Chapter One
"Mr. Pratt—"
"Spike," he insisted.
Why did she feel like she was the patient instead of the doctor? Confrontation was never really her thing. She could talk down trigger-happy troubled teens from putting bullets into the entire school population, but she couldn't tell this man that he was being an asshole? Dr. Tara McClay, renowned and respected psychiatrist, could not understand how that was possible.
"Right… S-Spike…ahh… I-I've asked to see you because…'cause…" Tara stuttered, as she tried to get out what she wanted to say.
" 's this gonna take all day, pet? 'Cause 've got a li'l 'watch-paint-dry' thing tha' I really don' wanna miss," Spike snarked.
God, he was getting snippy, she hated snippy! Snippy made her stutter even more and look like a bigger idiot. How did she ever get involved in this line of work again?
C'mon, McClay…don't let him get to you. You can do this. You've been doing this for years. This is no biggie, Tara encouraged herself.
Tara closed her eyes and took a deep breath, slowly counting to five in her mind. Then she opened her eyes and held Spike's gaze.
"Spike, you've not been participating in the group counselling sessions. You probably think you're too macho for the hugs n' tears sharing thing, but it's necessary. Over the years, I've found that when you're surrounded by people who've had similar experiences, you tend to be more honest with yourself. The group provides a safe space where you won't be judged because, hey, they've been in your spot. Then we can get to the root of your problems and make sure that you don't relapse," Tara explained, her eyes pleading with him to understand.
Spike was unfazed. He raised an eyebrow at her as if to say, "Are you quite finished?"
Tara sighed in defeat.
"Ok, Spike. Stay silent if you want to but I'm not the one who wants to get out of rehab. If you leave this place unchanged, you might have your freedom but you'll lose all those people who've been on your side. Think about it," Tara warned him.
'Scavengers…damn hypocritical, arrogant, nosy scavengers!' Lilah Morgan fumed inwardly as she tossed the day's copy of The National Enquirer onto her desk. She blew out a ragged breath and rubbed her throbbing temples with her fingertips.
"Oh God…" Lilah groaned, burying her face in her hands.
She plodded over to her plush, oversized leather couch and dropped down into its smooth, soft, welcoming depths. The slight pulsing in her temples had morphed into a gigantic, dizzying, killer migraine that threatened to make her head explode within a few seconds. Even worse, her eyes hurt, she ached all over, and she felt horribly nauseous. It was as if her body was going through a rapid self-destruct sequence. For the first time in her life, Lilah Morgan found herself succumbing to the pressure of her work.
At the moment things were going great for her, life decided to take a huge dump on her; and that 'dump' was her pain-in-the- ass salvation – William "Spike" Pratt. Lilah had become involved with Spike and his band, Blind Love, seven years previously, when she had dated Spike's cousin, Wesley Wyndham-Pryce. She had been a mere rookie underling at Wolfram & Hart – a prestigious law firm, who had been looking for a big break to propel her to the top of the corporate ladder. Blind Love had just got their big break and had asked her to take a look at their contract and the rest was history.
Lilah had ended up being more than their lawyer; she had become their publicist and agent as well. She had taken Blind Love to the acme of stardom in a couple months. Blind Love became gods among men, loved and adored my millions of fans of all demographics worldwide. Blind Love's success had encouraged her to leave Wolfram & Hart and start her own public relations firm – Echelon. She had even taken on a few promising rising stars. However, Blind Love was her bread and butter, her top priority.
So when the band hadn't been in the charts for over two years and had failed to produce new material, Lilah was concerned. When the front man and star songwriter had took a downward spiral twice and was delicious fodder for the media, and the record label execs were threatening legal action if an album wasn't delivered within the next six months, Lilah was anxious. But when some teenaged kid idolized Spike and decided to OD to one of his songs from his first downward spiral and the story was splashed across every tabloid, newspaper, magazine, website, talk show and even brochure in sight, Lilah was going to have a major meltdown!
Dammit, Spike! I just pumped all I had into this business.
Lilah wanted to bawl her eye out like a baby- so overwhelmed and frustrated was she. Whenever babies cried, someone always came along and made everything better. Surely if she cried someone would take everything out of her hands and fix it, right?
So, for the first time in over two decades, Lilah Morgan cried. She cried not only for the disaster her professional life was becoming, but for the ripple effect it was having on her marriage to Wesley. For that moment, the usually formidable, unruffled Lilah Morgan became a messy, sobbing heap.
Compasiόn was a rehabilition facility located in Santa Barbara, practically a stone's throw away from the Pacific Ocean. It was built by Don Joaquín Alvarez- Quintero, a hidalgo, during the early 18th century. The building passed down throughout his generations until was sold to an Irish mobster during the Great Depression. After World War II, a Hollywood starlet bought it and it became a mecca for the rich and famous. Before she died, she asked that it be made into a refuge for others like her who lived a wild life and wanted to overcome addiction. Thus, Compasiόn (translating to mean 'mercy' in Spanish) was born.
Compasiόn was unlike the other rehab facilities that Hollywood flocked to. Compasiόn was a commitment that you couldn't get out of; once you started you had to see it through. Getting in was like applying to an Ivy League school; you had to be thoroughly screened before they took you on as a patient. He didn't know how, but he was glad Xander had got him into the damn place.
Today was Sunday. Visitor's Day. The day when kids squealed with delight and proudly displayed their hand-made cards with 'I Love You' and a labelled picture of a stick family scrawled in crayon. The day when spouses gave smiles, kisses and hugs of reassurance, wrapping you up in a bubble of warm, fuzzy love. Parents fussing over how much food you hadn't eaten and promises of a feast worthy of a king when you came home. Friends poking fun and making plans for merriment you'd never seen the likes of. The day that made you pray , even if you weren't the praying kind, that you would never go back to your former self; because you wanted to keep all that love focused on you, you wanted to be better…be the best. The one day, the few fleeting hours, that made all the other rough, hellish days bearable.
Spike looked around the lounge, drinking in the reunions of his fellow rehab sojourners with their loved ones. All around him swirled joy, laughter and love… none of which he was the cause of. He didn't have any family and friends there to cocoon him with their love and support, to shield him from the suffocating warmth of the others.
The words of Dr. McClay came back to him, "…you'll lose all those people who've been on your side." Then he recalled how Xander was the only one in his corner, but even Xander looked like he was backing out too.
He remembered a cartoon about Bugs Bunny and the Easter Bunny. After being chased by Elmer Fudd and brutalised by a bratty kid, the Easter Bunny had declared in defeat, "Things like this make me go all to pieces…" Bugs Bunny told him, "Keep yer chin up. Oh…ehh…remember Doc, keep smiling!" Spike wanted to, but the empty seats in front of him were winning the battle.
Suddenly, Spike got up and walked out of the room, his usual swagger absent.
"I bet you'd kill for a cigarette, huh?" came a throaty feminine drawl from behind.
Spike turned to see a dark-haired beauty in a white baby tee with Bitchy Is My Middle Name on the front, short denim shorts and no shoes on.
"Yeah. Got any?" Spike asked.
"I've got peeps," she replied, sauntering over to him.
"You've got peeps? Why do I feel like I'm in some prison movie?" he responded.
"Sometimes it feels like it – stuck here until your reformed. All your vices taken away… what else does it sound like?" she said.
"Prison. So, you've got peeps, eh? How much is it gonna cost me?" Spike inquired.
"Nothin'" she replied.
Spike raised an eyebrow and looked at her with scepticism.
"Nothin'? Oh really?" he drawled.
"I've got tons… just thought I'd spread the love around. Y'know, help those in need and all that shit," she explained.
"Ok. Lemme 'ave one," Spike shrugged.
"My pleasure," she purred.
She brought her hand from behind her back and brandished…. two bright yellow marshmallow Peeps ™ .
"Wha' th' bloody hell 's this? I thought you said you had 'peeps' who kep' you 'n smokes?" Spike demanded.
"No. I said I have peeps… sugary marshmallow duckies," she explained with a laugh.
Spike glared at her.
"C'mon, take one. It'll be good for you. Every time I get a craving I eat Peeps. Peeps are wicked sweet and get cloying real quick. It's like sugar shock therapy. You think cigarettes, you think Peeps, you think 'Jesus, not another one!' I used to crave cigarettes every minute of every day; now, I only get a craving once in a while," she explained.
Spike eyed the marshmallow duckies as if they were the instrument of Satan before he gingerly took one and popped it into his mouth. Spike grimaced as he slowly chewed the marshmallow.
"Sweet," Faith said.
"Sickeningly sweet," Spike agreed as he swallowed.
"Working already. I'm Faith, by the way – Faith Lehane," she introduced herself as she sat beside him on the bench.
"Spike," he replied.
"Everyone on the face of the planet knows who you are. So, Spike, what's your poison?"
"Sex, alcohol, drugs, leather pants… the usual rock star vices."
"Same here... except I'm a TV star. I saw you in the lounge; thought you could use a friend."
"Everyone knows who you are Kay Bennet. Friends… I have those for as long as I can keep goldfish."
"You watch my show. Spike watches Passions…who'd a thunk? You can't get rid of true friends. True friends are like a zit on picture day. You hope they'll go away, you do everything to make them go away; but they're there in your face, stubborn as hell."
" Well, 't seems 'm zit-free, luv."
"'Nah. Guy like you's got the forever kinda friends."
"Yeah? Didn't see 'em t'day."
"Why would they go through all the trouble of getting you into rehab? I know you didn't volunteer for this. They wouldn't waste all that time fighting to getchya into rehab and just desert ya like that. The day's not over, Spike. Peep?"
"Yeah. Gimme 'nother."
"This is the start of a beautiful friendship, kid."
"Mr. Pratt?" the muffled voice accompanied the knock at his door.
"Yeah?" Spike asked as he opened the door, a note of slight annoyance in his voice.
"You have a visitor- a Lilah Morgan. She says she's your lawyer," the attendant informed him.
Spike paused as if contemplating what to do about Lilah and then he said with a sigh of resignation, "I'll see her."
The attendant nodded and left to deliver Spike's message. Spike closed the door and returned to his seat by the bay window. The window afforded him a spectacular view of the nearby ocean and well-tended garden below. Shortly after, Lilah greeted him, "Well, if it isn't The Star's favourite circus monkey."
"Hello to you too, Princess," Spike said, not even bothering to look at her.
"Cozy little room with a view… not bad. Even better than the matchbox I'll go back to once my business goes under and I declare bankruptcty," Lilah remarked.
"You, bankrupt? Hardly. You're young n' beautiful…you'll figure out a way," Spike quipped.
"I am not shaking my money-maker for Quentin Travers because you've been too strung out to deliver his final album as per the contract you signed with him," Lilah sallied.
Spike sighed, turning to face her.
"Bloody 'ell! 've been doin' tha' a lot lately," Spike grumbled.
"What? Getting high? No shit."
" 'm talkin' 'bout bloody sighing like a pathetic ponce. You'd think someone was lettin' all the bleeding air out m' damn face!" Spike responded bitterly.
Suddenly, Lilah burst out laughing. Spike glared at her. Lilah laughed harder.
"You done now?" Spike growled as Lilah regained composure.
Lilah nodded and sat on his bed.
"Good. How's … how's Percy?"
"Wesley's fine. He's over-the-moon' –ish right now; I'm pregnant."
"Lemme guess. He wants to go drown in Suburbia and you want to stay in Tinseltown. 'ell you're not 'xac'ly thrilled 'bout th' li'l sprog are you?"
"Ughh! The thought of those little boxes… all made of ticky-tacky… June Cleaver I am not. I'd rather die than live in the 'burbs. But enough of me, let's talk about —"
Lilah paused to answer her cellphone.
"Lilah Morgan…Andrew?"
Lilah covered her phone and mouthed, "One minute," to Spike. Spike nodded and she left.
"Andrew, you moron! I swear you're going to make me kill you…." Lilah's voice drifted out of the room.
"Spike?" Lilah called out as she returned to the room.
"Yeah? What did Joxer the Nerdy do this time?" Spike replied from behind the door to his bathroom.
"I told him to pickup some stuff I was donating to a homeless shelter, some project of one of those skinny blonde it-girls. He accidentally donated my favourite Dolce leather coat and a mink wrap; and to make it worse, she's one of those bleeding heart, tree hugger types. She's all 'save the animals' and Andrew sends over dead cow and flayed weasel. Sometimes I wonder why I ever hired him," Lilah lamented.
"Give the kid a break, Princess. Everybody's got a cause these days, 's hard t' keep track of who's saving wh—"
Spike was cut off as he was suddenly tackled.
"Uncle Spike!" his attackers squealed with delight.
"Oi! Yer.. crushin' m' spleen!" Spike wheezed.
"Hello, Spike. Nice to see that you're not in a drug-induced stupor. JD and Billy, get off your uncle this instant or I'm shutting down your lemonade stand!"Anya threatened.
The little boys quickly released Spike and turned their attention to his bouncy bed. Anya was about to reprimand them for turning Spike's bed into a trampoline when Spike stopped her, "Nice to see you too. Let 'em be, luv. Boys will be boys."
"That's such a sexist remark! And coming from you? Tsk tsk…I'm sooo disappointed in you, Uncle Spike."
"Hello, Ducky," Spike greeted a teenage girl.
Her little brothers, seven-year-old Jesse Daniel and William Wesley were twin mirror images of Xander but sixteen year-old Hallie Christina was Anya's replica.
"I'm not a baby waddling around in diapers anymore. You can stop calling me Ducky," Hallie admonished Spike.
" n' miss the brassed off look you get when I say it in front of your li'l friends? Never," Spike declared.
"Wanker," Hallie mumbled.
"Aww, Ducky. You call me the sweetest names," Spike mock gushed as he hugged her, squeezing her and ruffling her hair for good measure.
"Ba Dut!" came a tiny voice.
" Aww, Spike. She's jealous. Look at her little face all scrunched up. She's saying 'Bad Ducky'," Willow cooed.
"No worries, Illyria. You'll always be Uncle Spike's number one girl. C'mere Li'l Bit," Spike reassured the baby girl in Willow's arms.
"Say hello to Uncle Spike, Ria," Willow urged the baby girl.
The baby practically leaped out of Willow's grasp and launched herself at Spike. Spike caught her and she giggled. She grabbed Spike's face and began to plant wet kisses all over it. Spike laughed and gave her and Eskimo kiss. Illyria squealed and wrapped her arms around his neck and put her head on his shoulder.
" Thought you weren't comin'" Spike said as he looked at Xander, Anya, Wesley, Lilah, Willow and Oz and their children.
"Us? Not come? Insane!" Xander scoffed.
"Who else would explain to this tosser why Man U is better than Arsenal?" Wesley added, pointing to Xander.
"And everyone else is tired of hearing about the cutest thing Ria did the other day," Willow joined in.
"And I got an idea for a song... a total clash of the 80s," said Oz.
"And Lilah and I have to talk to you about the state of your finances. What do you know about ForEx trading?" Anya chimed in.
"Uncle Spike, we have Burnout 2!" the twins, JD and Billy announced.
"And my Lit teacher is such a pompous know-it-all! He's all dismissive of Wide Sargasso Sea, talking about it being the waste product of a crazed mind…"
"Pi," Illyria cooed.
Spike basked in the attention of his 'family'.
Like a zit on picture day...