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A MURDER IN SUNNYDALE


Chapter 9: ‘Spy Games’


Buffy pulled up to Anya’s Magic Dress Box (okay a note here: my 13 year old insisted I name the shop this!) and parked her old lime green Porshe. If she knew Anya, and she did, the proprietor of the shop would have the perfect dress, size 3, waiting for Buffy when she walked in the door. That’s exactly why Buffy did not hesitate to park in the 30 minute only/green painted curb spot in front of the shop. When Buffy walked through the door, sure enough, Anya was practically waiting by it to welcome her, a black plastic dress bag in her hand.

“Okay, Summers,” Anya held the dress bag out to her, “spill! Who’s the date tomorrow night? I kind of had an idea it was that new guy, the Billy Idol guy Xander’s been bitching and moaning about for days, but, then you mentioned ‘not ever having it again’ and all. I’m putting my money on a certain Assistant District Attorney, and, that it’s sex he’s not getting?” Buffy blushed at Anya’s bluntness then shook it off, ‘God, I’m a cop for Heaven’s sake! So Anya just talks sex and money all the time, who cares?’

“Pretty close, Anya,” Buffy giggled as she took the dress and lifted the protective plastic off of it. Inside, Buffy found a little treasure of a dress, black, velvet, thin straps, not too low cut or too very short, in other words? Killer.” She practically clapped her hands in delight, “oh Anya,” she whispered in glee, “it’s perfect!”

“Wear your hair down,” Anya advised as she eyed Buffy holding the dress up to herself. “Smokey makeup, hair down and shiny, simple stilleto black strappy shoes. You’re gonna’ make Angel O’Connor drool, then make him die of thirst! Serves the asshole right, for what he pulled on you!” Buffy flinched a bit and frowned slightly, “yeah, I guess. But, really, Anya, this is just a kind of business dinner. I need to convince Angel to keep the bail bond low, for Amy St. Claire. I really have no intention on reopening the tome that is the Angel O’Connor/Buffy Summers doomed romance.”

“Good!” Anya nodded her approval of Buffy’s determination. “By the way,” she continued, “about this English guy, the punker, he must be really interested in you, Buffy. I can tell by Xander’s whine factor. Right now, Xand’s up at a ten rating on the scale of whine and overproctiveness where you’re concerned.” Buffy was a little surprised that Anya could be so cavalier about Xander’s ‘feelings’ about herself. The truth was, Buffy had no idea what Anya really saw in Xander, or for that matter, why the woman seemed to love her partner so very much. “Anya,” Buffy began softly, “Xander’s just playing big brother to me, you know that, right?”

To her credit, Anya smiled widely and nodded, “a holdover from high school, no doubt,” she chuckled as she led Buffy to the dressing room. “I know, Buff,” she continued good-naturedly, “Xander does love me, I get that. He just needs to grow ‘into’ the idea of loving and needing me desperately, that’s all. Besides, who’s going to give him the massive orgasms I do?” The two women laughed together before Buffy went in to try on the perfect black number in her hands.

Spike sat on the balcony of his hotel suite, staring out at the black emptyness that was the Pacific Ocean. It was nearly 10:00 PM and for some reason, he had a very uneasy feeling about Buffy and what she might be up to. “God,” he sighed in frustration, “you’d think I was back in high school! Keepin’ tabs on my girl and all. Buffy’s not even ‘my’ girl. Okay, she should be, but…” His one sided conversation was interrupted by the shrill ring of his cell phone. Wesley, his cousin, greeted him coolly.

“Dalton says and I quote,” Wes began rather curtly, “Miss Summers left work at around 5:00 PM. Drove her somewhat ugly 1973 lime green Porshe, black top, to a dress shop. Parked in the green zone and was in the shop for less then 25 minutes. Came out, carrying a black plastic dress bag and sped off to a ranch style, one story house about 6 miles from the shop. A twenty-something, dark haired pregnant woman came out to meet Miss Summers. Dalton sat in his car, 3 doors down from the house until Miss Summers exited the residence, along with the pregnant woman and a young man, presumably the woman’s husband? Miss Summers got in her Porshe and then continued home to her apartment complex.”

“That’s it, huh?” Spike asked his cousin, somewhat relieved. “Yes, Spike,” Wesley responded with slight irritation, “that’s it. I don’t know what the bloody hell you thought the young lady would be doing. If you want to ‘date’ the lady, ask her for God’s sake. Give the bloody spy games up!” Spike noticed that the usually unflappable Wesley Rhys-Smythe was getting a little peckish right at the moment.

“I have to handle Buffy Summers very carefully, Wes,” Spike chuckled, but wondered what the hell he was explaining this to his cousin for. “She’s special, Wes, I mean that. Just want to know which way to come at her, make her see that I’m a contender for her affections.” Wesley just sighed loudly on the other end of the phone. “Contender for her affections? You sound like a bloody boxer, man. Oh, whatever you say cousin,” Wes responded in exasperation. “Thanks, Wesley,” Spike laughed, then clicked off his cell phone.

Buffy was on her third cup of coffee and second chocolate sprinkle doughnut, when Xander burst into her office. “Xand,” she growled at the big man, “do you ever, ever knock?” Xander gave her the ‘puppy dog’ look of his and flopped into a chair by her desk. “What the fu…!” Xander whistled in awe of the 5 dozen red roses in Buffy’s office. “Who died?!” he finished with a wide-eyed stare at the large card attached. “Well, Webster and Katerina for just two deaths, Xand,” Buffy shot her partner a miffed look. “But, if you’re speaking about ‘my’ roses, Spike Williamson sent them. If it’s any of your business.”

Xander gave Buffy a rather dubious look, then a pout that would do a spoiled child proud. “Christ Buffy,” he scolded, “you put out to the guy already? Have you got no…” Buffy stood up from her chair, “get the hell out, Xander,” she practically screamed at him, “now!” The dark haired man stood up from his chair, “I’m sorry, Buff,” he stuttered, a sincere look in his brown eyes, “I guess I just don’t trust this guy. He’s just too damn close to Webster, his operation, everything. In fact, I was thinking, just last night. What if this ‘family’ of his and Webster’s thought to send this guy over here, from England to kind of take over the business. Know what I mean?”

Buffy felt like she’d been hit with a rock, in the stomache that is. For a moment, she felt like she couldn’t breathe. This was something she had not even considered, this theory of Xander’s and it irritated her. More then that, it hurt her for some reason. The whole thought just kind of made her ill, actually, and she resented Xander for even bringing it up. “He’s a bar owner, Xander,” Buffy whispered a little too weakly for her liking, “a simple bar owner in London. Not much more. Don’t go putting your own paranoia’s and insecurities, or obsessions, on Spike Williamson, or me for that matter."

Xander blushed bright red then shook his head, “you know, Buffy,” he began with hesitation, “just because I care about you, want you to be happy? It doesn’t mean I’m still obsessed or possessive of you. Not like I was as a teen, okay? I do love Anya, really. I’m beginning to see how much, daily, believe me and I’m not going to risk my relationship with my Anya by obsessing over you, or anyone else. I just…”

There was a strong, steady knock at Buffy’s door. “Come in,” she called, glad to have the interruption in this conversation. Spike walked, confidently, through the door, “hello, luv,” he greeted Buffy happily then scowled at Xander. “Harris,” he muttered in greeting. “Williamson,” Xander hissed through clenched teeth as both men eyed each other up and down, suspiciously. “I’ll talk to you later, Buff,” Xander nodded at Buffy before he left the office. He never acknowledged Spike at all.

“I am so sorry,” Buffy sighed, “my partner sometimes forgets his manners. It’s the way he was raised, I assure you,” she finished with a grin. “It’s okay, luv,” Spike chuckled as he sat down in the chair Xander had once occupied. “He, Harris that is, is just a bit protective of you. Can’t blame him really. I’d be the same way, I’m sure.” She blushed brightly and Spike again reminded himself that he would do everything he could to cause sweet Buffy to do that. “So,” Spike smiled and folded his arms across his chest, “anything new? On the case that is?” Buffy gave him a worried look, then shook her head sadly, “not much more then we spoke of on the phone yesterday. Oh,” she continued nervously, “thanks again for the roses. See how pretty they are?” she asked brightly.

Buffy felt a bit embarrassed, and more then overwhelmed by this man’s presence. Spike Williamson was a formidable man, no question, but there was something about him, Buffy was sure, something of a paradox to him. If he was the British version of Holden Webster, then Buffy would be the first person shocked by the revelation. He, Spike, was a seemingly compassionate man, sincere, apparently honest? ‘Those eyes of his,’ Buffy sighed internally, ‘they look right through me. See into my soul.’

“They’re talking of Friday for Amy’s arraignment,” Buffy stated simply enough. “I’ve got to go, of course.” She glanced about the office, nervously, as if it was her first day in it’s walls. “How about your doubts, Buffy,” Spike asked evenly, “still not positively sure that this chit, St. Claire is not the shooter?” Buffy shook her head, “I think I’m sure she’s not,” she smiled sadly, “I think the odds are good she’s not. But,” she sighed softly, “I’ve never been a good gambler, so the ‘odds’ are not something I usually understand.”

“Well, luv,” Spike began to respond when Buffy’s office door burst open revealing a tall, dark-haired man in the doorway. Without waiting for Buffy to ask him in, the big oaf (who Spike took an instant dislike to) saunterered into the office like he owned the place. Spike noticed that Buffy got even more nervous then she had been earlier and a bad feeling came over him “Hello, Buff,” the rather huge, neanderthal looking man greeted the Lieutenant. Again, Spike decided that not only did he not like this idiot, he did not trust him, either. If there was one thing about Spike, everyone knew this that knew him, he had a good intuition about people in general. Spike did not like the vibes he was getting off this guy, nor the way the fool eyed Buffy up and down like she was his next meal.

“Hey,” cave man nodded at Spike with an unfriendly smirk that belied his tone. “This is Spike Williamson, Angel,” Buffy stammered slightly and pointed at Spike then back at the other man. “This is Angel O’Connor, our Assistant District Attorney.” Now Spike realized exactly why he disliked this poof, ‘fuckhead O’Connor,’ he hissed to himself. ‘Now, just let me guess why he’s here, sniffin’ around Buffy’s office and her?’

“Heard your family sent you here to Sunnydale to check up on the Police, Williamson,” Angel grinned at Spike. ‘I’d like to wipe that bloody stupid smirk off your ugly face, mate,’ Spike thought to himself, even as he rewarded this Angel with a false smile. “I can assure you,” Angel continued with a nod of his stupid rather too big head, “our guys are great at the police work. Especially our Buffy here.” Spike almost leapt up and kicked this moron’s ass when he smiled lovingly at Buffy and had the nerve to call her ‘our Buffy.’ “Yes,” Spike stated evenly, through clenched teeth, “she’s quite special, isn’t she O’Connor?”

Buffy cleared her throat, loudly, “and,” she grumbled, “she’s right here in the office with you two.” She had had just about enough of the tetosterone party that was going on in her office and thought to end it, right now. “Uhm, how can I help you Angel?” she asked quickly, hoping against hope that her ex had the sense and tact ‘not’ to mention their plans for the evening in front of Spike.

“Just wanted to firm up our dinner date for tonight, Buff,” Angel immediately responded with a happy grin. “Reservations are at 7:00 PM, sharp, even got our old table. Thought I’d pick you up at your place at 6:00 or so, have a drink before we go?” He looked like a hopeful school boy and Buffy felt a slight wave of affection sweep over her. Then the embarrassment and slight anger at his tactless announcement about her private life began to seep back into her mind. “About that,” Buffy responded nervously, glancing over at Spike who looked like he was about to go ballistic, “I thought I’d meet you, Angel. At the restaurant, that is.”

Buffy anxiously fussed about with some paperwork on her table, “I need to get some of the paperwork, about the Webster case in order. Stuff I need to discuss with you at dinner and all.” She again looked over at Spike who was eyeing her with the expression of a military officer who had heard his troops were all going AWOL. “We’re, Angel and I, we’re meeting to discuss the case, Spike,” Buffy explained lightly. “I’m trying to convince our Assistant DA that I’m sure that Amy St. Claire is innocent.”

Spike nodded, silently as he caught Buffy’s gaze and kept it, ‘oh, I just bet the fuck is going to listen to your case opinions, baby.’ He was actually reconsidering that good ‘ass kicking’ he’d thought about giving cave man here, when another thought struck him. “I see,” he suddenly smiled at Buffy, happily receiving a confused look from her. “In that case,” Spike continued evenly, “why don’t I join you two ‘old friends’ and give you my input?” Buffy’s green eyes flew wide open and Spike could just hear O’Connor groan from the other side of the office.

“Sorry, man,” Angel’s voice trembled with irritation, causing Spike much happiness, “but I’ve got reservations for two, only. The Tria Bellas is booked for days ahead. Sorry,” O’Connor shrugged, but shot Spike a nasty smirk when Buffy wasn’t looking. “I could catch you up, tomorrow?” Buffy nodded at Spike, her expression looked almost sympathetic, he thought. “Yeah, right, tomorrow,” Spike responded, in a deflated tone, trying not to pout outright.

“Well, then,” Angel grinned at them both, “I better get going, busy man today. See ya’ around Williamson,” he gave Spike a big toothy smile. Buffy,” he nodded at her, “walk me out?” Spike thought he was going to hurl, ‘Christ,’ he grumbled, ‘what is this guy? A five-year-old? Can’t walk himself out?” Spike nodded at Angel and grunted a quick goodbye as Buffy glanced at Spike and told him she’d be right back, then followed the big ox, O’Connor out of the door.

Once the two had left, Spike pulled out his cell phone and dialed Wesley’s cell. “Wes,” he greeted his oh so helpful cousin, “need you to find out where The Tria Bellas Restaurant is, exactly. Oh, and rent me a car, a great car, can’t show up there on a Harley, can I? No, don’t need reservations, I’m sure there’s a bar connected I can park my ass at. I’m not going until about 8:00 tonight, not going to eat dinner, just stake it out. Yeah, that’s right, cousin, Buffy’ll be there, with another bloke, but I’ll remedy that, right soon.”


A/N: Okay, next chapter is the business dinner between Buffy and Angel. And, please, do not worry, Buffy, as in Chosen, is not blinded by Angel’s line of bullsh**, honest. Spike has nothing to worry about. There will be some Spuffy moments in the next chapter and here’s a hint: it will be an R or NC-17 rating! Thanks for reading and please review. Luv, Spuf





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