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 5

With the location of the child, Shirley's manic emotional episode had finally subsided and peace began to settle once again in the penthouse. Taras was able to turn his thoughts back to the object in his office. Exiting the guest room, Taras signaled to his men to return to his office. They had to proceed with next step in releasing the power from the reliquary of Hjolrian they had brought up from the bottom of the sea.

"Smolin, contact the demon language expert. There is no time to lose. He must be here within hours." Taras commanded as he stormed into his office heading directly to the reliquary. "The alignment of the stars is almost upon us. It will create our only opportunity to release the Hjolrian within this millennia."

With an ardent nod, Smolin deftly picked up his cell phone from his jacket pocket and began to dial.

…

After sharing his less than stellar findings of his search of the boat for Spike, Gunn slammed down into a chair in the conference room with a grunt. As he watched the team digest the information or rather the lack of it, he repeatedly bounced the chair backwards, taking comfort from the activity. It hurt his heart to see how Fred's face fell when he reported the lack of new information on Spike. Angel looked at Gunn with solemn eyes before a mask of disinterest came slamming down, a second too late to all those who knew him. Even Wesley made a poor show of covering his disappointment as he cleared his throat and pulled back his chin in an attempt to project a more proper English air. Fighting his own despondency, Gunn was unconsciously spinning his phone with his fingertips between his hands.

"We're not giving up." Angel said determinedly as he walked around the table and put his arm around Fred. "We'll continue to monitor the police and coast guard chatter. I also want this Russian mob kingpin and his group tailed. Just because we didn't find a trace of Spike on their boat doesn't mean they don't have him."

Fred looked up at Angel and gave him a sad smile as she tried to put on a brave face. It did little to deceive anyone in the room about the mammoth worry that she was carrying inside her.

"While we're watching them, we may want to find out what they're planning to do with this." Gunn said, as he held up the phone and handed to Wes. "They seem to be very interested in finding this vase thing. There were papers and maps strewn all over the top guy's desk on the boat. I took a couple of photos of the documents on his desk."

"Right, we'll get right to toppling the mob boss after we locate Spike." Angel said as he tightened his arm around Fred. He pressed a kiss against Fred's hair and whispered to her. "Don't worry. We'll find him."

Plugging Gunn's phone into the access port on his laptop, Wesley had downloaded the pictures from Gunn's phone into the agency's computer. He began to run a cross check of the photos against the Wolfram and Hart's vast databanks.

"Just a moment, Angel. It seems that Taras Golovchenko may be dabbling in things quite unexpected for a typical mafia figure." Wesley's smooth voice cut through the air in the room.

With a click of a button in his keyboard, he brought the computer up on the screen for everyone to look at. It was a photo of the drawing of the urn that was Gunn had found on the desk on the boat. Suddenly, the screen had a red bar flashing across the top of the screen which stated 'RELIQUARY OF HJORLIAN-EXIGENCY WARNING: MUST REMAIN INVIOLATE'.

"Yeah, that would be a problem." Angel growled under his breath.

….

A little over half an hour later, Wes marched in through the doorway of Angel's office and up to his desk. Wes' body language indicated he did not have good news, Angel slowly raised his eyes

"There's been another development on Golevchenko." Wes said as stopped in front of Angel.

"Let me have it." Angel said as he sat back in his chair, bracing a hand on the armrest.

"Golevchenko's ship returned to the dock early." Wes said, flipping the latest satellite photographs on the desk in front of Angel. "I can only think of one thing that would have brought the ship in the middle of the night."

"They found what they were looking for." Angel acknowledged, looking up from the photographs.

"It appears so." Wes replied, in the slow pace that stated he was considering the impact of this latest development.

"So, what happens now?" Angel said as he tilted his head.

"This is an ancient artifact covered in Fyarl. From what I know of mobsters, they will need someone to decipher the writing. I am thinking they're going to need an expert." Wesley said with his hands on hips.

"So, where are they going to find an expert?" Angel asked, leaning forward and tilting his head up

"They already had. They were flying him in tonight. Too bad, that Wolfram and Hart commandeered his flight for a special mission to the Marshall Islands. He won't be available for a number of weeks." Wesley stated in a serious tone and then added with a slight grin of irony at Angel's raised eyebrows hearing about Wolfram and Hart's latest activity. "Golevchenko will just have to find another demon language expert to assist him with his project."

"You're thinking that YOU could be that expert." Angel interjected, following the train of thought.

"I've already put word out with our contacts that there is a demon language specialist visiting LA. I expect to hear from Golevchenko's people in the next few hours." Wes added with a slow grin spreading over his face.

"I see. Acting as the language export would be the perfect ploy to gain access to Golevchecko's most secure areas." Angel said as he nodded. "You could easily find out what this wise guy wants with this relic."

"Yes, it would also allow me to bring along an associate." Wes said, as he looked intently in Angel's eyes.

"You're expecting them to believe I am a scientist?" Angel said with a smirking grin.

"Don't be ludicrous. Of course not" Wesley stated as he watched Angel's grin fade. "You're going to be my bodyguard."

"Huh?" Angel said, taken aback.

"I believe that Golovchenko will only allow himself to be in the room while I am examining the reliquary." Wes countered. "All the non-essential personnel will have to wait outside. Everyone's attention will be on that room. That should give you ample freedom to explore."

"Explore for what?" Angel asked, perplexed.

"While I am examining the reliquary, it will allow you time to check for signs of certain person, say..Spike." Wes said pointedly.

….

Several hours later, it was morning, Spike cautiously opened an eye to find that he was once again ensconced in the large bed in the guest room. He felt a constant heavy pressure on his legs. Pushing up on one arm to see where the pressure was coming from, he saw that his legs were trapped under the head and shoulders of Shirley. She was sitting in a chair next to the bed with her head and arms on the bed. She had kept vigil at his bedside as if he really were a small child. Spike found himself a little touched by the gesture. Without thinking, he reached down and petted the pudding yellow hair with telltale dark roots on the woman's head. Sensing the sensation on her head, Shirley's hand came up dazedly grasping at the air until it landed on Spike's small hand. The large hand patted it a few times before holding it gently. She raised up her head and looked sleepily into his face. The lack of makeup showed all the imperfections in her face that came along with age and hard living, yet her eyes were extremely kind. Seeing the gentle and benevolent soul in her eyes, Spike smiled at her and thought she looked radiant.

…..

Later, Spike looked down at himself and groaned at his preposterous attire. He was now wearing his third outfit of the day and the morning was not halfway over yet. Looking down at his clothes, Spike wasn't comfortable at the latest ensemble, but it was better than the others so far. Shirley seemed sweet but all her fashion choices were based upon the concept everyone should dress as if they were part of a bombastic cruise boat musical. Thinking back, it turned to be quite entertaining to think of ways to destroy the overpriced, over designed outfits. The first outfit which made him resemble some kind of brain damaged toy soldier had fallen victim to the ink of a broken pen which Spike made sure got over his clothes. The next outfit which looked like it belonged to a liturgical dancer was soon decorated with the strawberry jam on the piece of toast from breakfast. It was just too tragic that the jam got smeared all the way down the front of his flowing primary colored shirt and pants before he was able to catch it. Now, he was dressed in a teal T-shirt decorated with gold lame flames. The front of the shirt was emblazoned with a random ultra chic Italian designer's name that he had never heard of in gold glitter. It was accompanied by artistically torn sparkly jeans with a large gold braid going down the side. In keeping with his outfit, Shirley had provided gold high tops as his shoes. Spike hoped he could dispose of these dopey outfits before he ran into anyone who knew him. Maybe, he could ask for some hot chocolate later….he mused.

...

Earlier, Spike had been set down on the kitchen floor with a toy car in his hands while the women were drinking coffee. Getting on his hands and knees, he began to push it slowly out of the kitchen and down the hall toward Taras' office. He could still hear the conversation between the two women back in the kitchen.

"Who buys clothes like these for a child? They are all dry cleaning…too much fuss." Mamushka said with a shake of her head. "These fancy designer clothes were only going to be ruined by a little boy. He needs washable, sturdy clothes that the boy can play in."

"Fine. I have an appointment with Peppe Raul today for my hair. I'll pick up some of those washable clothes at one of those department stores on my way home." Shirley sniffed as she stood up from the table. "I hope you can watch Sonny while I am out."

"Yes. Yes. Go do your hair thing. I have my Canasta group coming over this afternoon." Mamushka said, as she picked up her cup to a take another sip of coffee.

"Do you think that's wise? I mean, with Sonny…" Shirley whispered, her head dashing a look over to the doorway.

"What? They're my good friends. I ask them not to tell…they won't tell." Mamushka said with undeniable resolve in her heavily accented voice as she got up to check on Spike.

...

In the next few hours later, Shirley had already left for her hair appointment when Spike began to make another of his several attempts to find out what was going on in Taras' office. Every time, Spike had made some headway in getting close to Taras' office, he was always thwarted by Mamushka. Taras had left orders that no one was to approach his office. He and his men had locked themselves inside in regards to a special project. Spike was absolutely gob smacked that all his devious plans were being stymied by this older Russian woman. That woman seemed to have an almost supernatural sense of detecting mischief.

Tiring of finding Spike again approaching Taras' office on his last effort, Mamushka brought Spike into the kitchen with her, so she could keep an eye on him. Spike felt Mamushka's eyes on him every time he even looked at the doorway while she prepared the ethnic delicacies for her Russian guests.

Presently, Mamushka's friends began to arrive and she rushed out to greet them. Sensing danger, Spike hung back in the kitchen. Accompanied by the clink of the multiple gold bangles clanking together on their wrists as they waved their arms wildly as they visited with each other, a trio of loudly talking, almost squawking women floating on clouds of strong smelling and densely spicy perfume were ushered into the game room where Mamushka had set up the game tables. The doorbell rang again and a steady stream of overly animated and scented women entered the penthouse.

Spike lingered in the kitchen as the sounds of the women gave him an uneasy feeling. After visiting a few minutes, with her guests, Mamushka returned to the kitchen. She dragged Spike into the game room where he was greeted with oohs and ahs from the women. He spun around to leave, but found Mamushka had closed the door to his dread.

Spike slowly turned his head to regard the dozen women who were looking at him expectantly.

"So, this is Sonny. What a darling. Don't be shy, sweetheart. Come over here where we can see you better." A mature woman with a slash of bright pink lipstick across her mouth called.

Spike felt Mamushka's hands on his shoulders turning him around and then felt the constant pressure of her hand on his back, pushing him toward the swarm of women. Before he knew it, he was surrounded and being petted like a prize winning poodle at the Westminster Dog Show. The cheeks on his face were pinched, the curls on his head were ruffled and some women took it upon themselves to crush a moist kiss on his cheek. Spike bit the inside of his cheek to keep from protesting the manhandling put on him by these women. He hoped that if he was patient that it would end soon.

….

Wes and Angel drove into the parking garage at Taras' building. Parking Angels' car in a slot, they looked over to the doors of Taras' private elevator. The men looked at each other with dogged determination for a moment.

"Let's do this."