TITLE:
Darkest Before Dawn #42 Preparations
AUTHOR:
Nmissi
PART: 42
RATING:
R (For Series)
DISCLAIMER: I own Nothing and No one. Especially not Spike. If I did,
what makes you think I'd share him with you?
DISTRIBUTION: Anybody, just credit me and let me know where it's
going.
Feedback: Please. Nmissi@aol.com
SUMMARY: The way the world would work if I wrote the Buffyverse.
"Yes, Mr. Walthrop. I think we can
accommodate you."
The portly lawyer gratefully pressed
his hand, a trifle too enthusiastically. But then, Spike had just given him a
retainer the size of which he was unlikely to see ever again.
"You must follow my instructions to
the letter, Richards. The insurance policy is paramount. But the Entail is
quite clear-cut. You must find a way to break it should the need arise."
The crafty old man practically
gleamed under instruction.
"Of course, Sir. And may I add, We
here at Robins, Meyer, and Stein are honored by your patronage."
He chuckeled, his rosy cheeks
jiggling, as he added,
"It's not every day we get to
represent a Peer of the Realm."
Spike lacked the heart to instruct
the poor fellow on the finer points of the peerage; namely, that a baronet was
decidedly NOT one.
'Bloody Yanks. Ignorant lot, they.'
He thought quietly as he left the office building.
Some hours later, he carefully
folded clothes inside a battered old suitcase. Dawn sat perched on the bed,
watching intently.
"What am I supposed to tell Buffy?"
she asked. Her expression was wary, as she studied him.
"Just what I told you to. You tell
her I'm on a buying trip in L.A., a last minute thing. It's the truth, you
know." He dug his black duster out of the closet and folded it neatly on top of
the rest of his clothes, before closing the case.
"It's not the whole truth. You won't
tell me, but I know there's more to it than that. It's Glory, isn't it? You're
going to L. A. to do something about Glory." She accused.
He gave her a level stare.
"No. I'm not going to 'do something
about Glory.' I've grown rather attached to my skin, Nibblet. Glory's not my
problem until she comes round here. This trip, it's … It's just business, nothing more."
She played her ace.
"So why did Angel call you
yesterday? To talk about the ball game?"
He groaned. Nosey little thing, she
always figured out his business. In a century's time, he'd successfully kept
some excellent secrets. Now he had none, because he lived in a house with a
fifteen year old Sleuth. It was a bit disconcerting.
"Maybe Angel called to say hello,
eh? Can't a man get calls from 'is mates without it bein' all 'Nefarious'?"
"When did Angel become one of your
'Mates'?" she prodded.
Spike set his jaw and crossed his
arms over his chest.
"Don't you have homework or
something? Papers to write, sums to figure, that sort of thing?"
She gave a put-upon groan and rolled
off the bed, then flounced out of the room.
Spike mentally catalogued his
baggage. Spare clothes. Money. A nice, untraceable police revolver with the
numbers filed off. Four boxes of ammunition.
He spied the small slip of paper on
the nightstand and picked it up.
The sonogram.
At eight weeks it didn't show much
of anything, really. Two round things, the head and torso, and something the
nurse called "limb buds" that looked like tiny arms. But it had satisfied the
doctor, and consequently Buffy. By all appearances Baby Summers looked to be a
healthy normal human fetus.
Apparently his nightmarish, horror- story visions of
bloodsucking infants were a manifestation of his subconcious, and not some
weird prophecy. And he'd not had a bad "baby dream" since before this last
checkup.
He'd had no idea how worried he
really was until that moment in the obstetrician's office. Watching the black
and white monitor, he'd waited for the inevitable blow- Something would be wrong.
It couldn't possibly be human, normal… Or maybe it wasn't healthy.
The nurse had smiled at them, and begun pointing out
body parts.
'Look, here's the head. And these are going to be
arms and legs, very soon…"
His stomach had crawled back up out of his feet, and
he'd felt at least ten pounds lighter across the shoulders. A ridiculous grin
had crept onto his face, and stayed there for much of the day.
That night he'd bought her a ring.
But then yesterday, the phone call from Angel had
messed things up again. And here he was, packing a suitcase to leave his
pregnant fiancée and her hunted baby sister.
Family obligations were a Bitch.
He placed the picture gently into his wallet.
Some time later he walked into the hotel, California
sunlight streaming in behind him, to see the astonished, and none too
welcoming, face of Cordelia Chase, sitting at the front desk rooting through
her purse.
"Spike- What are you doing here?"
She frowned.
"And in broad daylight?"
He smiled lasciviously at her.
"Sightseein', love. Where's the Poof?"
She looked at him like he was stupid. Of course.
Angel would be sleeping, still.
"Nevermind. Listen, didn't he tell
you I was coming in?"
She shook her head at this, as she
finally located the wrigley's in her purse. She pulled the pack out, and
removed a stick.
"No, he didn't say anything. Want
one?" she asked.
He accepted the offering, and
plopped his ugly suitcase down on the floor. She was still watching him
intently.
"Not to pry or anything, but,
umm…How exactly is it you can be out and about and stuff?"
He groaned. Didn't Angel ever talk
to these people?
"Dunno really." His shoulders
lifted, and he gave her a bemused grin. "Woke up one day with a pulse.
Disconcerting, that I can tell you."
Her eyes widened.
"So you're like, human now? Mortal?"
He nodded.
"No blood drinking? No superpowers?"
He cocked his head to one side.
"Well, no. No blood, anyway. No
bloodlust, no demon. But the old demonic blood still has a few gifts left."
He grinned even wider.
"I'm still fast. I'm still strong.
And it looks like I heal real well to boot."
She regarded him with undisguised
curiousity.
"So, you're sort of like Buffy now,
I guess."
He nodded at her, and sat down on
the edge of the desk.
"Enough about me, pet. Why don't you
tell me what Angel's got going down, here. He wasn't very specific on the
phone."
Her dark eyebrows winged upwards in
an annoyed arc.
"Did he tell you about Lindsay and
Lilah?" she asked.
He shook his head.
"No. Never heard of them. Who are
they?"
She smiled as she leaned forward.
Gossip was more than just a hobby with Cordy; she had elevated it to a high
art.
"Well, let me tell you. You aren't gonna BELIEVE this…"
Spike regarded his new family members with abject
distrust, watching closely as Lindsay leaned over Lilah, whispering gently in
her ear. He raised his head from hers, and locked eyes with Spike. There was no
familiarity in that gaze, only cold mistrust. Apparently Lindsay knew too well
just who Spike was, and he wasn't very happy to see him.
Of course, the introductions had
been quite cordial. Angel had seen to that. It seemed his new "boy" would do
nothing to anger his sire. He'd shaken Spike's hand and given him a smile of
utterly phony friendship.
But Angel was gone now, and they
were here alone, preparing for the 'mission'. The hostility in the room was
thick enough you could almost see it. The lawyers were afraid of him, the
watcher was uncomfortable with him.
Fortunately, Cordy had warmed to his
new state. She seemed fine with the whole "Newly human Ex Vampire" thing he had
going. And her acceptance was good enough for Gunn. He had only to be told that
Spike had assisted them in Caritas, for Gunn to shake Spike's hand and thank
him for coming down here to help out.
A real gentleman, that Gunn. Spike
liked him immensely within minutes of their first conversation.
But his eyes drifted back to the
new, deadly duo, and he smiled wryly. Despite his protestations, despite his
soulful state, Angelus had tried to recreate the family of spike's fledgeling
youth. They lacked only Darla to make the picture complete. And the devotion in
Lindsay's face when he looked at the pretty brunette he'd turned, that look was
not foreign to Spike.
He recognized in the pair himself,
and his dark princess. Lindsay and Lilah were a soulful version of himself and
Drusilla. No- Angel didn't have any "issues" with his past as Angelus.
Right.
Lindsay stood up straight, and sauntered over to where
Spike was cleaning weapons alongside Wesley.
"She's infected the mainframe with a series of viruses.
Hopefully it will serve to short out the retinal scanners and the print
database."
He shrugged.
"If it doesn't work, you won't get in anyway."
He looked Spike over, head to foot.
"You're close enough to my size. In the right clothes,
security might not make the connection. Once you're inside, however, you're on
your own. Are you sure your computer skills are up to it?"
Spike shrugged, and reached into his coat pocket. As he
lit up a cigarette he gave his answer.
"I won't really know until I try, will I, Junior?"
The front door opened, and Angel came in, carrying a
paper sack. He sat it on the table. Lindsay and Spike approached him, as he
withdrew the items inside.
"This is a voice-scrambler. I've had it programmed with
Lilah's range. She should still be in their database."
He handed the small contraption to Spike, and showed him
how to use it.
"This earpiece will let you hear us, while you're inside.
If there is any change in the plan, we will notify you this way. Should this
system become compromised, the keyword is "Darla." You hear any one of us say
that name and you know-"
"They've twigged to the job," Spike finished for him.
Angel nodded. Then he looked over to Wesley.
"You set up yet Wes?"
The watcher nodded.
"Yes. Just finished."
He raised the small crossbow triumphantly.
Angel turned back to Spike.
"We will be outside, on the side street. We cannot get
inside, but there's an excellent chance that once you leave the building, you
will be pursued. If that happens, you will at least have decent backup."
Spike nodded.
"Then let's get this show on the road."