Chapter Four
Plans, as they go Awry

I am so sorry, as always, that this chapter has taken more then a month to get out… no matter how good my intentions are, these chapters refuse to get written on time. I also apologise for not replying to all the wonderful reviews I received. Your comments were all wonderful, thoughtful, inspiring and read with great pleasure. I'm sorry I didn't get to reply to lots of them, because I would have loved to talk about the advice and compliments you gave me. However, as so often seems to happen to me, I ran out of time. Next chapter, I will reply to you all )

So… this chapter got completely out of control… what was supposed to be a twelve page chapter at most, spiralled into fifteen pages, then seventeen, then … so I cut it in half. ) The upside is, the next chapter is already half written. The downside is, this chapter seems to be all build up, and little resolution…

Oh oh oh… You'll meet Dameon this chapter… I wanted to have a bit more fun with him and Natasha… but my lovely Editor, advised me my plot lines were way too- "Unusual" and "kinda weird". So he's been slightly censored ) It's probably for the better.

Omg! And, on the subject of life coaches- my friend's step-mother recently invested her gold digging fortune in a life coach. He's this awesome zen monk guy, who randomly comes up with wise sayings. Yesterday, he came up with his best by far "It is, what it is." What an awesome guy P

Wolfram and Hart's cable network was literally out of this world. They got broadcasts not only from human satellite, digital and cable TV networks, but also the multitude of earth based demonic and mystical stations, not to mention plenty of channels not from this dimension at all and at least 10,000 free-access surveillance channels of clients and enemies. Spike picked up the remote angrily and pressed the large red 'power' button, switching the set off. "Almost a billion channels and there's nothing to bloody watch." He complained. The young vampire leant back on his chair, and gave his grandsire an upsidown pout "Angie, I'm bored."

Angel sighed. He looked up from the many documents he was constantly reading and signing, to regard his adolescent charge. "What do you want me to do about it?"

Spike hoped of the couch and bounded over to Angel's desk. "Give me something to do!" he pleaded. "Some action, some adventure!" He snatched up the papers Angel had been reading. "There must be a case here for me! Something I can slay, some damsel or puppy I can rescue?"

Angel tersely snatched his papers back. "I'm not giving you any cases while you're in this state. It's much too dangerous."

Spike frowned. "I'm not a baby Angel. Don't treat me like one."

"You may not be a baby, but you are a child," Angel said. "And I do not let children slay dangerous demons."

"I am not a child!" Spike yelled in anguish, "God, when will you open your eyes and see I'm a grown-up now?"

Angel sensed he might have put his foot in it, and decided to end the conversation, "no cases. My word is final."

Spike sat down again with a grumble. There was nothing to do in this stupid building. Nothing even remotely fun. Spike was bored of this office, bored of Angel, bored of this stupid age. There was absolutely nothing interesting to do- except Natasha.

Now there was a girl a vamp could sink his teeth into. She had completely dominated his thoughts since their chance meeting yesterday. He desperately wanted to see her again, but he had no idea where to look. She hinted that she lived around here, possibly in Wolfram & Hart itself. Maybe she was property of the law firm, like Tilly was. Spike sat up, a plan forming. He could go for a walk, and maybe, with a bit of luck, he'd bump into her. Anything would be better then sitting around in this boring office.

"Angie," Spike called coyly, as he got of the couch again. "Can I go for a walk?"

Angel furrowed his brow, "Why?"

"Because you're boring," Spike said. "Anything has got to be better then this."

Angel ignored the insult, "Where are you going to go?"

"Just down to the lobby or something," Spike said nonchalantly. "I dunno! It's just a walk. Maybe I'll find a vending machine and get myself a snack."

"I don't want you getting into trouble," Angel said. "Or causing any."

Spike grinned in what he thought was an endearing manner. "I'll be good," he said. "Cross my heart and hope to die- again."

"Fine," Angel relented. "But I want you back in an hour. Fred and Wes are coming."

Spike grabbed his duster from the couch and threw it around his shoulders. "They're brining Tilly! Of course I'll be back!"

"Don't talk to any one you don't know," Angel said. "If you get lost, call me alright? And I'll come find you."

"Yes mummy." Spike gave Angel a wave goodbye, and sauntered out the door.

"I mean it!" Angel called out after him. "Don't do anything stupid!"

"Don't count on it," Spike called back.

Natasha carefully touched the black mascara wand to her long black eyelashes, instinctively opening her mouth as she applied the dark gluggy make-up. She was seated at a desk in 'The Den', an unused office in Wolfram and Hart that Natasha and her gang, 'The Dark Fangs', had commandeered to be their head quarters. It had all the comforts a teenage vampire could want – a mini-bar full of blood and junk food, a TV with cable and an x-box, a killer stereo system and a box of dark magicks in the corner.

"This would be so much easier if I could see myself," Natasha grumbled, setting down her mascara wand. "How's it look?"

Her little blond friend, Sophia, looked up from brushing her hair, "Fine. You always look fine."

Natasha gave her friend a pout, "I don't want to look fine," she said, flattening her tight red vest over her stylish white collared shirt. "I want to look hot."

"It looks hot then."

Natasha reached for a blood red lipstick, and began to apply it to her deathly pale lips.

In another corner of the room, a thin boy with heavily dyed black hair and completely black clothes to match, was meditating. He was seated inside a large pentacle, drawn in white chalk, and in front of him was a white crystal. He began to chant quietly in Latin.

Sophia glared at him, "Michael, that's really annoying" she said.

The Goth boy looked up, "I was trying to reach the astral plane," he grumbled. "It takes intense concentration to connect with something that's outside our reality. Only in a deeply meditative state of magical comatose can one attain true understanding of the higher existence."

Sophia ignored his hyperbole and instead snatched up the white crystal Michael had been using in his spell. "Ooh! Pretty."

"Sophia," Michael whined. "It's not pretty! It's a receptacle form immense dark power!"

"I like the way it sparkles," Sophia said. "Can I have it, sweetie?" Michael looked torn. Satisfy his girlfriend, or reach the astral plane. Sophia batted her eyelashes at him.

He sighed, and mumbled "Anything for you, my love."

Sophia kissed him. "Aww! You're the best boyfriend ever."

Natasha rolled her eyes. She turned away from the couple, now thoroughly engaged in locking lips, and concentrated her attention on the far side of The Den. It was lit by the eerie white glow of a television. The set currently displayed W&H surveillance channel #7340. Seated on a dark green couch, already watching the TV was Natasha's step-brother Dameon.

She walked silently across the room. She could feel his eyes move from the screen as she walked. He knew where she was- his vampire hearing picked up the soft whisper of dispelled air as Natasha stepped forward. No matter how silent she was, he knew her movements.

She stoped beside his chair. Dameon's eyes moved from the television screen to look sideways at his step-sister. "Your boy's leaving," he said.

Natasha walked her fingers along his shoulder towards his neck, "Where's he going?"

"I'm not a mind reader," He chided. His voice stayed at a low pur however, not angry.

Natasha smiled. She ran her finger along Dameon's neck. He shivered as her fingers brushed against his scar.

"He's just left the office." Dameon elaborated, motioning with a thin pale finger at the figure on the screen. Spike.

"Then it's time to move," Natasha said. "C'mon Soap, we should be able to head him off at the entrance to the lobby."

Sophia and Michael took a time out from their game of tonsil hockey. They grabbed their coats, and joined Natasha at the door.

Natasha looked pointedly at Dameon, who was still sitting on the couch, "I'm not going." He said.

"You have to," said Natasha.

"No I don't," He replied, "this is your game, not mine." She glared at him. "Fine," he relented, "I'll come. But you owe me something special." He gave her a devilish wink. Natasha rolled her eyes.

"Hey, love."

Harmony looked up from painting her nails, to see a pale blond boy in a big leather duster eyeing her over the counter. "Eww," she said, "I mean, hello, welcome to Wolfram and Hart."

The boy smiled his best roughish smile, "I bet you say that to all the handsome hero types."

"Duh," Harmony said tersely, dipping the brush back into the nail polish bottle to begin on her index finger. "They pay me to say it. What do you want, kid?"

"Kid!" Spike exclaimed, "I'm older then you Harm. You're bloody 17."

"I am as old as I see myself," Harmony said, in an oddly empowered and pompous tone, "My life coach says that just because I was young when I was sired, doesn't mean I haven't grown. It's disrespectful and discriminative for Angel to use my eternally young gorgeous looks against me."

Spike rolled his eyes, "You have a life coach? You're dead, what he coaching you for?"

"Who are you anyway?" Harmony asked, "you're kinda rude."

Spike was shocked. "It's me- Spike!" He said. Harmony still looked confused, so he leaned in close and whispered, "Blondie Bear."

Harmony gasped, "Spike? What happened to you?"

"Nothing," Spike said. "Ok, something. I got a little younger."

"A little?" Harmony said, "You're like a baby!"

"Am not!" Spike pouted.

"And ewww, were you cracking onto me?"

Spike shuffled his feet. "You never used to mind." He muttered.

"Yeah, that was before you were twelve." Harmony said.

"I'm not twelve," Spike growled. "I'm fifteen! Can't anyone see that?"

"You look twelve to me," Harmony said, "and that duster is too big for you."

Spike gave her a glare, "you act twelve." He retorted.

"I'm as old as I see myself!" Harmony said, repeating her life coach's motivational quotes. "I am a valuable member of this organisation. I do not have to take your abuse."

"Is this idiot bothering you?"

Harmony turned to face who she thought was her rescuer, and sighed exasperatedly, "Yes!"

"I wasn't talking to you," Natasha said, for it was she who had arrived to break up the squabble. "Spike, is this idiot bothering you?"

Spike gave Harmony a malicious glare, as if to say, 'Ha ha, I win'. "She's not worth being bothered by."

"Lets leave her to her menial desk job then, shall we?" Natasha suggested.

"Hey!" Harmony cried. "Respect your elders."

Spike gave her a withering glance, "I have a good 100 years on you Harm, so can just sod off. Go cry to your life coach." He and Natasha turned away from the fuming Harmony and proceeded down one of the corridors leading off from the lobby.

Harmony watched them go, before grabbing the phone and hitting the speed dial, "Master Haru? It's me… I had an encounter with a fellow employee, and he's made me feel very devalued."

"You're familiar with the hired help?" Natasha asked, once they were out of Harmony sight.

"We, unfortunately, have a history," Spike explained. "Plus, I'm kinda her boss."

Natasha raised an eyebrow. "Really?"

"Well, I work for- with- Angel, who's her boss." Spike said.

"Who's Angel?" Asked Natasha.

"Big broody type," Spike said, "He has a serious redemption complex. He used to try and kill these lawyers, but now he just bosses them around."

"I must have missed the memo," Natasha mused.

"I hoped I'd run into you." Spike said.

"Your lucky day then," Said Natasha. She stopped at a door and nocked.

"Who is it?" A girl's voice called from within.

"Natasha. Open up Soap."

"What's the password?" The girl behind the door asked.

"Michael likes to kiss boys." Natasha said.

The door opened to reveal the blond girl Spike had seen with Natasha yesterday. She looked annoyed "That's not the password!" She snapped.

Natasha laughed, "No, but it's true." She walked past Sophia, into one of the many unused offices. This one was currently occupied by three teenagers, presumably Natasha's friends, lounged around the practical office furniture.

Sophia directed her attention towards Spike "You're not really so tall," the tiny girl said.

"Spike, you remember my friend Sophia." Sophia gave him a grin, and Spike gave her a nod in reply. "This is Michael," Natasha went on, indicating a dark haired goth-type leaning against the wall of the office. "He's a man-witch."

"Sorcerer," Sophia interrupted, "he's also, my boyfriend."

Michael gave Spike a troubled-angsty glare from under his long black fringe, "You have a dark aura, friend," he said, his voice croaky and low "but I see a silver lining. Heavy."

Natasha rolled her eyes, "What ever that means."

Spike's eyes were draw away from Michael, towards a boy lounging in the high backed black chair behind the huge desk dominating the room. He was annoyingly well dressed and his thin sneer of a smile instantly irritated Spike. His eyes glittered as Spike glared at him.

Natasha's voice jolted Spike from his thoughts, "And my step-brother, Dameon."

Dameon stood up, extending a hand towards Spike across the desk, "Charmed, Spike." He said the name with just a hint of mocking. He had a pompous, rich-kid, over-educated American accent – which Spike hated.

"Right," Spike said, shaking his hand, "nice to meet you, Yank."

"He's a vampire," Natasha said, in an attempt to dispel the tension between the two boys.

"Sired by my lovely step-sister," He said, smiling at Natasha. Dameon's eyes glittered almost disturbingly.

Natasha looked away uncomfortably. "And Sophia is a were-wolf." She said, hurriedly changing the subject. "Well, 3 nights of every month."

Sophia held up her hands as if baring her claws, and growled.

"It's a whole football team of beasties," Spike said. He turned to Michael, "and I spose you're some kind of furry too?" He asked sarcastically.

"I am a dark Sorcerer," He said.

"He thinks he's a dark sorcerer," Natasha said. "I've never actually seen him perform any magic."

"You're lack of faith is disappointing, Natasha," Michael said, "When I reach my full power, you will learn not to speak to me in such a way. Magic is a secret art well beyond your perception… but you will learn child, you will learn."

Sophia looked adoringly at Michael, "You're so sexy when you talk about dark power." She said.

"Eww." Natasha looked about ready to bite Michael

"How did you end up here?" Spike asked, "Wolfram and Hart I mean. It's not their usual policy to hire minors- or are you clients?"

"Neither," Natasha said. "We're… property. Abandoned, Orphaned or sold for magical favours. Wolfram and Hart owns us."

"Like my friend Tilly," Spike said. "I know this girl- this little kid- Matilda. Her parents sold her to Wolfram and Hart, because of her powers. She lives in containment."

"Oh! I know where that is," Sophia said helpfully.

"Sophia stays in containment for the nights she goes wolfie," Natasha explained. "So, you have a friend in containment. You must be pretty familiar with the place then."

"Well yeah, I've helped her break out a few times." Spike chuckled, "so I know the escapes pretty well."

"Perhaps you could help us with something," Natasha suggested.

"He doesn't have to get involved," Dameon interrupted.

Spike glared at him, "The lady was speaking."

"I was just thinking, you could help us rescue something from containment," Natasha said. "Our puppy."

"Puppy?" Containment was Wolfram and Hart's holding cells for the more dangerous and interesting creatures they acquired. It was home to demons and magical beasts – not puppy dogs.

"Rex!" Sophia said excitedly, "He's kept all locked up in the cell across from mine. And he gets so lonely. We want to take him for a walk."

Spike looked at Natasha. Helping rescue this dog could definitely score him hero points with the gorgeous vampire. "Of course I'll help." He said. "Just tell me how."

Natasha beamed at him, "Can you get us into containment unnoticed?"

Spike grinned, baring his pointy fangs, "Piece of cake, love."

The Clerk manning the security desk gave Fred a dirty look, "Do you have the correct release form?" He asked.

Fred presented him with a yellow form she had filled out earlier, "Containment Release form #306 – Temporary Release Under Senior Supervision."

The Clerk looked the form over, though he knew it would be filled in correctly. Miss Burkle came almost everyday with an identical form to take Subject #689 4235, Matilda Goldberg, from her cell. If Miss Burkle didn't come, Mr Wyndam-Pryce would. Their forms were always correct to the letter. The containment department was beginning to get annoyed, but there was nothing they could do. As long as the forms were filled out correctly, and signed by a director or partner, then any employee could remove subjects from Containment.

"Who authorised this?" The Clerk asked, pointing to the signature at the bottom.

"Mr Angel," Fred said. She had about 50 identical forms with Angel's signature waiting to be filled out, any time she wanted to see Tilly.

The clerk sighed "This seems to be in order," he said slowly, "would you like the subject to be brought up here?"

"No, I can go and get her myself," Fred said. She checked her watch, Wesley was running late again. She could wait, but then they'd both be late to meet Angel. With tensions running to high about Spike it was probably best not to worry Angel further. "If Mr Wydam-Pryce arrives, c'n you tell him where I am?" The clerk gave her a withering glare, "please?" she added.

"Of course, Miss Burkle." Whether he liked it or not, Fred out ranked him.

Clearance form in hand, Fred passed through the security doors and into the blinding white corridors of the Containment Department. Though they were plain and white, Fred knew these walls well. Between the plain white walls, kept behind bullet and magic proof glass, were the creatures of containment. Once Fred had known them only as beasts- gnashing teeth, pointy claws, frightening powers and five digit security codes to get to them. Then she had met Tilly. This happy, normal, little girl lived among the beasts. She wasn't evil, or dangerous, and she wasn't a brainless monster.

As she walked, Fred cast her eyes over at the creatures being held in the containment cells. Where they really monsters? Or just prisoners like Tilly? How many other innocent creatures were branded "dangerous" and locked up for no reason?

She looked to her left- her gaze meeting that of a hell hound. The beast froze, as Fred look at it. Suddenly it sprang forward, snarling and barking. Fred jumped back in fright. Drool flew from the dog's filthy jaws as it snapped at Fred from behind the glass. She moved hurriedly away.

"Aun'y Fred!" Tilly cried in excitement when Fred arrived at her cell. On the other side of the glass, Fred was oblivious to Tilly's voice, but she saw the little girl's smile, and beamed back. She typed in the security code on the keypad, to release the door. It slid back with a whoosh of pressurised air being released.

Tilly ran at Fred, who knelt down to catch the little girl in her arms, "Tilly!"

"I've been waiting all day," Tilly said, pretending to be cross.

"Sorry," Fred said, "I've been working."

"Where's Uncle Wes?" Tilly asked.

"He's meeting us back at the front desk." Tilly adored Wesley. Somewhere between a crush and idol worship- Tilly had latched on to Wesley with such a fierce affection he couldn't help but love her back. He was her hero. Fred knew their affection went beyond that though. Being part demon, Tilly was gifted with being able to see people's shadows. The dark past they hid from themselves and others. Wesley had dark secrets- things about his childhood that he kept from his friends. And something else, something more recent, that Fred felt she knew- but couldn't remember. Something maybe even Wesley didn't remember. Tilly saw it all- she knew the worst Wesley had done. And she forgave him unconditionally. Wesley loved her for that.

"Lets go then." Tilly grabbed Fred's hand and started to pull her away.

Fred struggled with Tilly, "Wait! Are you sure you've got everything?"

Tilly nodded, "yes yes, sure sure. Hurry up!"

"Where's your torch?"

Tilly sighed, and pulled her little pink emergency torch out of her skirt pocket "Here." She turned it on and waved it around. "Working fine. Can we go now?"

"Alright," Fred said. "We can go. But be careful. There's a dog in here, and it scared me earlier."

Tilly laughed. "Don't be silly, Aun'y Fred. What ever animals are in here are locked up. So don't worry." She spoke in a patronisingly comforting voice a parent would use with a child. "They can't get you."

6pm, and the south door of the Containment Department was unguarded. Spike knew it would be. He had smuggled Tilly out of Containment on more then one occasion, and she taught him all the tricks to making a good escape. "The night guard on the south door is always late," Tilly had told him, "and the day guard is having an affair with the receptionist from industrial finances. So he always leaves right on the dot of six, to go meet her. There's at least a fifteen minute gap between them- perfect for escaping."

Sure enough, she was right. At exactly five to 6, the guard had taken off his cap and replaced his walky-talky. By 6 on the dot, he was gone.

Spike scanned the area, but could see no sign of the night guard- he wouldn't be in for at least fifteen minutes. "We should be in and out in ten minutes," Spike whispered to Natasha, who was crouched by the door to Containment with him, "to be safe. Time to call the cavalry."

Natasha whistled softly, and Sofia came skipping around the corner from the outer passage, followed by Michael and a nonchalant Dameon. "It's time to go guys," she instructed, "follow Spike's lead until we get into the east wing, alright?"

"Fine by me," Dameon said, "what are your orders then, oh great leader?" He addressed Spike with a mocking grin, which Spike returned in kind.

"How 'bout I order you to go first? So if the critters are out of their cages, they'll get you and we'll have time to escape?"

"Oh yes," Dameon sneered, "very brave."

"They will escape and cause havoc," Michael said, "I have forseen it."

Sofia gave him a 'no duh' look. "No duh. That's why we're-"

Natasha whacked her shoulder before Sofia could continue. "that's why we're going to be careful, right Soap?"

"Yeah," Sofia said, sullenly rubbing her arm, "that's what I was going to say."

"Does anyone remember the guard who will be here in fifteen minutes?" Dameon asked, "Or, fourteen now. We don't have time to waste bickering."

"We're going," Spike said. "Don't forget who's team leader."

"Only until the east wing." Dameon said.

"Miss Burkle has already gone to collect Subject #689 4235," The clerk informed Wesley, as he stepped through the archway into the Containment Department. "She left approximately ten minutes ago. You may wait here, if you wish."

Wesley nodded curtly, "thank you. I will."

The clerk eyed Wesley uneasily. He opened his mouth, but shut it again quickly. He obviously wanted to say something, but knew Wesley was his superior. The ex watcher turned away- uninteresting in what he had to say. This place was a prison, and this man- Tilly's jailor. What ever he had to say, Wesley didn't want to hear.

"Mr Wyndam-Pryce," the clerk began. Wesley looked up. The clerk faltered, but it was too late to turn back now. "This is not a day-care centre. You and Miss Burkle are blatantly abusing Wolfram and Harts facilities. Subject #689 4235 is not your property when you wish it, and ours when it's not convenient for you."

Wesley spoke slowly and menacingly, "I hardly think that is any of your business. A desk clerk would do wisely to remember his place." The pure steel of the ex-watchers glare was enough to make the clerk hurriedly return his attention to his computer monitor. He had hit too close to the mark- and both he and Wesley knew it.

A hideous noise echoed from deep within the corridors of Containment, breaking the tension in the foyer. Wesley and the clerk looked up, the noise bouncing off the walls around them. A scream. A woman's frightened scream.

Wesley gasped, "Fred."