By Tales of Spike

Disclaimer: All characters from the BtVS/AtS universe are the property of Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, etc. etc., but if they did belong to us we'd be far nicer to Spike.

Author's Note: Apart from the prologue, the story starts after Older and Far Away, but before As You Were. It stays with the show until Hells Bells or chapter 7, after that it's AU all the way to chapter 23 and the epilogue. At the point that I wrote it a lot of it was based on transcripts as the relevant episodes hadn't reached the UK, so a huge thanks is due to Joan the English Chick and www.psyche.kn-bremen.de. This was my first attempt at FanFic, in fact it was the first time I had written anything since leaving secondary school in 1989. I originally posted it as NC-17 mostly so that I could write whatever I wanted without worrying about ratings. I'll be reviewing the rating on a chapter by chapter basis as I repost, but if you don't object to an occasional swear word there was very little in the original that came anywhere near the higher rating, except for half a page of smut round about chapter 7. What I do when I get that far will probably depend on reviews. If enough people let me know they want the rating of the series kept PG-13, I'll work it that way but repost an R rated version of the relevant scene as a ficlet for anyone who can and wants to read it, otherwise I'll change as little as possible and upgrade the series to an R.

Dedication: This is for all the reviewers who managed to keep me writing through to the end. You guys all know who you are and probably aren't reading this a second time Hope any new readers enjoy it as much as some appear to have done first time round.

Reviews are still very welcome second time round and I will review and post the chapters more quickly if I get a good response. Otherwise, I'll stick to working on the epilogue for Spike's Will Be Done, which is probably too huge and action light for me to ever post even if there is lot's of Spuffiness. It's now several times larger than the original fic. Oops. (It's very definitely NC17, so it won't appear on ff anyway). Alternatively, I might work on one of a couple of ideas I have knocking round in my brain either a Series 2 AU or a total AU based on an old film with B/S taking over from Bogart and Bacall. (That should be a pretty big clue.)

Prologue

The woman stood at the window, framed by the gradually encroaching flames. She clutched the smaller female figure to her breast as if to protect her from the blaze. Her real family were all lost to her, but to the woman this was her family, to care for as well as she was able, which wasn't really all that well. She couldn't even really look after herself.

Spike loved her with all his heart. More than that, he understood her. Only he could understand her. She had endured a catalogue of traumas, and it had altered her, reducing her to a shattered fragment of her former self.

His grand-sire had been drawn to her years before when she was a beautiful young innocent, but one with exceptional gifts. He had taken her innocence, and filled her world with pain and loss. She had died and then clawed her way up from the grave; all this was just a fraction of the events that had combined to make her who she now was.

So now Spike devoted his life to caring for her. It was his responsibility. He had made it so. He felt he owed it to her. His life before he met her had been worthless, wasted. She was his saviour. He would devote his entire existence to protecting her and making her happy.

Yet, he was helpless to protect her now from the rising flames or from the lynch-mob which surrounded the building which had been their home for the past six months. In fact, he wasn't even in the same section of the city.

He sat in an almost bare room. A cowled figure faced him across a worn desk, on which rested a large shallow silver bowl. Behind the desk, some sort of ceremonial circle had been laid out using a fine silver powder. Spike gazed in horror at the scene reflected on the surface of the bowl of black ink.

"This is coming to pass as you watch. If you wish to save her you must be prepared to pay… and the price could be high."

Spike's eyes were cold as diamond chips, and his voice was almost a feral growl. "Get her out of there! Now!"

Unintimidated, the figure opened one of the desk drawers and withdrew a sheet of parchment. Most of the sheet was already filled with writing, but the figure raised a mottled hand, spread it over the page. When he pulled his hand back the page was completely filled, except for the space for the signatory. The demon reached again into the drawer, withdrawing a feather quill.

"It's customary to sign these things in your own blood."

Without reading the contract, Spike used a nail to tear open a vein on the back of his right hand. He dipped the quill into the cut and scrawled his name across the bottom of the page.

"Now get her out or I will rip your head off, scoop out your brains and use the inside of your skull for an ashtray!"

The mage examined the signature on the contract. Seemingly satisfied, he rose from the desk and crossed over to stand beside the circle, and then he began to chant.

Spike returned his gaze to the bowl on the desk. Even in the seconds it had taken to sign the contract, the flames had claimed more of the building. He could no longer see into the first floor room where the woman had been, and all he could do was wait to see if the mage's spell would produce the desired result. He held an unnecessary breath as the mage completed his incantation.

Drusilla appeared within the bounds of the circle; Miss Edith clutched to her breast. Spike rushed to her and swept her cowering form into the safety of his arms, lifting her like a groom carrying his bride across the threshold. He murmured soothing noises to her and when she had quieted, he waltzed her round the room, still cradled in his arms until she laughed out loud.

"Miss Edith said you wouldn't let us burn."

"No, love." He lowered her feet to the floor whilst still keeping one arm around her back. He kissed her tenderly on the mouth, then soothed away a stray hair from her brow. "I'd never let anything bad happen to you, ever."

Only then did he return his attention to the figure once more seated behind the desk.

"You!" He swaggered over to the table. "You knew this was gong to happen, didn't you?"

"A seer always finds it most difficult to predict their own fate. By the time you decided to consult me as to the meaning of her visions, it was already too late… or perhaps if you had not come to me you would have been there to prevent her from taking the child and there would have been no mob, no fire. Who knows? The fates can be cruel."

Spike pulled the contract back towards him, reading the text for the first time. He felt as if he had been outsmarted, used somehow. He was tempted to tear the contract to shreds and eat the mage for tea. However, the contract itself was probably magical and the mage-seer's reputation suggested he would be more than able to defend himself. Magic was something Spike preferred not to mess with. Somehow any time he had things had not gone that well.

Besides the terms of the contract weren't all that bad.

In exchange for the services provided this day, namely preventing the demise of one loved one; the signatory shall provide goods or services to the bearer of this contract upon demand.

If taken in goods or currency, the fee shall represent no more than one tenth part of the total net worth of the signatory. Alternatively, payment may be taken in the form of services to be provided by the signatory over a period not exceeding one week. *

Signed
William the Bloody

*The following standard clauses apply if payment is taken in the form of services.

The signatory may not be expected to perform any task inherently involving permanent physical damage to themselves, but may be required to perform services where there is a risk of harm, not exceeding an approximate 25% probability.

Any failure on the part of the signatory to meet the terms of this contract will result in the invocation of the three-fold rule.

"Okay Mage-Boy, so what does this three-fold thing at the bottom mean then?"

"It means, Bleach-Boy, that today your lady love was saved. If you don't pay up when the time comes, then you can count on three of the people you care most about coming to a painful and untimely end."

Spike's mouth creased into his trademark smirk. "Fine." Spike reckoned that perhaps he hadn't done too badly on this deal after all. At the very worst he'd bought some extra time for Dru. Hell! The last time there were three people in this world that he cared about had been over a hundred years ago. Dru was the only one. She was his world. With that he resolved to put all thought of the contract behind him, at least until the day someone asked him to make good on it.

"Come on, kitten. It's time we found a new home. Prague's no good to us no more."

End of Prologue

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 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. 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 saw him and 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 lets 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 the senior partners wanted no part in.

The television being on gave him little 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. 5'10". Slim build. Short bleach blonde 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 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 you spent more time with one Rupert Giles and one Tara Maclay than with any of the others in your social circle, over the summer 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. How long had these people been keeping tabs on him?' 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… 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 at the way 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. The 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 behind him, Spike headed for his liquor stash. He downed a third of the bottle before frustration got the better of him and he launched the bottle 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! Again."

End of Chapter 1

Next chapter : Spike's reactions

Another unexpected visitor at his crypt