Chapter One

This is Dru's bloody fault.  She was the reason he had been spending his nights here drinking their damned expensive beer and watching the food dance safely to the beat of music so inane it didn't deserve the name.  Spike hated his weeknights, but there was nowhere else to go in this wretched little town.  Not since it had been made abundantly clear that his little demon face wasn't welcome at Willy's.  There really was only so many times he could take on a horde of demons before even he got bored.  He ran his hand through his unnaturally blond hair.  Besides, at some point she usually showed up at the Bronze with her annoying friends.  Then he could at least smell her before he had to leave to rob a few drunks.

This is just too pathetic.  He dug into his pockets and to find he was out of cash. Spike, you old wanker. This is a new low, even for you. He wasn't drunk enough to deal with Buffy's presence.  He had better go find some easy prey, and quick.  He got up and made for the door with less then his usual grace. 

There was hardly a worthwhile soul about.  Sod it.  How am I to make a living if people won't walk around stupidly at night.  He was nearly home.  The well-trodden path past the headstones he had travelled with little notice to his surroundings.  By the time he reached the crypt, he had a much better plan. 

"Crypt sweet crypt."  He paused unsteadily at the door and surveyed the interior of his home.  It was the vaulted stone ceiling settling on to two massive central columns that had made him decide to live there.  The simple symmetry of it and its flanking palladium windows had reminded him of the much grander places they, he and Dru, had stayed in before they had come to Sunnydale.  He became so maudlin when thinking of Dru, especially now that it had been hammered home that there was now no going back.  She was only a two-hour drive away in LA.  But it would never again be the sweet love they had known.  He could never trust his Black Princess again.  Angelus had taken that from them.  Angelus.  It would have been fun to have his grand-sire back if the bloody gypsies hadn't given him that human soul.  The Angelus that had come back to them had been around the bend.  Spike had never been sure if it was the soul or the love that his souled self, Angel, shared with Buffy that had driven him insane.  He had have put his wager on the Buffy love. 

Buffy.  The Slayer had a way of driving decent vamps over the edge.  Her love had driven Angel to fight against them at first and then sent to them a twisted Angelus when that love had set his soul free.  That's it. It was all Angel's fault.  Peaches always was a bloody git.  Spike had lost his Black Beauty over the pact he had made with the Slayer.  A pact to help him get Dru away from Angelus. "And where'd that get me, princess?"  He muttered

He looked around remembering why he had come home.  He went to his trunk under the right arched window and pulled out his double-barrelled shotgun.  He needed a drink.  A lot of drink.  He hadn't hit the liquor store on Third in months.  Taking some shells from a box, he shoved them in place.  He snapped the shaft back together and headed for the car.
 
 
 

Spike was game as he brandished the shotgun at the at the young, completely snackable Chinese woman at the cash, while instructing the older white clerk what to pack.  He had the cash and two big boxes.  One with a variety of whiskey and the other filled with English beer.  He grew impatient and had the clerk set the two boxes down outside the door, then both lay face down on the floor.  He backed out broke the gun over his shoulder and hoisted the boxes of booze carrying them to the far end of the parking lot.  He had left his big black DeSoto parked away from the store lights.  The face of William, the man he once was, slid back into place smoothing away Spike's demon features.  It was Spike who held William's beautiful features in grim determination as he peeled out onto the street.

He drove around a bit before pulling back through the gate of the caretaker's entrance to his cemetery and to park beside the maintenance shed.  He had already drank a bottle of Johnnie Walker Red Label and was chasing it with a beer when he took his keys from the ignition.  He took out the boxes and piled them against the east wall of the shed.  He took a seat on the ground beside the boxes to play a game of nerves with himself.  Could he drink himself into enough of a stupor that he had pass out here and fry before he could wake?  He popped the cap off another slim bottle of Newcastle Brown with his thumbnail.  Let's find out. 

He was mellowing out nicely, but couldn't bring himself to wait.  He had to do it quick before he turned all nancy-boy and wimped out.  He picked up the boxes and carried them up the rise to his crypt.  I have to end it.  He had become an empty shell and every time he glimpsed inside himself Buffy would be there looking out.  And now that his not so big secret is out she didn't even come to torment him anymore.

That was it the final humiliation.  He just couldn't take it any more.  He couldn't live like this.  Opening the door into his crypt, he paused on the threshold leaning his head on the cold stone of the doorframe.  His senses tingled, but his mind wasn't listening.  He was going to end it and no sodding note either.  She would miss him, she would.  She'll come here without a thought, looking for backup against some demon whatever or to get a bloody kitten out of a tree.  It's always something.

"A punch in the bloody nose," Spike muttered, then in a high voice, " Spike, I need some information.  Spike, my sister's missing.  Spike, can you baby-sit my family.  For Christ sakes what did it bloody take?"

"I'll use a stake dipped in Holy Water.  That ought to bloody well hurt." He stalked down into his crypt.  His senses finally coming to the fore.  He took a deep sniff of the air.  There was a mortal in his crypt.  He looked deeper into the torch lit room and saw a tall woman in a dark business suit.  She was pulling the pins out of her auburn hair, the torchlight burnishing it as she studied the statuary.  He set the boxes quietly down on the stairs.

"Hello darlin', this is a bad place to be lost in." 

At the menace in his voice she whirled and faced him in a defensive posture.  Her face was calm as she pulled the crucifix that hung around her neck so it was visible against her suit coat.  Never letting her mahogany eyes fall from his face she stepped toward him.

"Spike? William?" The fluid grace of her approach said vampire.  Her scent, however fear-free, said human.  She studied him widely circling. "It is you isn't it,? I was right.  Sorry for barging in.  I waited outside for awhile but this is the Hellmouth." Her voice both cool and seductive sent a thrill down his spine.  She stopped beyond arm's reach. "Wow. The accounts must be true."  Her eyes grazing the length of his body and gauging his reactions. 

Drawing himself up to his full height and giving her the full strength of his dark eyes.  He growled out, "What do you want? Flattery won't get you anywhere."

"Au contraire, monsieur.  Flattery, applied correctly, can get you everywhere." She stepped forward, eyes closer to his, her movement and smell was hypnotizing. Sort of like Dru.  He flinched at the thought of her.  She could do that.  One second he would be in a rage, then her eyes would trap his and she would have him dancing her around the room both giggling like children.  Ah, Dru this is your fault. If you hadn't left me I wouldn't be standing here being hypnotized by some sodding mortal.

She let go under the pressure of his gaze. "But lets shelve that topic for later."

"If you know who I am, why are you here?  Alone.  In the Big Bad's crypt like,"  he stepped closer, "home delivery?"

"Well, from what I have read, your feared for your keen and curious intelligence.  A mortal foolish or cunning enough to try to conduct business with you would pique your interest, at least, until you heard them out."  She smiled as she again met his eyes. 

His brows grew together.  This wasn't right.  Through pursed lips he said, "Things change."  His arms grabbed air as he went for her.  He nearly stumbled.  He had just wanted to scare her, get her to leave.  He hadn't expected this.

She stood six feet further on, her head cocked.  "I didn't want to bring this up," she smiled, "but I've had a few long chats about you with your grand-sire and that Watcher, Mr. Giles."

"Bloody hell." He muttered.

"Let's start again.  I'm Latitia Gordon."  He was annoyed at himself as he shook her hand. What a pansy ass he had become shaking hands with bints in suits!  He let out a small growl and prowled around her. "I would like to talk to you about a position we have in my company.  How about we meet at the Espresso Pump around seven o'clock tomorrow night?  We can go over the job description.  Let's forget about this incident.  Good night." She placed her card on the sepulchre as she passed and walked unhurriedly out into the night. 
 

Titia took a deep breath, then released it as she lowered her head to the cool leather-bound steering wheel of her Jag. That hadn't gone as planned.  She looked at the dashboard.  Tracing the grain of the highly polished mahogany with her nail.  He was so sad and lonely looking. 

She inserted the key into the ignition.  Don't go all Anne Rice now, old girl.  We know better.  Our boys are never broody, and lonely.  Well, at least not most.   She pulled out into the street and headed for Weatherly Park Hotel with Angel's soulful face haunting her mind.  When the image was overlaid with Spike's dark eyes, she shook her head. Until tomorrow, William.