"So you saw a girl with a bunch of tattoos, she sang a number from Creepy Songs: the Musical, and now your spider sense is tingling so you want to spy on her?" Buffy reiterated, hands on her hips as she cast her trademark irked stare at Spike. "Go get a hobby, Spike. Your nosiness is getting annoying."
Spike was suddenly very glad that he'd left out the part about the mystery girl's scent, and the fact that she knew something about Giles. "I'm tellin' you, something was off about that bird. Can feel it."
The Scoobies were having their weekly meeting at the Magic Box. Or was it their daily meeting? Seemed like the crack team had pretty much taken up residence in the Watcher's little store. Spike decided to crash their powwow partly due to boredom, partly from wanting to be around Buffy, and mostly to cause a little chaos among the group with some well-timed insults and general misbehavior. Not much to do when both biting and drinking at the only demon bar in town were off the table. His unlife had been less than thrilling since his vacation time with the Initiative.
"Oh good, Captain Peroxide is latching himself into some serious investigative journalism since he can't latch onto humans anymore," Xander scoffed, "Do you think they'll send the Pullitzer to your crypt or do you want it sent care of Willy's bar?"
"Least I'm out doin' something, stead of sittin' with my thumb up my arse and playin' shopkeep with my old lady," Spike sneered back, issuing an apologetic glance at Anya, "no offense, luv."
Anya shrugged as she pulled out a fresh ream of shopping bags and hung them next to the register, "No offense taken, I am several hundred years older than all of you."
Xander glared at him, "Yeah, and that "something" you're "doing" happens to be sitting in a demon bar getting drunk and pretending to be a functional member of society, you useless mosquito."
"Oh, shut your cake-hole, wanker."
"How's the anemia, Spike? Bet all that pig's blood just can't beat the sweet sweet taste of all John Does you've eaten."
Spike gave him a smile that was all teeth, "Was that an invitation to drink yours, Harris? 'Cause I still haven't sussed out what happens if someone's offerin'-"
"Fine!" Buffy interrupted, slamming her hands down on the table between her bickering cohorts, "Do as much investigating as you want, Spike. If it keeps you out of my in-serious-need-of-deep-conditioning hair, knock yourself out."
"One can only hope," Xander muttered.
Spike wasn't seriously expecting the Slayer to give him any leave to do, well, anything. But given his lack of invites to the Scooby meetings, the Scooby patrollings, the sodding Scooby birthday parties, he'd take what little he could get.
"Right, maybe I will. Do the investigation' thing that is," he said, attempting to sound nonchalant.
Willow leaned over towards Buffy, "Are we sure that's a good idea? 'Cause you know…" she lowered her voice to a whisper, "still a vampire."
Spike rolled his eyes.
Buffy gave an indifferent shake of her head, "It's still chips-n-dip in his brain, it's not like he can hurt her. Even if he could, she works for Willy, so call me crazy but I'm kinda doubting she's Pillar of Virtue Girl. And besides, we have way bigger issues to deal with at the moment."
"That dead couple that was found in the warehouse last week? Yeah, I'd say so. Major bigger issues," Willow shuddered.
Anya sat down and grabbed one of the numerous books from the research pile on the table, casually flipping through it. "So they were found with soccer-sized magically-induced burn holes in their chests? Those kinds of deaths are usually very painful. It probably took several hours or even days before their organs were completely liqui-"
Xander cut his girlfriend off with a gentle pat on the head, "Ahn! Yes, we get it! Horrible, horrible suffering. Please spare us the play-by-play."
"What? It's true. And I personally think that-"
"-That we should lay off the cleaning spray in here until we know for sure that it's not damaging the books," Buffy finished, as the bell to the Magic Box twinked and Dawn strolled in, clutching the straps of her backpack.
"Hey Dawnster!" Xander beamed.
"Hey Xand, hey guys! You aren't even going to believe what I found out in school today! Oh, hi Spike!"
"'Lo, Bit," Spike greeted. If he had to choose one of the Slayer's friends and kin to not eat, it'd be Dawn. She'd always treated him nicely.
Willow smiled at the bubbly adolescent, "You found out that chemistry is a very valuable class to be taking, because it's the foundation for an excellent career in the field of science?"
"Chemistry's the one with the shapes, right?" Dawn asked, dropping herself into an empty chair and pulling out a composition notebook and a highlighter.
"Yes, Dawn, and Calculus is the one with the baking and the sewing machines," Buffy said dryly, settling into her chair and sifting through book stacks. She pulled a heavy one out from the bottom and cracked it open, smoothing out the dusty pages with her fingers.
"Anyway, I was talking to Suzy, and she said that her dad's friend's cousin is a cop, and last week he found these two bodies in a warehouse, and guess what had happened to them?"
Everyone turned to gape at Dawn.
She looked around the table excitedly, "No? No guesses? Well fine, I'll tell you. Get this- they had these giant holes… burned… in… their… chests."
"See!" Anya burst out, "Even the fidgety, inexperienced child is willing to discuss the gore. Why is nobody stopping her from talking?"
"Anya, have you started cataloging the items from the estate sale we got in last week?" a deep English voice sounded from atop the basement stairs. The ex vengeance demon stood up with a sigh and went behind the counter, muttering peevishly to herself as she went.
"Rupes is here?" Spike grunted, "Guess that's my cue." He stood up and swiped the tattered blanket he used to shield himself from the sun off the floor.
Dawn pouted at him. "Aw, you're leaving? But I just got here!"
"Sorry Bit, got some little girls to go nibble on," Spike said, eliciting a giggle from the Slayer's little sister. "I'll report back when I get some intel, Buffy."
"Whatever, Spike." Buffy didn't bother to look up from the Compendium of Magical Injuries she was reading.
As Spike left the shop, draped his blanket over his head, and ran like hell for the nearest shady patch on the street, he began to hope that Little Miss Allie the Bartender was as much trouble as he was starting to suspect. He didn't believe in coincidence, and inexplicable murders coinciding with the girl's arrival was too much of one to ignore. Maybe he'd even help her out, if the price was high enough, and teach the Slayer a much needed lesson in respect for one's enemy.
Then he'd take care of the Bartender problem, and Buffy would have no choice but to be forever grateful to him.
It seemed like a good, well-thought out plan.
What could possibly go wrong?
He told himself that the reason he waited in the shadows behind the bar, defacing band posters with a sharpie and trying not to be bored out of his mind, was because he didn't want to pay his tab from the other night. Definitely not because he didn't want to get his ass kicked from here to Beijing if Bartrax saw his face inside again. Regardless, he'd spent the entirety of the stolen tip money on one of those fried onion things at the Bronze, a complete rip-off since they were definitely using smaller onions than before, so he couldn't have paid for a drink anyway.
Forty minutes after Willy's closed, Spike's lurking paid off. The back door to the bar banged open, and out came his bartender target, hefting a giant black trash bag on top of a container of folded cardboard boxes and glass bottles. She dropped it heavily by a dumpster and Spike grinned at the harsh sound of glass being broken.
"Shit," she cursed, as bottles rolled away from her in every which direction. Exhaling loudly, she turned around to follow the sound of one of the bottles. Spike stopped it with his foot and stepped out of the shadows, enjoying the way she jumped when she almost walked into him.
"Really? Oh, this is just great," she snapped, looking up at the sky and raising her arms melodramatically, "Anything else? Bolt of lightening? Velociraptor infestation? FREAKING ROBOT APOCALYPSE?"
"Bad time, luv?" he smirked.
"You!" she said, ignoring his comment and pointing an emphatic finger at him, "You owe me. Fifteen dollars for last night."
"Fifteen dollars?" he said incredulously, "Sodding ridiculous for one drink. Willy raised his prices again?"
"No, you're just a very generous tipper."
Spike let out a snort of laughter. Allie didn't crack a smile.
"Right," he said, wiping all traces of humor off his face and making a show of feeling his pant pockets for money, "Right, well, it seems, I-"
"Of course," she laughed mirthlessly, "let me guess. You don't have any money on you. You know what, I don't even care anymore." She grabbed the bottle out from under his foot and spun on her heel, walking back to the mess by the dumpster. He followed closely behind, black duster billowing out behind him.
"Shouldn't turn your back on a vampire, 'less you feel like being his nosh for the evenin'," Spike advised, noting with chagrin that the girl didn't seem even mildly intimidated by him, "Thought Willy would've told you as much."
She swung back around to glare at him, "I have had two, TWO different demons try to lick me tonight. Like a fucking lollipop. I have blood in my hair, some guy with hooves broke a hole in the floor, and for the grand finale? Something shit on top of the liquor shelf. So honestly, getting eaten by a vampire isn't really registering as being that much worse than the rest of my night."
She turned around again and began loudly piling bottles into her arms and throwing them into an immense plastic recycling bin.
"Frellian," Spike said, after a moment's thought.
"Frelley what?"
"Frellian demons. Teeny things. Pink skin, tail. That's what bodged up your liquor shelf. Think it's funny, they do."
"Oh."
Spike knelt down behind her and picked a few broken bottles, chucking them into the bin when his hands were full, "Name's Spike, by the way."
"Yeah, I know."
"So you've heard of me then?" he drawled, picturing her cozied up by a fireplace, reading a massive tome dedicated to his century of murder and pillaging after hearing his name the other night.
"If by 'heard of you', you mean listening to a gang of Hell's rejects talk for twenty seconds about what they were going to do to the neutered vampire if he stepped foot in the bar again, then yeah, I've heard of you."
"Bollocks," he said, flinging a bottle against the brick exterior of the bar. It shattered, tinkling pieces of glass raining down and bouncing off the pavement before settling haphazardly onto the ground.
"So why'd you tell me your name was Rupert Giles? Do you even know him?" she asked, after a minute.
"Yeah, I know that stuffed up ol' codger."
"So you aren't… friends with him?"
Spike regarded her with a tilt of his head, "Askin' a lot of questions. How do you know of good ol' Rupes?"
"Just heard of him, is all. Trying to get my bearings in this town since I've only been here a few weeks."
"Word of advice, pet, keep truckin', else you'll get stuck in Sunnyhell with a chip in your brain and an army of white hats keepin' track of your every move," he said bitterly.
"Sounds like you're speaking from personal experience…"
He shrugged noncommittally.
"A chip in your brain, huh? I didn't know that was even a thing."
The words tumbled right out of his mouth, with as much passion as indignation, "Not right, is what it is. Nobody talks about detoothin' a shark so he can't bite or takin' the stingers outta all the bees. It's not bloody natural."
"For what it's worth, I know what it's like… not being able to live the life you're supposed to have," she said, idly picking at the label around a tequila bottle before dropping it in with the rest of the glass, "You have to work twice as hard to get through it and make decisions that are either horrible or extra horrible, depending on the day of the week."
He arched an eyebrow. Well this just got more interesting. "Doom and gloom, luv. Can't hurt a human, doesn't mean I can't get my rocks off doin' a whole manner of evil. And I happen to enjoy doin' the horrible. Just gotta wait until I get this soddin' chip out, gonna maim and eat every bugger that had a hand in puttin' it in."
She scoffed, giving him a look that said she could see right through his bravado. "Yeah? How's the waiting working out for you?"
Spike decided the less said on that subject, the better. "So what about this life you're supposed be livin'? How come you're all shacked up with Willy, cleaning piss off the ceiling or what have you instead of going to uni or finishin' school or somethin'?" He optimistically noted the abject horror that seemed to fill her eyes at his line of questions, and decided he needed to look into becoming a private investigator. He'd be so much better at it than the magnificent poof, and he had way cooler hair.
"What the hell kind of demon pisses on the ceiling?! I want like an actual list. None of them are stepping foot or hoof or ANY appendage into the bar. Ever."
"Figure of speech," he grumbled.
"Thank god."
"So about that life of yours, then…"
"Not talking about it."
"You've seen mine, seems fair I get to see yours."
"What is this, kindergarten?" She sighed as she dumped the last armful of bottles into the recycling bin and shut the lid. "Tell you what, vamp. You come back tomorrow with the money you owe me and I will consider telling you."
Spike could see he wasn't going to get anywhere further until she'd had a hot shower and a full night's rest. And maybe a pint of that chocolate marshmallow ice cream stuff thrown in for good measure.
"Alright then, got yourself a deal," He said, and turned to go, pausing momentarily to shoot an inquisitive look at the girl. "You mean what you said earlier about not caring about letting a vamp have a taste? 'Cause if you really don't care, I could-"
"Spike?" she interrupted.
"Yeah?"
"Not a chance."
He shrugged, "Suit yourself, pet. It's you missin' out, it's like a nice bit of-"
"NO."
"Right then. Ta, barkeep, see you on the 'morrow with your pay."
"Twenty."
"Twenty? You said fifteen!"
"I'm charging interest."
Spike growled as he walked away, only breaking into a grin as he gained some distance and thumbed through the wallet he'd pulled out of her jacket pocket. Twenty for her, eighty-seven for him.