TITLE:
Darkest Before Dawn #21 "Pickup"
AUTHOR:
Nmissi
PART:21/?
DISCLAIMER: I own Nothing and No one. Especially not Spike. If I did,
what makes you think I'd share him with you?
DISTRIBUTION: Want it? Take it. Just let me know where it's going.
Feedback:
Please. Nmissi@aol.com
SUMMARY: The way the world would work if I wrote the Buffyverse.
He'd been here since eleven this
morning, and the weather channel had been on the telly the entire time. One
room, thirty men, and one sodding television showing six hours of the Weather
Channel. So much for the prohibition on cruel and unusual punishment.
The metal door clanged open and a
demon entered, his hands chained at his back. Despite his obvious green skin
and scales, he drew no particular attention from the rest of the occupants,
those currently enjoying the scenic northern blizzard footage.
Spike noted with a petty twinge of
envy that the newcomer had nice boots. Doc Martens, trendier than his own, and undoubtedly newer.
He shifted slightly, trying to
squirm away from the old guy beside him who smelled of piss. Unfortunately that
caused him to brush elbows with the burly red-haired guy sitting on his other
side. This really only became a problem when the redhead brushed back, and
smiled at him, interestedly.
"Hello mate!" said Spike, waving to
the demon, as he jumped up off the bench and began striding over. The guard
unlocked his cuffs, and the demon walked towards Spike, curiousity in his
expression.
"Uh, Do I know you?"
"Nah, You don't."
Spike gave a shrug and gestured over
his shoulder towards the benches.
"I just wondered why they aren't
ripping up and getting religion after taking sight o' you."
The demon's green skin paled
slightly. With a shit-eating grin, he regarded Spike warily.
"It ain't working on you, is it?
What are you, half-breed or something?"
Spike shrugged.
"You could say that. So, what
is it- Spell, talisman-"
The demon puffed up with pride.
"Spell. Cost me a good piece, too,
but it sure comes in handy on days like this. Fella can go about his business
without attracting too much attention."
Spike considered the spell
momentarily. It must be good work, no one in the room had yet perceived it but
him.
"What's it do, then? If it's not too
personal a question. What're they seein?"
The demon smiled, his posture
relaxing a little.
" Normal human. Male, 'bout my
height. Paid a little extra for good looks, helps with the ladies if you know
what I mean."
He leered a little and Spike made
agreeable noises.
"Anyway, it works real good, on most
humans. Some trouble with little kids, and crazy people. And crazy old people,
man- they're the worst. But it works pretty good otherwise."
Spike fidgeted slightly, as he
ransacked his brain, looking for proper conversational topics.
What did one discuss in Jail?
Despite a hundred years of lawlessness on his part, this situation was alien to
him.
"So, what're you in for?"
There, that should work. They say
that in all the movies.
Green Guy shrugged his
leather-jacketed shoulders.
"Nothin' man, they got the wrong
guy."
His nasal whine was grating, so
Spike changed the subject.
"Well it's good to meet you mate.
What's your name?"
The demon studied him a moment, and
Spike could almost read the inner dialogue. His new friend was sizing him up,
while running through his mental roster of pseudonyms for the right one to fit
this situation. The demon's body posture had "Lackey" or "Snitch" written all
over it. He decided to put the bloke at ease.
Spike extended a gentlemanly hand.
"Forgot t' introduce m'self. Name's
Spike."
"SPIKE?" the demon asked. His whine
jumped an octave, and he stepped a few paces back.
"Yeah, that's it." He replied.
The demon smiled ingratiatingly,
while backing away, and sort of raising his palms up.
"You wouldn't be related to some
Prick name of Angel, would you now?"
Spike cocked his head to one side.
What did this bloke know about angel?
"Erm; Yeah. I would be."
The demon backed clear up against
the bars of the holding cell.
"Oh, Shit, man. Oh Shit. Look, I got
nothing to do with you or yours, alright."
He looked around anxiously,
addressing the room in general, over the heads of the humans.
"Look, I don't even know this guy!
Never met him before in my life!"
Spike's curiousity was intensely
aroused. Whatever had this little punk so scared was worth investigating. And
he'd enjoy trading on his Big Bad reputation for a little while.
"What's the matter, friend?" He
scoffed.
"Surely you're not scared of me."
The demon was backed clear up
against the bars, now.
"Guards! Guards! I- I feel Faint! I
think I'm gonna be sick or something!"
Spike walked right up to him, and he
cringed.
There was the sensation of eyes
watching him. Spike turned his face to the room. It seemed the its denizens
were no longer entranced by the snow coverage. He turned his gaze back upon the
cowardly demon.
"You puttin' on a show for the nice
people?"
The demon was pulled tight against
the bars, and Spike leaned in close to his face.
"Surely you're not afraid of little
ol' me?!"
Beady little demon eyes met his, and
they were full of terror.
"Man, you people are a frickin'
DEATH SENTENCE," he hissed.
" Somebody sees me with you, they might mistake me
for a relative or something-"
Just then a guard came back into the
hallway, and stood outside the barred door.
"Walthrop, William," he read off the
notepad in his chubby fists, "Quit makin' time with your girlfriend- Your
bond's posted, you're out of here."
Spike stepped back, and the demon on
the bars relaxed. Spike gave him a cocky smile.
"Lovely to have made your
acquaintance. " he said, as the guard opened the door. He sauntered through it,
eminently cool, even in paper shoes.
" One pack of cigarettes, check. One
lighter, check. Three dollars and seventeen cents, check. One half of a
butterfinger candy bar, check. One aluminum flask; empty. Check. One ring,
check. One earring, check. One bottle of nailpolish. Check."
A bored, middle aged woman with a
bland face slid the clipboard under the glass to him.
"Sign by the X."
He did so, sliding the board
back, and wondering at the events of
his morning. Somebody somewhere, had his name and fingerprints in a database
now. Shit- what had he said his birthday was? He'd been so drunk he might have
told the truth.
"May I see those again, please?"
He adopted his most charming smile,
and the woman on the other side of the glass came to life; blushing slightly.
"Here you are."
She slid the papers over again.
He winked at her.
"aren't you a love? Just wanted to
check something."
There it was, in black and white.
They'd not even called him on it. 1868. Sheesh.
He adopted another fake smile and
slid it back.
" Thank you."
This time she giggled.
"If you're finished scooping out the
public servants, We Can Go Now. "
Spike turned his head, and there she
was; his beautiful Buffy. Glowering at him, thunderclouds in her eyes, she
stood by the exit, tapping her foot impatiently.
"Damn she's hot when she's angry."
Shit. He'd said that out loud.
Commence the verbal backpedaling, he
thought.
"Slayer! Good of you to come
downtown to get me like this, I really appreciate it. Sorry about all the
trouble and all, and tell your watcher I'll pay him back every d-"
She cut off his words with a slap,
the crisp sound filling the room. Then she simply walked out on him.
He followed her through the exit,
and out into the bright daylight, into the parking lot.
He jogged to catch up to her,
admiring her rump. It moved just so when she was angry; she sort of stalked. He
found it very distracting as he fumbled mentally to come up with good excuses
for his behaviour. Somehow having a meltdown over mortality wasn't going to be
good enough, he knew that.
"Buffy! Buffy wait up! Look, pet,
I'm sorry, really I am. You don't know how sorry-"
She stopped, and turned around. The
sun making her squint, she nevertheless managed to scowl at him quite
effectively.
"You're sorry."
He caught up to her, winded. He
panted his words.
"Well. Yeah. I'm sorry."
She ran a hand through her long blonde
locks, shaking her head.
"I just don't get it, Spike. I
thought we worked through this, I thought you were okay. Then I wake up, and
you're gone. No note. No anything. Your boots in the apartment and your keys on
the counter. Did it ever occur to you I might be worried? And what about Dawn,
Hmm? You were supposed to be there for her this morning, remember? You
promised."
He hung his head.
"Yeah, I know. And I'm really sorry
about disappointing the Nibblet. I did mean to be back before the hospital, I
swear-"
She stuck her chin out, and balled
her hands into fists which she planted firmly on her narrow hips.
"And WHERE were you while I was off
at the hospital, talking to Dawn's doctors, while Ben was doing the healing-"
He opened his mouth to reply but she
did it for him.
"I'll tell you where you were. You
were getting carted off to jail. Let's see if I can remember it right; there
were SO many charges."
She ticked them off on her fingers.
"Public Intoxication. Disturbing the
peace. Creating a public nuisance. Assaulting a police officer. Defacing police
property. Creating a traffic obstacle…"
She said this last with a look
of wonder, again shaking her locks.
"I don't know why I don't just stake
you…"
He moved in close to her, all
charisma and charm. This had to work. No matter how cute she was angry, he
wouldn't get any until she got over it, of that he was certain.
"I don't know either, baby. I'm a
bad man, and I don't deserve your forgiveness."
He said this even as he stepped into
her personal space, overwhelming her with his nearness and seducing her with
the timbre of his voice. She squinted up into his handsome face, and he wiggled
an eyebrow at her.
"Peace, love? Please?"
He saw her attitude shift slightly,
and rejoiced. She was wavering. He'd be in her good graces again by nightfall.
She turned her back to him, and
headed over to his car. Opening the trunk, she pulled out his boots and threw
them at him. He ducked left, then right, afterwards picking them up off the
concrete.
"You sober?" she asked, watching him
pull on his boots.
"Yeah," he replied.
She tossed the keys at him, and
walked around to the passenger side. Giles got out, staring hard at the vampire
in daylight.
"Buffy, I don't understand-"
Spike walked up, and opened the
driver's side door.
"S'okay mate. I'll explain in the
car. Christ I'm hungry. You lot feel like Pancake house?"