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Author's Chapter Notes:
Sorry about making you wait for this chapter - I work two jobs and one is really busy at the mo hence less writing time! Thanks for your patience! :) Betad as ever by Carol and dawnofme
Chapter 30


Allegations


Spike groaned and rolled over in his sleep; the groan turned into a yelp as he fell off the narrow bench and hit the floor, face down, with a thud.


"Oh, bollocks.”


He put his hand to his head to try to stop the pounding behind his eyes. It failed. Blearily, he opened them and looked around.


“Where the hell am I?”


Spike pushed himself up onto his hands and knees, resting there for a moment before struggling back onto the bench. He felt terrible. He put his elbows on his knees and rested his head in his hands as he tried to recall what had happened.


“Oh, shite,” he muttered as he remembered that vodka was involved - a lot of it, judging by the way he felt.


His eyes flared amber and for a second his heightened senses picked up the faint aroma of vomit from his clothes. Spike sighed with relief as they changed back. He sat up straight and wriggled backwards until he could lean against the wall. Staring around the room, he took in the sickly pale green coloured walls and the toilet in one corner. The walls were simply painted brick and the room had no window. The door was solid metal and had a small hatch in it that was currently covered over.


“A cell. I’m in a sodding cell.”


He winced as he vaguely remembered some police officers.


“Shite!” he exclaimed as he recalled a punch was thrown. His stomach clenched and for a moment, he thought that he was going to be sick again. “Great, Spike. Way to go.”


He slid down the wall, pulling his legs up onto the bench, and went back to sleep.


0000000000


Angel had watched, from the shadows, in despair as Spike was bundled into the back of the patrol car. It was getting close to dawn and he needed to find somewhere to hide. Afraid that the rest of Spike’s property was as well alarmed as the house, he decided against trying to get into the garage or the outbuilding that he’d spotted near the pool.


“Near the pool!” Angel ground his teeth together. “The sooner that I can get out of this damn weird dimension the better.”


He didn’t really have any option other than to go back to the old Crawford mansion and wait out the day there.


As soon as dusk fell again, he made his way through town to the police station. Angel sincerely hoped that Spike hadn’t been released yet as he wasn’t convinced that Spike would talk to him if he got back to his home. There had obviously been something between his parallel Angel and this Spike.


“Not really so surprising, come to think of it,” admitted Angel with a grin.


Angel stopped short as he turned the corner near the station house. There was a crowd of people gathered. To his amazement he could see a couple of TV cameras there. A man walked out of the crowd and down the street towards Angel.


“Hey, buddy, what’s going on?” asked Angel.


“Oh, man! Where have you been?” The man thrust a newspaper into Angel’s hands. “Spike Norman’s the hot news of the day. Caught on camera in very compromising circumstances – twice, and now he’s been arrested. We’re thinking another George Michael-style lewd incident rap.”


“What?” Angel was a little embarrassed at how shrill his voice sounded.


The man thrust a newspaper into Angel’s hands. “See for yourself.” Then he hurried away to a van parked across the street.


Angel stepped back around the corner, out of sight of the crowd of people. He leant against the wall and unfolded the paper.


Spike Norman - Clean Cut Image A Sham!


Is the sky about to fall on one of rock’s best loved singers?
Inside are the photographs that have torn apart rock’s golden couple. Rumours abounded when his partner of nine years, Buffy Summers, 26, didn’t accompany The Dingoes on their recently completed UK tour. Rich Bayliss, The Dingoes’ manager and close personal friend of the pair, was quoted as saying that Buffy had stayed behind to care for her mother. But in light of these photographs, we’re not so sure!


Below this was a large photograph of Spike and Buffy, arms around each other, laughing to the camera. Angel gasped when he saw it. He touched the picture.


“It’s Buffy,” he whispered.


Somehow, although Spike looked like Spike, he had hoped that Buffy wouldn’t look exactly like his version. He squeezed his eyes shut as he thought of her left behind, not knowing where he’d gone or if he were dust.


Beneath this happy times photograph were two more; one of a strained looking Buffy, scowling and running her hand through her hair at London Heathrow Airport and the other of Spike sitting, head in hands, on a swing in a park. With the footnote: Not such a happy reunion…


Angel turned the page to find the rest of the story.


“Holy crap!” Angel’s voice echoed down the street and he looked around anxiously, but it seemed that everyone in the area was congregating at the police station’s front door.


The first photograph was the unmistakeable figure of Spike kissing another man near a taxi cab in London. It was beneath a headline proclaiming.


Once could be a mistake…


The next photograph made Angel take an entirely unnecessary sharp intake of breath.


But twice looks like a habit!


At first glance, Angel thought it was Spike having sex with a man up against a wall in a dimly lit backstreet. He felt irrationally furious that the little creep was cheating on Buffy like that. Then he looked more closely at it.


“Jesus!”


He was the man with Spike. He remembered holding Spike up as he vomited! The photograph looked pretty damn convincing though. Another photograph showed the two of them walking together. Angel’s face was turned to Spike and so couldn’t be seen clearly, but Spike was grinning broadly and looking up at him.


“Shit, Spike. Why is every thing always so complicated when you’re involved?”


The paper had gone to town with the article. A photograph of Spike lounging on a sofa in a TV studio was headed with a quote from the interview.


“Well, Nathalie. What can I say? Sometimes it’s nice to be out and about without the ‘little woman’ tagging along.”


Seems like Spike has been making the most of his time away from Buffy. The article continued. Only days after being joined by Buffy in London, Spike caught a flight back to L.A. and was in the arms of this mystery man, enjoying a little ‘quality time’ outside Willy’s, the most popular gay bar in town. According to the barman, Spike had been drinking for several hours before leaving the bar. A man, claiming to be an old friend, followed him out and as you can see from our exclusive photographs, they soon got reacquainted!


“Oh great, Spike. Just great,” muttered Angel as he folded the paper up and stuck it in his back pocket.


He walked back to the corner and glanced up at the crowd. Would any of them recognise him as the man in the photographs if walked into the police station? Angel decided to risk it. He had to try to make contact with Spike. He clenched his fists at the thought of the little idiot hurting Buffy by fooling around with that guy in London. Angel didn’t consider that the photograph, like his, might be innocent. He gave a deep sigh and walked swiftly to the entrance of the station house. No one paid him any attention as he squeezed through and up the steps. He walked to the desk sergeant and waited politely until the man actually bothered to acknowledge his presence. Angel could see that he was reading the same article that he just had.


“May I help you, sir?” he asked eventually, reluctantly tearing his eyes away from the story.


“Is Spike Norman still here?”


The desk sergeant’s eyes narrowed. “Nice try, buddy. We have no comment to make to the press.”


“I’m not press. I’m a friend,” replied Angel.


“Yeah, right. I repeat, nice try.”


“Oh, for God’s sake,” snapped Angel. “Can you at least get a message to him? Tell him that Angel will be waiting for him when he is released.”


“Whatever I say to that comment will let you know whether Spike Norman is or isn’t here. So once more I have to say – no comment.”


How Angel didn’t vamp up, he’ll never know. He wanted to rip the man’s head off his shoulders. He knew Spike was still there. He could smell him.


“Look, I know that he’s still here because he would be with me if he wasn’t.” Angel gritted his teeth and let his eyes fall on the newspaper. The sergeant followed his gaze and his eyes widened as he realised who was standing in front of him. “Just pass on the message. I’ll wait out in the back, okay?”


“O…okay.” The officer couldn’t wait to tell his wife that he had spoken to Spike Norman’s lover. He didn’t think that his daughter would appreciate it. She’d been crying ever since she’d seen the report. Like thousands of others, she’d dreamed of luring him away from Buffy one day…


Angel turned on his heel and pushed his way through the crowd as he left the building. He walked quickly to the street corner and ducked around it, leaning on the wall.


“I’ll kill him. I swear I’ll kill him when I get my hands on him.”


Angel hadn’t appreciated the speculative luck his ruse had earned him. He walked round until he found the rear entrance to the station. There was a crowd there, too. Whichever way the cops took Spike, he was going to have to get through a mob of reporters. He decided that the police would most likely take him home in a patrol car unless Spike called a friend. He needed a car to be able to follow wherever he was taken.


He jogged down the street until he found a car parked in a driveway. Several newspapers were sticking out of the tube near the mail box. The occupants of the house must be away. Angel broke the side window of the car, pleased that it was too old to be alarmed and pulled up the lock on the door before getting behind the wheel. He deftly hot wired the vehicle, shifted it in to gear and reversed out on to the road. He drove it to the back entrance of the station house and resigned himself to wait. He hoped that they wouldn’t wait until daybreak to release him. He didn’t think that Spike would talk to him again if he was safe in his own house.


00000000000


Spike pushed himself up to a sitting position as he heard the metal cover to the small opening in the door slide back.


“Woke up now have you, lover boy?” sneered the officer as he grinned at Spike.


Spike just glared at him. “You just gonna look at me, or are you here for a reason?” His hangover made him surly.


He was rewarded with a scowl and the cover being slammed back over the hatch. He tensed as he expected the door to be opened but it wasn’t.


“Sodding sightseer then,” moaned Spike. He glanced at his hands. They were shaking. He couldn’t believe that he’d lost it and drunk so much. “Weak git.” He craved another drink. He thought of Buffy and had to squeeze his eyes shut to prevent tears from falling. He’d bitten her.


“Oh, God. I bit her. I hurt her.”


He couldn’t take it. The depressive effects of the alcohol helped him to decide that as soon as he got out of this place that he would kill himself. It was the only solution that he could see. He smiled and nodded.


“That’s that, then. Problem solved.”


Buffy would be rich. She was still young and could find love with someone who wasn’t going to try to bleed her dry.


He dozed again until the door finally opened and a tall serious looking officer in casual clothes walked in. He had his badge hooked onto the belt of his jeans.


“Hello, Spike. How are you feeling now?”


Spike looked at him sullenly. Only the thought that he wouldn’t be able to go through with his plan unless he got out of there enabled him to be civil.


“Been better. Who are you and can I get out of here yet?” He stared at the man until, to his horror, he felt his eyes begin to change. He dropped eye contact immediately and closed them until he knew that they were blue once more.


“I’m Detective Roberts. We have met before. Mind you, you were James Norman then. I think you and I need to have a little talk before we release you.”


Spike glanced back at the officer and groaned inwardly. He was the officer who had dealt with him when he’d had his problems with the police when he was seventeen.


“Um…all right.” Spike stood up. He swayed a little but stayed upright. He looked down at his feet. “Do I get my boots back yet?”


Detective Roberts smiled. “In a little while. Come on, let’s go to the interview room.”


Spike followed Roberts along the corridor and into a room furnished only with a battered looking table and four chairs. Roberts gestured for Spike to sit and, judging by the way he collapsed onto the chair, it wasn’t a moment too soon. Spike’s face was very pale.



Roberts observed Spike curiously. He’d followed his rise to fame with interest after encountering him as a juvenile. Like countless others he had thought that the man was as clean living and likeable as the press would have you believe. But it seems like it was all just an elaborately woven public persona. He obviously hadn’t kicked the drinking and now had stooped to sexual acts in dark streets with someone he barely knew by all accounts. Roberts shook his head sadly. Some people could have their dreams come true and yet still not be happy and make as mess of their personal lives.


“What?” asked Spike as he saw Roberts shake his head. He wished that he didn’t feel like a kid again. His heart was pounding, keeping time with the pounding of his head.


“I was just thinking that it is a shame when successful people make such a mess of their lives.”


“You what?” Spike couldn’t believe his ears. How dare this man sit in judgement on him? “I had a bit too much to drink and now I’m making a mess of my life! You don’t even know me.”


“I know that you threw a couple of punches at one of my officers,” countered Roberts.


“Shit. Look, I’m sorry about that. I was…er…well…a bit confused, I reckon. I thought he was someone else.”


“An angel perhaps or a vampire?” asked Roberts with a grin, chuckling a little at Spike’s expression.


Spike’s mind was racing, but he had no clue as to what to say to that, so he stayed quiet and fiddled nervously with his hands.


“You’ll be happy to know that the officer is happy not to press charges.”


“Thanks,” mumbled Spike, not looking up.


“I would like to hear your side of the story of what went on outside of Willy’s Bar though.”


Spike’s head snapped up. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”


Roberts sighed and pulled a newspaper out of his back pocket and slapped it down on the table between them. “Does this jog your memory?”


Spike glanced up at him before pulling the newspaper towards him. Roberts saw him visibly flinch as he saw the headlines. He quickly skimmed over the text and took in the numerous photographs.


“Oh, bollocks,” he groaned, burying his head in his hands.


“Hmm.” Roberts wasn’t impressed. “Do you not think that private life should be just that – private?”


“Oh, don’t get all bleeding righteous,” snapped Spike, willing his eyes to remain blue. “My life is private.” He tapped his fingers against the newspaper. “This isn’t true.”


Roberts leaned back in his chair and gave Spike his best ‘heard it all before look’. Spike closed his eyes as his flaring temper made them change.


“You’re sodding naïve if you believe everything that you read in the papers,” snarled Spike, opening his eyes and staring at the officer.


“The camera never lies,” said Roberts with a grin.


Spike realised that by getting angry he was playing right into Roberts’ hands. “Well, it can give a snapshot of a moment that can be completely misconstrued.” He tapped the photograph of him with Chris. “That is me having a bleeding kiss slapped on me by an old tart of a friend as I helped him into his cab. He nearly fell off his sodding stilettos.”


Roberts had to hide a smile behind his hand. Spike’s outraged face told him that the rock star was telling the truth. “What about this?” Roberts pointed to the photo of him bent over against the wall. “If you’re doing what it looks like you’re doing then you could well be facing charges. Are you sure that you don’t want to have a lawyer present?”


“For Christ’s sake,” yelled Spike, looking away from Roberts as his eyes blazed yellow. “I was tossing my bleeding cookies, not shagging! Go send your boys down to check – I left several nice little piles of vomit along there. Gonna analyze it?”


Roberts actually laughed out loud - he couldn’t help it. Spike gazed at him in amazement. “Oh, you’re real professional, aren’t you? Laughing at someone under arrest. Just bleeding great!”


“You’re not under arrest. The officer dropped the charges, remember?” replied Roberts.


“So, why, exactly, am I still here?” sighed Spike.


“I needed to talk to you about the allegations brought to our attention of lewd behaviour.”


“Allegations brought to your attention by a bloody paper!” Spike stood up quickly and then wished that he hadn’t. He pressed his left hand to his forehead. He turned to face Roberts, leaned down and picked up the newspaper. He folded it until the photograph of him bent over with Angel behind him was the only one that could be seen. “Seeing as I’m not actually gay, I might be wrong but if someone is taking it up the arse wouldn’t it be easier with the jeans pulled down?” He tossed the paper at Roberts who merely smiled at him. “You’d seen that too, hadn’t you? You’re just having a bit of fun at my expense. Well, sod you! Either arrest me or I’m out of here. That’s a bleeding pack of lies and you know it.”


Spike walked to the door, and Roberts didn’t reply until Spike’s fingers touched the handle.


“Angel said that he’ll be waiting for you,” said Roberts quietly.


Spike froze. Shit. He’d hoped that the whole ‘meeting up with Angel’ thing had been alcohol induced delusion. He’d tried to convince himself that the man in the photos was just somebody who’d been in the bar.


“A word of advice, son,” said Roberts to Spike’s stiff back. “Tell your girlfriend the truth, if she hasn’t already seen this crap.”


Spike closed his eyes. Buffy. Soon she’d be free of all the trouble he caused her. “I’m not sodding gay,” he muttered. “I need my boots and my coat.” He opened the door and walked out.


Roberts followed him and oversaw him being formally released. He told Spike that he would get a patrol car to take him home. Spike was silent throughout. He put his boots on and his beloved duster; he merely nodded to acknowledge the ride home. Roberts almost stopped Spike as he walked away. A sudden feeling that something was badly wrong with the rock star hit him. But he let him go. He had no reason not to.


Tbc


Chapter End Notes:
Hope you forgive me the wait :)



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