Author's Note: This was my first attempt
at FanFic, in fact it was the first time I'd written anything
in about fifteen years. When it was posted originally it was completely unbeta-ed, but I and t_geyer, my beta of the past four years, are going to try to touch it up a little now that some kind person has nominated it at one of the award sites... Hopefully, we'll get it finished before the judges get to it. Chapter 1
Spike scowled at the television set in
front of him. "No! Don't listen to her. Can't you tell the
stupid bint's only after you for your money?" Buffy would
laugh if she could see him. The Big Bad, sitting in his
armchair, fag in one hand, beaker of blood in the other,
shirt undone, yelling abuse at the two-dimensional daytime
soap characters.
Mentally reprimanding himself for letting
Buffy thoughts intrude on his "Passions" fix, he took another
slurp of his liquid breakfast. Maybe later, he'd ring to
see if he could help with Dawn when she was working. He
felt pretty uneasy about Halfrek's little speech the other
night. Buffy would probably accuse him of having an ulterior
motive anyway, but at least if he saw Dawn when she was
at work she had fewer grounds for suspicion. He was supposed
to be Dawn's protector. Now he never saw her. Then again,
the last time he tried phoning Buffy it hadn't exactly been
a roaring success.
He was still debating to himself what he
could do to help Dawn when he heard a knock at his door.
At lightning speed he moved across the room and into the darkest
shadows, grabbing a large knife from his coffin-shaped weapons
chest in the corner of the room.
'Bloody Hell! Who's comin' knockin' at
this time of day? Lil' Bit should still be at school. Slayer
wouldn't knock. Bad news whatever way you look at it.' The
thoughts moved through his brain as fast as he moved around
the room. He waited invisible and silent in the shadows.
The knock sounded once again, followed
by an inquisitive voice."Mister... ehm. William?" The door
nudged open slowly.
'Wanker,' Spike decided. 'Obviously can't think one word
ahead of his mouth.' Spike was marginally amused by the
awkwardness of his visitor. This lasted until the door opened
far enough for him to come into full view. Thereafter, Spike recognised him for what he was. The highly polished
black loafers - except for the line of graveyard mud around
the bottom - the neatly pressed charcoal grey suit, the
pristine white shirt and the conservative tie were all major
indications, but what clinched it was the briefcase. Lawyer.
Too young to be in charge of anything major, unless he was
some sort of whiz kid, and let's face it, the 'Mister' comment
meant he probably wasn't. That meant he was here because
there was some sort of dirty work to be done that his higher ups wanted no part in.
The television being on gave him only a minimal
chance of pretending he wasn't there, so Spike decided to
go for intimidation. "I think you're a little bit lost, kid."
He stepped forward into the light, letting his gaze drift
up the length of the lawyer's body. Then, he stared unblinkingly
into his adversary's eyes until the younger man reflexively
looked away. Score one to William the Bloody.
"You seem to match the description I was
given. Five feet ten inches, slim build, short bleach-blond hair, blue
eyes, pale complexion." He fumbled to open the briefcase,
pulling something from it. "It's not the best likeness,
but I would say that this is definitely you." He passed
over what appeared to be some sort of surveillance photograph,
showing both Spike and the slayer. There was nothing inherently
incriminating about the picture in itself, but Spike remembered
the night it had been taken. If their spies had stuck around
a couple of hours longer, then there was a good chance that they
had some rather more revealing shots from later that night.
Game to the lawyer.
Spike steeled himself for what was to come.
"Okay, I'm William the Bloody. Now, what d'you want?"
"Our clients would like to make use of
your services." Once more he reached into the briefcase.
"I believe you should be familiar with this contract."
Spike's heart sank as he recognised the
piece of parchment. Fear spread through his body, making
him feel far cooler than the ambient air temperature. He
gave an involuntary shiver. "Who?" Who had he endangered?
Buffy? Dawn? Who else?
The lawyer clearly misunderstood the question.
"I'm afraid our clients would prefer to remain anonymous.
The paper was bought at public auction."
"No, the default clause. Who are we talking
about in the default clause?"
The lawyer gave a nervous laugh. "I don't
think you need to worry about that. That clause would never
hold up in a court of law. It is rather vague. It could
even be illegal in itself. Unless, you happen to
believe that there's some sort of magic at work, and we
all know magic's just for fairy tales." He looked
coolly into Spike's ultramarine eyes. "If however,
we were talking, purely hypothetically, I would say that
the young lady in the photograph might be a likely candidate
and I believe she has a younger sister with whom you are
acquainted. In addition, I believe that my client's surveillance
indicated that over the summer you spent more time with one Rupert Giles
and one Tara Maclay than with any of the others in your
social circle, but that recently you have
been seen a lot with a gentleman by the name of Clem. I
think the general consensus was in favour of the young lady.
My clients seemed to think you would be more inclined to
do whatever was necessary to protect a member of the fairer
sex."
'Bloody hell! Just how long have these people
been keeping tabs on me?' the vampire wondered. The remark about Tara and Giles
referred to their patrol groups last summer. Spike didn't
like the idea that anyone could be watching him for that
long without him knowing. His anger simmered slowly inside
him. For Buffy, for Dawn and for Tara he held it in check. "You realise that there are certain things..." he clarified.
"...That I don't do all the things I used to do."
"Yes, we are aware of your present circumstances,
shall we say. Nothing will be required of you that you are
physically unable to perform. In fact," a sly gleam began
to show in the lawyer's eye, "our client feels that your
recent baby-sitting experience might prove useful.
We wish for you to provide a nursery for a demon who will
be arriving in the area very shortly. The demon will lay
its eggs. You make yourself available to protect them from
any predators. After four or five days we'll arrange for
them to be picked up, and moved on to their new owners."
"So that's it? It seems a bit too easy."
"The eggs have to gestate at the Hellmouth
for a few days, but they'll be moved before they're due
to hatch. The parents will most likely be being pursued.
By the terms of the agreement it can't be anything too risky,
but don't think it'll be a walk in the park. These little
fellows could be worth a pretty penny. There may be all
sorts of nasties looking for them, but as long as you keep
it nice and quiet that you've got them you shouldn't have
too much of a problem."
Spike raised an eyebrow in reaction to the
lawyer's glib description of the situation. "Really? Somehow
I'm sure things won't be quite that simple, but I guess
you know I'm goin' to do it anyway. You wouldn't be here
if your bosses didn't already know that. So, if that's all
the good news, I suggest you leave now."
"If you wish. Here's my card. We'll be
in touch." Spike made no move to accept the card from him,
so he set it down on top of the TV set. Passions' closing credits
had just started to roll. Amazing how much can change in
just quarter of an hour.
Spike watched him leave. He moved to push
the door closed after him. As soon as the door was securely
shut, Spike headed for his liquor stash. He downed
a third of the bottle before frustration got the better
of him and he launched the container and the remainder of its
contents against the wall.
He drew another bottle from his supply
and sank back into his armchair to contemplate life's, or
unlife's, ironies. To protect Buffy, her sister and her
friend, he would do something she would despise him for...
if she ever found out about it. He'd do it because he loved
them, but he had to do it because once he'd loved Dru or
thought he had.
"Love's fuckin' bitch!" He spat out the bitter toast. "Again."
|
