The Downside of Elemental Dieseling

Author: Nickeltaffy

Disclaimer: Blah, blah, blah…These characters are Joss's. I don't own them, never did and never will. Thanks for the loan, Joss.

…..

Chapter 3

As Angel and his team forcefully came through the door at Wolfram and Hart, he barked out orders to his team.

"I want reports from the teams in San Luis every half hour on the status of the search in the dockyards. I want teams out in the bay scouring for his body. I want the Coast Guard radio monitored for any mention of rescue of man or child in that area." Angel commanded as he strode purposefully across the lobby.

Wes peeled off to ensure Angels' directives were completed; Angel marched into his office with Fred and Gunn following right behind him. Angel went behind his desk where he paused and put his hands on his hips while he looked down on the floor.

"Gunn, we're going to need identity documents on Spike if he has turned into a child and the authorities find him." Angel instructed the lawyer, not moving from his stance staring at the floor. "We'll have to provide something so they'll release him to us."

"It shouldn't be a problem. What should I list as his name? Who are we gonna say his parents are?" Gunn asked uneasily.

"Create an identity for him as four year old William O'Haleran. List me as his father." Angel said, and then with a small ironic smile added "You can list Joyce Summers as his mother. He always felt special toward her."

"You got it, boss." Gunn said determinedly and spun to leave the office.

Taking a moment, Angel rubbed his hand over his face as he tried to push down the panic he found rising up inside him. He was swimming in self incrimination about how cavalier he had been when he had heard Spike had left the premises. He hated to think that the small child that he had carried in his arms only yesterday was now alone and cast adrift in the world by himself.

His heard turned when he heard a small sob from over by the sofa in his office. He looked back to see Fred standing there, with a desolate expression her face. She slowly moved with stilted steps toward the desk.

"Please tell me we're going to find him. I need someone to tell me that everything is going to be okay." Fred quietly pleaded as she stroked the black leather coat that was folded over her arm.

Moving around the desk, Angel came forward and wrapped his arms around Fred. He cradled the back of her head in his hand as he held her against him. He could feel the small hitches in her breath as she tried to repress her increasing distress.

"Shhh. We're going to find him. He is going to be okay." Angel said as he tried to dissuade her fears. "He'll be back here before we know it, doing his best to make me miserable."

...

As the limo neared the edges of Los Angeles, Taras looked over at his wife who was smoothing the blanket around the sleeping child she was slowly rocking. He could hear her humming a lullaby under her breath as she rested her cheek against the blonde curls. He congratulated himself on thinking so quickly at the boat. This is the best present he had ever given her. So what if the child was not his to give, that had never stopped him before. Besides, the child had been pulled lifelessly out the ocean. Whoever had tossed him there surely considered him dead by now. If there were people looking for the child that could be a problem. He had to make sure that the child was kept out of sight for the time being before he could make arrangements. He had to think of a story, so the women of his family would abide with keeping the child hidden from the authorities.

"Yah, He is a most cute little thing, isn't he?" Taras commented to his wife.

"He's the most adorable thing I've ever set eyes on." Shirley gushed, as she nuzzled the top of Spike's head

"Shirley, I must tell you something about this child. He is the son of an associate of mine. He asked to take care of his child, if he was killed. He was killed a few days ago. I was supposed to pick up his child from a boat tonight. When I arrived at the meeting point, there was only wreckage floating in the water. There had obviously had been a bomb on the boat." Taras paused and sighed heavily, gratified to watch the rapt attention in his wife's eyes. He continued. "The child was found clinging to a piece of the wreckage. He must have been thrown clear when the bomb went off. Unfortunately, he spent too long in the frozen current before we got there. I believe it might have affected his memory. It was an awful event; I would not press him on what he remembers."

Shirley made a slight sound as her eyes filled with tears as she looked down quickly at the child's face. Tightening her grip, she pulled the child to her in a desperately protective gesture.

"I believe the child may still be in danger." Taras continued. "It is important that he not be seen outside of the penthouse. Can you promise me that you won't allow him outside till I say it is okay?"

"You mean that he's in danger? Of course, I'll do anything to keep this child safe." Shirley said in a shocked voice. "Whatever you say, my great big fuzzy bear."

The limo pulled into the parking garage under Taras' building. Taras and Shirley who was carrying her precious bundle entered his private elevator that took them directly up to their sumptuous penthouse. Shirley smiled over at Talas as they rode up facing the elevators, her hand patting the back of the child in her arms. The doors opened to a penthouse that decked out in the same taste that characterized his office on the boat. There was a mixture of Georgian, Modern and Louis the XVI décor in metallic, black and fuchsia. It was punctuated with large overblown oil paintings and statues that did nothing to better the impression; but in fact, made it worse.

Waking and lifting his head from the shoulder he was draped against, Spike shakily turned his head to see who was holding him. The woman's overly made up face grinned back at him crazily. He pulled back his head and blinked several times to clear his vision, not quite believing what his eyes were telling him. Seeing that the child was awake, Shirley gently pulled back the blanket and lowered him to the plush carpet.

"Welcome to your new home." She whispered as she bent over to keep her head level with his to see his reaction.

Spike staggered until he got his bearings, he turned away from the woman to take in the surroundings. His forehead wrinkled, as the garish decorations assaulted his senses as he slowly spun in astonishment. He had never seen anything so hideous; it was like an open hand slap to his senses. Just then, he felt the floor vibrate rhythmically under his feet as a mountainous figure came down the hallway.

"Taras, Dorogoy! It is so good to have you home." The bulky woman's rough voice called out as her firm strides carried her closer to the new arrivals. Upon reaching the small group, she looked down and said "Ach! What is this? What did you bring me?"

Spike's eyes slowly climbed over the gargantuan being towering over him. He wasn't sure it was human till he got to her face which held a distinct resemblance to Taras'. He stood stock still as he had a flash memory to a huge demon. His face betraying confusion and shock as he took a step back.

"Hello, Sohlneeshkah. What is your name?" She said with a vastly different voice that was much gentler and calmer.

"Yes, Yes. That is good. We are going to call him Sonny while he is here." Talas stated as he hear his mother call Spike sunshine.

"Um." Spike was only able to make that sound to dispute that Sonny wasn't his name before he was cut off by Shirley's protective instinct.

"Mamushka, he's had a difficult time. He's come to stay with us for a while. I think he needs some special care." Shirley piped up as she placed an arm around Spike's middle.

Just then, Shirley realized how cold Spike was to the touch. Before he knew it, the two women flew into a maternal flurry about him. Before he could protest, he found himself in a hot bath, dressed in a man's flannel pajama top and sitting at a table with a steaming bowl of bracingly fragrant soup in front of him. The two women were perched on each side of him making sure that the soup got inside him. Sitting on top of two phone books, Spike looked over the edge of the bowl and wrinkled his nose.

"It's got vegetables." Spike complained as he looked disappointedly in the bowl of soup.

"Well, maybe I can get you something else." Shirley commiserated as she began to turn to get himself something else.

"What are you saying? He's a child. It is not up to him to decide." Turning to Spike, Mamushka pronounced. "You will eat the soup."

Spike realizing that he may have better luck with Shirley, he turned toward her. When suddenly, he felt a meaty hand grab his chin and turn his face toward Mamushka. His mouth opened automatically with the motion and suddenly a spoonful of the soup was placed inside.

Spike sat there in shock, but soon the taste of the onion based soup began to swirl in his mouth. A memory came to the front of his mind. He wasn't sure what it reminded him of. It was just on the edge of his memory…an onion thing. Whatever it was, he knew he liked it. His hand came up to grasp the spoon in his fist from Mamushka. He soon leaned over to spoon more of the delicious soup in his mouth as the women smiled at his reaction.

"See. He just needed to try it." Mamushka said confidently as she released the spoon. "It is good soup. It is good for the chest and will keep the pneumonia away."

Gratified, the women watched the little boy diligently consume the soup. After a few minutes, they saw the eyelids droop as Spike was still recovering from his transformation and long sabbatical in the freezing water. His head was bouncing forward, just inches from the soup bowl as he tried unsuccessfully to stay conscious.

The next thing Spike knew was that he woke up buried under several blankets on top of a large bed. The room had heavily ornate draperies closed over the windows, keeping out the sunlight, but Spike could tell it was late afternoon. He was still confused. This place was wrong. He knew that he wasn't supposed to be here. He had to get out of here and back to where he belonged. There were people waiting for him…somewhere. The names escaped him, but he still could fuzzily remember faces. He wrestled himself out of bed and without thinking, made his way clumsily to the front door. When he closed his hand on the doorknob, he heard a woman's Russian accent cut through the air

"Moy Myedvyezhohnahk, where do you think you're going?" Mamushka stood in the hallway, with an apron tied around her waist and her sleeves rolled up. She had obviously been cooking in the kitchen.

"I have to leave" Spike answered simply, as he began to sleepily yank on the door.

"Where do you have to go, Moy sladkiy?" Mamushka smoothly countered, careful not to upset the child as she slowly approached the child.

"Um…I don't know. This isn't the right soddin place." Spike rubbed his head, trying to order his thoughts. He could almost grasp the name of the place he wanted to go, but it kept escaping him at the last instant.

"Well, you come with me right now. You don't have any clothes anyway. Aunt Shirley has gone to get you some. Maybe you can remember later and can go then? " Mamushka reached down and wrapped her hand around Spike's wrist in such a manner that left little for discussion.

Spike soon found himself sitting at the kitchen table where Mamushka had been busy cooking and had several items spread out on the table. Spike sat there and noticed a liter container filled with a red liquid. The smell was delicious and it kept drawing his attention while he sat there. Finally, Mamushka turned away to the stove, Spike reached over and picked up the container and quickly drained it. Mamushka turned around and saw him with the container upended over his face.

"Oh! Stop! You shouldn't drink the blood. I was making kroyvanka with it." Mamushka cried out as she put down the spoon she was holding.

She ran around and pulled the container away from Spike's overly content face. She looked in the container and saw there was only about a tablespoon left. Mamushka looked over at Spike who was now sporting a blood mustache. He smiled as he ran his tongue over his upper lip, thoroughly relishing the flavor. She looked at him; he didn't seem to be worse for wear. Sighing, she grabbed a kitchen towel to wipe his mouth.

The intake of blood in Spike's system seemed to have a miraculous effect. His mind suddenly cleared. He remembered his name and that he was vampire. He stared dumbly up at the huge woman hovering over him, wiping his face. After she finished, he looked around and saw that everything appeared much bigger than normal. Looking down he saw that his body was much smaller, so much smaller that his feet were dangling over the edge of the chair. He was sitting there wearing a man's flannel pajama top like a nightshirt. It was unreal!

"I'm…I'm little!" He said in astonishment.

"What are you saying, Angel moy? You are a big boy!" Mamushka pulled the towel away after wiping his mouth and crushed a kiss on top of his head as she turned to go back to the stove. The force of the kiss left Spike reaching at the table for support as he sat there in stupefaction, staring at the large woman walking away.

The affectionate gesture from a stranger disconcerted Spike as he tried to grasp the situation he found himself in. How did he end up being stuck in a four year old's body he asked himself. Wait a minute, that story they were telling him at the meeting-could it be true? 'Well, seeing is believing, mate!' he told himself as he documented the state of his physical being. His mind was suddenly brimming with other questions: What was he doing here? Who were these bleedin people? Where were Angel and the AI team? And where the bloody hell was his coat?

In the next instant, Shirley made her grand triumphant entrance into the kitchen surprising the pair at the table. She had several bags swinging from each hand, each bearing a different emblem from the most exclusive designer shops in LA. She couldn't wait to play dress up with her new little boy who sat there, looking at her bewildered. Before Spike knew it, she had swept him back to the guest room where she dressed him in the most ghastly designer clothes he had ever seen for a child. She ended up dressing a ridiculous outfit that had loud shiny purple raw silk jumpsuit with swooping gold chains and odd bits of fringe. He felt like a sadly bereft clown that the circus had left behind. Shirley was clearly overjoyed with the result. Wanting to show off her creation, she dragged him across the penthouse over to Taras' office.

She burst in the office with a reluctant Spike while Taras was in the middle of a meeting with his officers. Taras held up his hand to halt the meeting when Shirley and Spike appeared. Closing his eyes in mortification, Spike was begrudgingly standing there dressed as a buffoon, on display for the adults in the room. Time seemed to slow down as he stood there; Spike raised his eyes and noticed the images on the far wall.

There were several television screens at the end of the room that held images. One had a colorful abstract image of the California coast near San Luis with red dots indicating search sites. Another screen held an image of an ancient drawing of what looked to be an urn covered in writing. A screen below it held an enlargement of the writing on the urn. It was in Fyarl, a demon language with which Spike was quite comfortable. As he read it, one eyebrow went up in alarm. What were these poofters messing with he asked himself.

"What the bloody hell?" Spike's loud childish voice cut through the office.

All the adults looked in shock at the small child standing next to woman at the sudden outburst. Feeling all the eyes in the room had turned to him, Spike realized his mistake in not monitoring his reactions. Not wanting to give himself away, he thought of the quickest way to diffuse the situation.

"Cartoons!" He proclaimed energetically as he pointed to the screen of California.

...

Wes walked into Angel's office with the disappointing results from the search teams at the docks to the team. He also reported that there was no report from the Coast Guard or any of the authorities in the area of any bodies being found in the vicinity in the last day. Wes continued to say that all the boats in the area registered with the Harbor Master had been checked out. No one had seen an adult or child size Spike in the last twenty four hours.

Angel looked up at Wes, pressing his lips together as he fighting the resignation that Spike may be well lost to them.

"Is there anything else?" Angel said, a small flame of hope still burning inside him.

"There is one thing that I noted that doesn't make sense." Wes turned on the projection screen over the conference table. "If you see here, this is a satellite picture taken of the area off San Luis at 2:43AM. You see here, this boat is not on the harbor master's registry."

"What does that mean?" Fred asked, not grasping the consequence.

"It means it is not supposed to be there." Wes said slowly. He manipulated the image on the screen as he continued. "If I refocus the image, you see there is something strange about this fishing vessel."

Everyone stared at the screen, looking for something strange to stand out.

"I don't see anything." Gunn commented as he stared at the screen

"If you look closely, you'll see there is a large crane at the end of the boat with a basket attached. It's the type of basket that is used for salvaging of especially delicate items, the type used in archeological expeditions." Wes reported to the group, in his low reflective voice. "They left a few hours before dawn. I don't know what they were doing, but it certainly wasn't fishing. Whatever they were doing, they didn't want anyone to know about it."

"I was able to get the name of the boat by focusing the photograph. It's the Ukraine Mermaid." Wes released the mouse and picked up a folder. "It is registered to Khazar Industries, a known cloak for the Russian Mafia in LA. The boss is Taras Golevchenko. He is a major player for the mob here in LA."

"Why are telling us this, Wes? " Angel said, letting his anxiety and impatience seep into his voice.

"Based upon the current patterns and time, it is very possible that this ship was likely to be in the correct area. We checked all the other vessels in the bay. This vessel left the area before sunrise, so it was not checked out." Wes put down the report and turned to the group. "It is very possible that they could have Spike."