AN: Sorry about the delay between updates, it's just school started back and I've been busy for the past couple of weeks. Anyway, thanks for the nice reviews, and, hopefully, the next chapter will be out soon. Oh, and sorry about the shortness of this chapter. I'll try and make the next one longer.
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Chapter Three
The last three weeks had been a living hell.
Anya had been true to her word, the whole world had found out about what Spike had done and now everyone wanted a piece of him or the Cellar Dwellers. People who would have never even considered bringing the band on their show had been calling just so they could do an interview.
And the news programs and talk shows? Forget it. The bidding war had been rather interesting to watch, though. Babs had won, of course. When you're offered a contract to do what would insure that your band would be playing on New Years Eve in New York and would have its own special on RTV, it tends to seal the deal.
But networks hadn't been the only people at war. His home had turned into a regular Gettysburg, with a string of nanny's as the casualties. Even the milk was starting to outlast these paid professionals.
The last one hadn't even lasted two days. Two days! How the bloody hell those kids had managed to get ride of her that fast was beyond him.
Lord, this was enough to drive anyone-
"AAHHH!!"
Oh, no. Not another one.
Spike jumped off the couch, the guitar he had been strumming falling to the side as he viewed the latest victim charging down the stairs.
"What's goin' on?!" he demanded, hurrying to try and cut her off.
But the gray-haired woman pushed right past him, a small suitcase swing at her side as she headed for the closet.
"Where are you goin'?"
Grabbing her coat, the older woman slammed the door shut and glared at the bleached blond.
"Away. Far, far away from those…children!"
She heatedly pulled on the jacket, taking out her frustrations on the poor piece of clothing.
"Mr. Barrett, I have been employed as a nanny for more than thirty years and have had my share of unruly children before. But never – never! - have I had to deal with heathens such as those!" Once she was ready to leave, she picked up the suitcase, squared her shoulders and lifted her chin before she said, "You do not need a nanny, Mr. Barrett. You need an exorcist!"
Then, professional childcare giver number five was gone from their lives.
Spike groaned as he turned from the door, his hands grabbing the side of his head in anticipation of a headache. Yeah, he might not know anything about kids, but he most certainly knew that this could not be normal child behavior. Even he and Dru had not been this bad. Maybe having a young priest and an old priest come out and take a look at the three wouldn't be such a bad idea.
Although, someone has been enjoying the children's behavior. Giles had been rather amused lately whenever Spike would start to complain about the kids and how they were driving him crazy. Though the older British man would never say it, the look on his face had clearly said, 'Pay back's a bitch, isn't it, Spikie?'
"So, I take it Ms. Robins will no longer be under your employment," he heard Dawn say.
Spike dropped his hands and looked up the stairs to find his eldest niece and nephew standing there. The preteen had a Cheshire cat grin on her face as she crossed her arms over her chest.
"Too bad. I was starting to like her."
"What did you two do to that woman?" Spike demanded, glaring at what was left of his family.
Placing her hand over her heart with a mocking insulted look on her face, Dawn asked, "Why, dear Uncle William, whatever do you mean?"
"Don't call me that and you know what I mean, Scarlet. She didn't even last…" He glanced down at his watch. "Nine hours?! You two managed to get a professional to quit in less than nine hours?!"
"Nine hours?" she repeated with a smile and sounding rather proud of herself. "Hear that, Andrew? We've got a new record."
"This is not a bloody game!"
"You're just saying that because you're losing, Spike." Before he could reply, the prepubescent turned on her heels and headed back up the stairs, dragging her little brother along with her. "Come on. We've got to strategize for the next one."
The singer groaned again, grabbing the side of his head.
He thought back to a concert the band had played out in Las Vegas a few years back, when they were just starting to get popular. It had been an outdoor performance, and, after baking in the sun all day during rehearsal, they had nearly frozen to death that night when it came time for the show.
Afterwards, he, the poof, and Harris, who was a partier then, had gone out and gotten good and pissed. None of them could recall much from that night, only a few pieces here and there that involved the cops, gambling, a transvestite, and a chicken. The next morning, Spike found himself in a Vegas hospital, suffering from second degree burns, a sprained wrist, and alcohol poisoning. He remembered he had been sick, miserable, and in some of the worse physical pain he had ever experienced thanks to the placement of the burns.
Now, after living with those children, he longed to be back in that hospital room.
**********
Buffy was at a loss as to what to do.
After losing her job at the restaurant, she had been unable to locate a new one…well, one that would allow her to keep her top on anyway. No one was hiring. But with the economy in the preverbal toilet, should she really be all that surprised?
At first, she had looked at the impromptu vacation as an opportunity to focus on her acting career. After all, that had been the reason she had moved from Sunnydale to LA in the first place. She was going to live the American dream of going to Hollywood, becoming a big star with lots and lots of money, and living in a huge house in Malibu or Beverly Hills or, hell, maybe both. The only thing that the dream failed to mention was all the years of rejection and having to work odd jobs to make ends meet. Now, she couldn't even do that.
Stupid rock star. If she ever saw him again, she was going make sure that he could only sing soprano from then on.
"What am I going to do?" Buffy groaned, flopping sideways to lay on her couch with her face buried in her throw pillow.
"Well, how much money do you have left?" Willow asked, sitting down Indian style on the other side of the coffee table.
The redhead lived in the apartment directly across the blonde. They had met the first day that Buffy had moved there, and she had been surprised to find that another Sunnydaler had come to LA as well.
Willow had graduated about two years ahead of Buffy, thanks to accelerated classes. She had been attending UCLA, up until her sophomore year when she got involved in some nasty stuff. She's better now, but it took awhile. In the meantime, she had lost her scholarship, and was now reduced to being a waitress instead of running some computer company like she should be.
It was sad, really, but that was life sometimes.
"Let's put it this way. I got a notice the other day that said they haven't received my final payment on this lovely furniture. I was going to write them back and say 'Yes. You have' but I couldn't afford the stamp," Buffy told her, contemplating the merit of smothering herself with the pillow.
"Ouch."
"Big ouch. Which brings me back to my original question. What am I going to do? The rent is only paid up until the end of the month and you know Parker. He'll toss me out of here faster then you can say 'Slum Lord.'"
Stupid dignity. If she didn't have that, she could have a job right now shaking her butt up on a stage while grungy businessmen literally threw money at her. Stupid mother for instilling stupid dignity in her in the first place.
"Well, I guess if things got real bad you could always just move back home."
Buffy lifted her head to glare heatedly at the redhead.
"Or not."
"I'm not running back to Sunnydale, with everyone looking at me like 'I told you so.' It'll get better. I just have to, you know, give it time. Something will come up soon…right?"
The blonde looked hopefully to her friend, silently begging her to say that it would all be okay.
"Yeah, it'll work out. You'll see. And, if you, you know, do get kicked out, you can come stay with me if you have to."
"Thanks, Wills," Buffy smiled at the statement, then pushed herself upright before sliding to the floor to sit across from her friend. "Now that that is settled, tell me about this new guy you've been seeing that you don't think I know about."
**********
The Caritas was the watering hole for the Cellar Dwellers. Before Spike's life had been invaded by three rambunctious ankle bitters, the band had generally made it a point to meet there at least once a week to just hang out. Work was not to be mentioned here, even if it was a karaoke bar.
Alright, so these kinds of bars weren't the coolest places in the world, but they generally didn't have to worry about anyone they knew recognizing them here. And the owner was cool, in that Liberace kind of way.
Spike spotted his friends at their regular table in the back as soon as he walked in.
Anya was with them tonight, dressed casually instead of those power suits she was generally so fond of wearing. She was actually kind of pretty, he supposed. Well, she would be if he didn't know how damn evil she really was.
Oz's new girl, Red, was there tonight too. She seemed like a good girl, very polite if not a bit flaky when you first met her. But she had relaxed into the group over the past few weeks and was actually becoming a good friend to all of them.
Well, expect for Spike. She was nice enough to him, but he could sense some underlying uneasiness she had when he was around. Some of that had dissipated when she heard the story about the kids; from Oz, not from the TV or magazines. But still, there was something in the way she looked at him, like she wanted to be his friend, but couldn't for some reason or another.
Xander was the first to spot him. "Hey, look who finally made it out of the house."
The bleached blonde sighed, taking his seat before signaling to the waitress to bring him a beer. "Yeah, well, I only had to pay Giles time and a half to make it out of there."
Everyone present knew what that meant. If Giles was back at the house watching the kids, even though his day was supposed to be through, that means-
"They got her to quit already?" Angel asked.
"Yep. She didn't even make it 'til five o'clock."
The group sat in silence for a moment.
"Damn, those kids are good," Xander finally mused aloud.
"Too good," Spike agreed as a frosty glass of hops was placed before him. He downed half of it before telling them, "So good in fact, that I've been blacklisted. No nanny this side of the Rio Grande will come near my house."
"What? You're kidding!"
Sullenly, the singer shook his head no.
He had been blacklisted, by a place called 'Lot's 'o Love Nanny Agency' no less. Spike had been banned from many places before – bars, clubs, and he was pretty sure St. Louis – but from a nanny agency?! Now that was just down right embarrassing.
"Dawn's the one that was doin' it all," he explained, tracing his finger on the rim of his glass as if mourning some lost love. "She's just Pie Pipperin' the other two. They go along with whatever she says, and then another nanny bites the dust."
Turning in his seat, Spike glared at his agent.
"Well, Anya, you got any more bright ideas in that pretty little head of yours 'bout what I should do?"
"Buy a cattle prod," she said with a shrug, taking a sip of her drink. "That'll teach those kids."
"Anya!" Xander snapped.
"What?"
"Have you thought about boarding school?" Willow asked meekly from next to Oz, ignoring the agent and the guitar player.
He actually had…a lot. He had even investigated a military school in hopes that they weren't just for boys anymore. Turns out the good ones are still only for men. Damn it.
Spike opened his mouth to answer, but Anya quickly cut him off.
"Boarding school?! I don't think so. He's been made out to be this great uncle who wants to take care of those kids. If he was to send them off to some Swedish boarding school the press would crucify him and the band. He might as well kill those kids in their sleep as send them there."
"Then what do you suggest I do?" Spike asked heatedly. "Besides resort to child abuse?"
"Find someone new," she said simply. "There's a butt load of unemployed people out there. Sure, they might not have any experience, but that's better than nothing."
"Well, he's going to need someone who can control those kids, Anya," Angel stated, taking another sip of his beer.
"Also, someone who won't take Dawn's crap," Spike added.
The green-haired bass player went on, "Someone who will work for minimum wage and live in that tiny room you're providing."
"Not to mention someone who wears flame retardant clothing," Xander added dryly, bringing his drink up to his lips.
"How is Mrs. Oliver anyway?" asked Oz.
Shrugging, the bleach blond took another drink from his beer. "The agency said her eyebrows are finally startin' to grow back, but she still havin' to wear the wig."
Spike sighed as he leaned back in his chair and stared at his now empty glass.
"Experienced or not, where am I goin' to find someone like that who is desperate enough to take on those monsters?"
The group went silent again when the question was posed. It was one thing to say what kind of person he needed. Unfortunately, it was quite another to actually find them. And when the nanny agency has given up on finding the right person, what chance, really, did they have of finding her?
Actually, the longer they sat there, the better and better Anya's cattle prod idea was sounding.
Chewing lightly on her bottom lip, Willow slowly rose her hand, praying she was not going to die from what she was about to say. But Spike just looked so sad, and really did need help. And it would be work. She would just have to push that point. It's work, a free place to live and free food. Yeah, she'll go for that…the redhead hoped anyway.
'Oh, God, please don't let her kill me for this.'
"Um, I might know somebody."
**********