Title: Missing
Summary: 20-year-old Spike is one of the most wanted criminals on the streets of L.A. Hank Summers is the officer who's been trying to catch him. When Spike goes after the one thing Hank cares about the most, it's personal.
Disclaimer: Joss Whedon, unfortunately owns everyone from BtVS. I want to own Spike :o( But then again, who the heck doesn't?
Buffy Summers walked into the apartment she shared with her father. Her blonde hair was put up in a ponytail, bouncing behind her. Her slim figure was covered with a purple sundress, that ended just above her knees, and wrapped around her neck like a halter top.
"Daddy?" she called, as she laid her bag down on the kitchen counter. "You home?"
There was no answer, but that didn't scare her. Her father, Hank was hardly ever home. His job as the cheif of police kept him away from home more than she would like.
Mainly one case kept him busy: Spike. He had been on the loose for five years now, running from the police, her father specifically. No one had been able to catch him, or keep him caught.
What law had he broken? What law hadn't he broken is more like it.
Hank had been following his case since the day it became one. It was like an obssession. Buffy had grown up hating the guy who was more important to her father then her. Spike always took away from their bonding time, he always came first.
"Guess I'm all alone," she said. "Again."
She opened the fridge door, stuck her head in, grabbed a bottle of water and closed it again. There was a plus to being home alone, no rules.
When her mother had died, it was almost like Buffy had moved out on her own. No one was around anymore. Like they couldn't stand to be with her, like she reminded them of her mother.
"Hey Buffy, how was your day?" she asked herself as she sat down on the sofa. "Oh, my day was crappy, thanks for asking."
She sighed and laid her head down on the arm of the chair, quickly drifting off to sleep.
Buffy woke up to the sound of something crashing. She popped her head up and looked around, nothing. Slowly, she stood up and walked over to her father's desk. She opened the first drawer, and pulled a gun out from underneath the papers.
Another crash sounded, this one coming from her bedroom. She swallowed her fear and started to walk towards the door. 'You have gun Buff,' she thought. 'Just don't shoot yourself with it, and you'll be fine.'
The door was partly closed, only open a small crap. She pushed it lightly, opening it fully.
"I have gun!" she yelled, nervously. She had no idea if it was even loaded, but hoped just the look of it would scare away who ever was breaking in.
The person who stared back at her surprised her, and the gun fell to her side. A blonde man, the age of about twenty stood in her room. He didn't look frightened by her threat, instead he wore a smug grin.
"Spike," she said. "W-What are you doing here?"
"Came to see you pet," he said, walking closer to her. "But you were sleeping. So, thought I'd take a look 'round. Nice room."
"Get out," she said, raising the gun. "I-. .I'll shoot! Don't-. . Don't think I won't!"
"Not 'appy to see me?" he said. "Thought you might be just a little bit 'appy."
"Y-. . You're a sick criminal, why would I be happy?" she said, trying to sound the least bit brave.
"Cause your da' been following me for years. Figured what with all you know 'bout me, we're almost related."
"Hardly," she laughed.
"You goin' to put that down?" he asked, nodding towards the gun in her hand.
"No chance."
"You honestly think I'd hurt a pretty little thing like you," he said. "Nah. I'd much rather take you with me."
"That would-. . Would never happen," she said. "I'd die before I went with you."
"Sometimes you aren't given the choice," he said, moving quickly and grabbing her gun, turning it on her.
"Shoot me," she said, shrugging. "I don't care."
"See, now that is one big fat lie," he said. "C'mon luv. Don't you wanna go with me. . Just a tincy bit?"
"I'd rather-. . Rather-. ."
"Rather what pet? Stay with dear old da'? The one who is out at work trying to find me, while I'm in his own house. Don't you think that maybe if he cared for you at all, he'd be 'ere, and I'd be lying on the ground, one bloody mess?"
"My dad loves me," she said, her voice shaky.
"We'll soon see just how much."
She looked confused and scared as he walked over to her, grabbing her by the hair. He took something from ontop of her nearby dresser, covering her mouth with it.
"Chloroform (?), a criminal's best friend," he said as he picked her up in his arms.
Is that what it's called? Chloroform? You know the stuff that you use if you wanna knock someone out. Not that I ever do. . No. . Of course. . Not. . lol, just kidding.
Summary: 20-year-old Spike is one of the most wanted criminals on the streets of L.A. Hank Summers is the officer who's been trying to catch him. When Spike goes after the one thing Hank cares about the most, it's personal.
Disclaimer: Joss Whedon, unfortunately owns everyone from BtVS. I want to own Spike :o( But then again, who the heck doesn't?
Buffy Summers walked into the apartment she shared with her father. Her blonde hair was put up in a ponytail, bouncing behind her. Her slim figure was covered with a purple sundress, that ended just above her knees, and wrapped around her neck like a halter top.
"Daddy?" she called, as she laid her bag down on the kitchen counter. "You home?"
There was no answer, but that didn't scare her. Her father, Hank was hardly ever home. His job as the cheif of police kept him away from home more than she would like.
Mainly one case kept him busy: Spike. He had been on the loose for five years now, running from the police, her father specifically. No one had been able to catch him, or keep him caught.
What law had he broken? What law hadn't he broken is more like it.
Hank had been following his case since the day it became one. It was like an obssession. Buffy had grown up hating the guy who was more important to her father then her. Spike always took away from their bonding time, he always came first.
"Guess I'm all alone," she said. "Again."
She opened the fridge door, stuck her head in, grabbed a bottle of water and closed it again. There was a plus to being home alone, no rules.
When her mother had died, it was almost like Buffy had moved out on her own. No one was around anymore. Like they couldn't stand to be with her, like she reminded them of her mother.
"Hey Buffy, how was your day?" she asked herself as she sat down on the sofa. "Oh, my day was crappy, thanks for asking."
She sighed and laid her head down on the arm of the chair, quickly drifting off to sleep.
Buffy woke up to the sound of something crashing. She popped her head up and looked around, nothing. Slowly, she stood up and walked over to her father's desk. She opened the first drawer, and pulled a gun out from underneath the papers.
Another crash sounded, this one coming from her bedroom. She swallowed her fear and started to walk towards the door. 'You have gun Buff,' she thought. 'Just don't shoot yourself with it, and you'll be fine.'
The door was partly closed, only open a small crap. She pushed it lightly, opening it fully.
"I have gun!" she yelled, nervously. She had no idea if it was even loaded, but hoped just the look of it would scare away who ever was breaking in.
The person who stared back at her surprised her, and the gun fell to her side. A blonde man, the age of about twenty stood in her room. He didn't look frightened by her threat, instead he wore a smug grin.
"Spike," she said. "W-What are you doing here?"
"Came to see you pet," he said, walking closer to her. "But you were sleeping. So, thought I'd take a look 'round. Nice room."
"Get out," she said, raising the gun. "I-. .I'll shoot! Don't-. . Don't think I won't!"
"Not 'appy to see me?" he said. "Thought you might be just a little bit 'appy."
"Y-. . You're a sick criminal, why would I be happy?" she said, trying to sound the least bit brave.
"Cause your da' been following me for years. Figured what with all you know 'bout me, we're almost related."
"Hardly," she laughed.
"You goin' to put that down?" he asked, nodding towards the gun in her hand.
"No chance."
"You honestly think I'd hurt a pretty little thing like you," he said. "Nah. I'd much rather take you with me."
"That would-. . Would never happen," she said. "I'd die before I went with you."
"Sometimes you aren't given the choice," he said, moving quickly and grabbing her gun, turning it on her.
"Shoot me," she said, shrugging. "I don't care."
"See, now that is one big fat lie," he said. "C'mon luv. Don't you wanna go with me. . Just a tincy bit?"
"I'd rather-. . Rather-. ."
"Rather what pet? Stay with dear old da'? The one who is out at work trying to find me, while I'm in his own house. Don't you think that maybe if he cared for you at all, he'd be 'ere, and I'd be lying on the ground, one bloody mess?"
"My dad loves me," she said, her voice shaky.
"We'll soon see just how much."
She looked confused and scared as he walked over to her, grabbing her by the hair. He took something from ontop of her nearby dresser, covering her mouth with it.
"Chloroform (?), a criminal's best friend," he said as he picked her up in his arms.
Is that what it's called? Chloroform? You know the stuff that you use if you wanna knock someone out. Not that I ever do. . No. . Of course. . Not. . lol, just kidding.
