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Phoenix Investigations

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This story is No. 3 in the series "The Phoenix Files". You may wish to read the series introduction and the preceeding stories first.

Summary: A series of one-shots featuring the adventures of Spike and Jack, private investigators/demon hunters.

Categories Author Rating Chapters Words Recs Reviews Hits Published Updated Complete
Stargate > GeneralHarmMarieFR1565,49603512,16517 Nov 0721 Jan 11No

Canadian Road Trip

A/N: I do not own Spike or Jack.


The line of cars crept slowly forward. Spike growled in frustration, hands tightening on the wheel, as he brought the RV to a halt … again. Jack glanced at him from the passenger seat before fiddling with the radio again, his other hand keeping the large demon text in his lap.

“You know, growling isn’t going to make the car in front of you go any faster. You need to be patient.” He reasoned.

Spike shot him a look. “And you’re a picture of patience yourself,” he drawled, eyeing Jack’s fidgeting hands. He stilled the hands.

“Yeah, well, I’m not the one who blew the plan in San Francisco that let those Howler demons get the jump on us.” Take that.

They had laid out a great plan until someone threw the whole thing out the airlock. And it wasn’t the bad guys.

“You’re not going to start up on that again, are you?” Spike griped. “I told you—“

“’You got bored.’” Jack interrupted, mimicking Spike quite poorly. Spike started to respond but Jack cut him off, “I know, I know, but I’m the one who had to come help bail you out.” He pointed an accusing finger.

Spike smirked. “Yeah, but it was fun.”

Spike inched them forward as the car in front of them moved. One more car and they would be on their way across the US/Canadian border for a case.

Jack returned to researching their new ‘big bad’, as Spike called it. As far as he could tell, this would be a standard slice and dice. It didn’t hurt to be prepared though. If only Daniel could see him now.

“You may want to put that away. Wouldn’t want anyone to ask questions.” Spike interrupted.

Jack glanced up to see the car in front of them pull out. “They will probably just want to see our passports before sending us on our way, your accent doesn’t exactly scream ‘American’ so much as ‘British’.” But tossed the book behind him none the less before grinning innocently at the look Spike gave him. Jack wasn’t sure if it was for the book or the accent crack, but enjoyed himself none the less.

---

Spike finally brought the RV to a stop beside the small booth on his left. A customs officer walked up to the RV’s driver’s side, eyes glued to his clipboard. He glanced up, but didn’t acknowledge Spike. His fingers tightened on the wheel.

“Can I see some identification, please?” The man asked the clipboard.

Spike dutifully handed over his driver’s license and Jack’s when the boy handed it to him.

“Anyone else on board?” The official cast a suspicious glance at the motor home.

“No, sir.” Spike answered politely. Perhaps being polite would get him out of this faster. He shrugged internally. Couldn’t hurt.

The guard raised an eye brow at his accent. “Do you have proof of citizenship or legal US residence?” He returned the licenses.

Spike sighed, and accepted the passports Jack handed him, ignoring the smirk. He passed them over and pocketed his driver’s license.

The official scrutinized the passports thoroughly. Satisfied, he returned them as well, and began the standard questions.

“What is the purpose of your trip?”

Let’s see, they were traveling to Canada because some one in Vancouver, B.C. had called Phoenix Investigations with a Tarval infestation (lots of claws and slime). Jack and Spike were on their way to take care of it, hopefully before they hatched.

“My nephew and I are on vacation.”

“Length of stay?”

“Oh, not more than a few days.” The Watcher wanted them to check out some odd reports coming from New Mexico after this.

“Do you have any firearms, mace or pepper spray on board?”

Firearms? No. Though not for lack of trying on Jack’s part. Legally he wasn’t 18 and therefore unable to obtain a gun permit. What they did have, however, was 3 axes, 2 broad swords, a dozen different daggers, and a mace. Somehow he didn’t think the type of mace they had was the type the official was asking about.

“No, sir.”

“Any illegal drugs?”

He resisted the urge to snort. Like he would admit it if there was. “No, sir.”

“Do you have any alcohol or tobacco?”

“Yeah, one 12 pack of beer, but no tobacco.” Oh, how he wished there was tobacco, but no, Jack wouldn’t let him smoke. Brat. He had gone on and on about how it was bad for you. Apparently ‘vampire’ wasn’t a good enough counter argument. Though Jack had admitted to being a smoker in a previous life, he was insistent, so Spike had given up. He hadn’t been smoking much anyway since he’d come back from the dead…well, from being deader.

“Alright.” The officer made a note on his clipboard. “I need you to pull forward and park the camper next to that curb on the left.” He pointed to the customs building a few yards ahead. “And exit the vehicle.”

Spike raised his eyebrows at the man; it translated as ‘Are you nuts?’

“Your vehicle has been chosen for a random search.” With that, the man walked off. Spike briefly considered going after him and ripping off the man’s head, then decided against it. If he did that they would never get out of here.

---

“Random search?” Jack’s voice was incredulous. “What about our weapons?” He was panicking. He knew it, Spike knew it. Damn if it didn’t piss him off.

Spike took charge quickly, while moving the RV to the designated point. “Throw everything you can find under the sofa and activate the ‘notice-me-not’ ward.”

“Will that really work?” Jack was already moving around the camper, collecting demon reference volumes, stakes and knives. The ward was untested, though Boss-man said it would work. Tossing the books and weapons inside the compartment, he quickly activated the ward.

Not a moment too soon apparently.

A sharp knock sounded on the door. Jack unlocked it and swung it outwards...almost into the face of the customs officer on the other side. The man backpedaled and sent Jack a glare that could melt paint.

It didn’t even faze the former black-ops colonel. Squelching the rising smirk, he merely raised his eyebrow and didn’t even bother sounding sincere in his apology. The man noticed the smirk anyway. The female agent behind him stifled a giggle.

“I need you to step outside the vehicle and go sit there on the bench outside the building.” Where I can see you was left unspoken.

Jack exited the camper with false enthusiasm. “Come one Uncle Will, times a wastin’.” The Tarval eggs could hatch at any time. The younger these things were when he and Spike got there, the better. Of course that didn’t mean he couldn’t get a few hits in on the ‘old man’ in the mean time.

The agent, whose name tag identified him as ‘Officer Hooker’ stood by impatiently while Spike exited. It seems that he was a little anxious to get on board. The female agent, ‘Officer Moore’, entered at a more sedate pace.

Jack plopped down on the bench with the grace of a teenager and dug his gameboy out of his pocket. Starting it up, he looked over at Spike to give him a superior look, when he saw that the man next to him had remembered his gameboy as well. He shrugged internally; at least they wouldn’t get bored waiting.

---

“Sir, would you care to explain this?” Spike glanced up from his gameboy to see the stern-faced agent Hooker storming towards them with something in his hand.

The crossbow. He had forgotten about the crossbow. So had Jack apparently, as his heart rate had increased. His face remained blank, soldier training and all, but Spike could tell the kid was rattled. So was he.

“Sir, I thought that you said that you didn’t have any firearms on board.” Hooker brandished the crossbow around like he had never held a weapon before, while pinning Spike with a glare that said, I knew you would be trouble.

Spike snorted, causing Hooker’s glare to intensify. Now it said, give me a reason to lock you up.

“Well, officer,” He drawled, “I said there were no firearms on board because that crossbow does not fit the definition of firearm. It is not a gun, nor does it use gunpowder.”

Officer Hooker did not look convinced. In fact he looked pissed.

Spike and Jack traded looks. They were never getting out of here.

---

The tires beneath them hummed on the road as the RV cruised down the highway. Vancouver wasn’t far and a quick call to their client confirmed that the eggs were still eggs. Things were looking up.

It’s a good thing that their boss happened to work at one of the most powerful law firms in the world. It made getting out of trouble a lot easier.

Now if only Hooker had given them back the crossbow.
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