take a shower," she replies. "We're going to have to leave soon, and I'm not spending another two days in the car without practicing some basic hygiene. I feel like a giant sweaty foot."

"Interesting analogy."

"Thank you. Now you get up, too. If we're not gone by six they'll charge us for another night. I don't know if we have enough cash for that."

He frowns. "Haven't you called Tara yet to let her know where to deposit your money?"

She nods. "Yes, but have you seen any banks around here? No. We're in the middle of East Bumfuck. I haven't even seen a *cow* since yesterday morning."

He gives her an amused look, then holds his hand out to her. She takes it and he pulls her back down on top of him, wrapping his arms around her waist so she can't wiggle away. "Hey," he says. "I'm sorry we have to be here."

She raises an eyebrow. "It's not your fault. It's not like you made all that unpleasant stuff happen."

He shrugs. "I know, but I'm... sorry. Things would be better if we hadn't had to leave."

"They would," she agrees, not in the mood to dwell. "But we can't do anything about it now. No use crying over spilt milk, you know. We'll just have to make the best of this little euphemism of a trip we're on; see the sights, paint the town red, do the deed, and all those other curious expressions I don't understand. Now really, kiss me and let's get up. We have an hour and a half."

****************

Spike leaves Anya to gather up the few things they brought with them into the motel while he goes to the office to check out.

The office is a room just a tiny bit bigger than their motel room, and only two doors down from it. The awning over the entrance is frayed and weather-beaten, and Spike is careful to avoid the spots of fading sunlight penetrating the weak material. An annoyingly tinny bell clatters above the door as he pushes it open and enters. He's greeted by the smell of stale smoke and dead plants, and a greasy-haired, college-aged clerk behind the desk wearing an impish expression and a nametag that reads "Louis".

Spike ambles up to the desk and slaps the key down. "Room 5," he says.

Louis looks blankly at the key, then at Spike, and asks, "What's wrong with it?"

Spike raises an eyebrow, effectively communicating the fact that already he thinks this guy is a moron. "Nothing," he annunciates. "I want to *check out*."

The blank stare remains for a second before Louis slides the key off the desk and hangs it on a pegboard under a piece of masking tape with "6" haphazardly scrawled on it. "All set, man."

Spike fixes the seemingly retarded clerk with a harsh stare. "Deposit?"

Louis nods. "Yeah, me too."

This totally unrelated comment throws Spike off for a moment. "No," he says. His temper is starting to wear thin. "I need my bloody deposit. Twenty dollars."

"Ohhhh. Gotcha." Louis fumbles with the cash register until the drawer opens, then takes out two tens and hands them to Spike.

"Nice to see you can count," Spike muses, and pockets the money. "Now do you have any maps? You know, big pieces of paper with the names of roads written on them?"

"Dude, I know what a map is," Louis tells him indignantly.

"Good for you. Do you have any?"

Louis reaches under the counter and produces a brochure-format one. "Two bucks."

Before he hands him the money, Spike asks, "How about smokes?"

The clerk's mouth turns up in a goofy grin. "I knew it, man!" he exclaims. "Ya just seemed like the type. Wait here, I'll be right back." Louis disappears into the back room for several seconds, then emerges with a small baggie. "Here ya go."

Spike picks the baggie up and examines the contents. In place of the cigarettes he expected to find are six joints, all hand-rolled. He puts the baggie back down and glares at Louis. "I meant cigarettes, you bloody pillock, not marijuana! I can't use these."

His grin broadens. "'Course ya can! Everyone can use a little Mary J. Ya smoke it like a cigarette, only ya hold the smoke in your lungs longer. It'll be good for ya, help ya relax."

"No, *Louis*, it really won't," Spike says, overpronouncing his name. "Marijuana has no effect on me."

"Ooooh. You're into the hardcore stuff, huh? Well, I don't have any of that, but I know a guy down the street ya could get some from."

Spike snorts and shakes his head, about to lose it. "You don't seem to understand," he hisses. "No drugs have any sort of effect on me. And do you want to know why?"

Louis shrugs. "Okay."

Spike looks down at the ground for a second, then back up at Louis.

In full game face.

"What the fuck?!?!" the clerk yells, lunging backwards into the wall. "What the hell are you?!?!"

"I'm dead. Drugs don't do anything to dead people," Spike tells him, sneering threateningly. "But dead people can do a lot of damage to idiot desk clerks on drugs. So what I'd *really* like right now is a pack of cigarettes so I can go get my lady friend and get out of here. Do you think you can handle that?"

Shaking, Louis nods and reaches into the front pocket of his flannel shirt, then throws a pack across the counter to Spike. "H-here! And t-take the m-map, too."

Spike takes the goods and then shakes his head, his human features sliding back into place. He gives Louis a big smile. "Thank you. You've been ever so helpful."

****************

Anya and Spike leave the motel in a hurry. They throw their bags into the car and take off, heading eastbound on the desolate stretch of highway that runs through Windcrest Township. Anya is silent, trying to decide whether she's angry at Spike for going all vampy on the clerk or amused at his short-fused antics. Either way, her giddy orgasmic energy has subsided now that they're back on the road.

Spike glances over at her, she feels his eyes on her but doesn't move. "Whatsa matter, luv?"

She shrugs. "I'm just not particularly looking forward to another X number of days in the car. It gets very boring very quickly. No offense."

"None taken," he says. "Doesn't matter, anyway, we'll stop again tomorrow night. I'm not too keen on taking another two days to the next break either."

"Can we stop other places, too?" she asks, a hint of sarcasm tinging her voice. "Like, say, a restaurant? Or maybe some cliched tourist attraction? Maybe we could even pick up a hitchiker or two."

Spike rolls his eyes. "Sure. Next person we come to who needs a ride can bum one off of us. Provided they're not carrying a machete or a stake."

Anya smiles, her mood lifting slightly. "It's a plan then." She pauses. "Wait... is that return sarcasm?"

Spike laughs. "That's for *you* to decide, sweetheart."

****************

TBC...