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A MURDER IN SUNNYDALE


Chapter 11: ‘Don’t Want to Talk!’


Somehow, though for the life of her, Buffy could not remember just ‘when’ she grabbed her dress and pulled it over her head and torso. Spike politely looked the other way while she dressed quickly, ‘a gentleman to the end no doubt.’ She could see his face, taut, slightly flushed in embarrassment, or dissapointment maybe. “I think you better leave now,” Buffy stammered in a voice lower then a whisper, barely audible.

“I’d rather stay, talk it out, Buffy luv,” Spike set his jaw in stubborn determination. He was certainly looking at her now, straight on staring at her. She shook her head, forcefully, “no. I want you to go now, please Spike.” Spike stood up, reluctantly and pulled his duster on, “I’m sorry, Buffy,” he murmered softly, the sincerity was obvious, but she was so confused now. “Me too,” she responded sadly, not able to look him in the face. Buffy flinched when Spike called goodnight from her front door. One loan tear slipped from her right eye when she heard that door close softly.

Spike had driven the rented BMW back to his hotel like an insane race car driver, his mind on the fiasco of a few minutes earlier. “Nice move, mate,” he chided himself in disgust, then, “Christ,” he hissed at the rear view mirror when he saw the flashing police lights and heard the sick whine of the siren. “This just gets better,” he groaned, pulling over to a nondescript curbside. “Good evening,” came the false, polite monotone speech of the cop. “Yeah, right,” Spike grumbled back. He pulled out the rental agreement from the glove compartment and handed the man his visa.

“Mr. Williamson?” the young cop eyed Spike in near awe. “That would be me,” Spike chuckled suddenly when he saw the change in the whelp’s demeanor. “Sorry to have stopped ‘you’ Sir,” the officer continued nervously, “had no idea that it was you.” Spike glanced at the young cop’s badge and tag, “Officer Doyle, right,” Spike stated, reading the man’s ID. “Yes Sir,” Doyle stammered anxiously. “It’s fine,” Spike assured the near boy, “you’re just doin’ your job. I admire a man that does his job.” This Doyle gave him an altar boy smile and Spike decided to cut the kid a break. “Here,” Spike reached for his ticket book, “write me the bloody thing and be done with it. I’ll pay it outright, no worries. I was speeding, I’m a bit pissed off, at a lady. You understand, right?” The cop nodded with a friendly grin, “I understand Mr. Williamson, but…”

“No buts, Doyle,” Spike mumbled and signed his name to the ticket. “I was speeding, you were right to pull me over. Here,” he handed the young cop his book and kept the receit copy for himself. “Drive safely, Sir,” officer Doyle smiled warmly as he went back to his car. “Right,” Spike responded evenly.

‘Well,’ Spike thought to himself trying to push his curious excitement back down inside of him. ‘Just how would that kid cop know who ‘I’ am and what does that mean?’ Spike could not remember seeing this Officer Doyle at Buffy’s precinct when he’d been there. His mind went back to the key, the rather odd looking one, that he, Spike, had found in Holden’s few things that he’d left for him. ‘There’s something really, really weird going on here in this fucking hellmouth,’ Spike realized silently. “Question is,” he thought out loud as he lit a cigarette, “what the fuck lock does Hold’s key fit? Just ‘who’ is in on the weird here and is my Buffy safe from ‘it’?”

The next morning, after another sleepless night, Buffy stumbled into work, barely half awake. Starbucks had gotten her Latte order wrong, again, and usually she would be much more forgiving. But, not today. Not after last night’s double fiasco. ‘My social life could be great fodder for America’s Funniest Video, that or The Year’s Best Bloopers!’ She was completely exasperated with herself and somewhat angry at Spike. Why she was angry at all with Spike, she wasn’t sure? After all, he had made it perfectly clear that he was interested in her, no false intentions there all right!

However, Buffy had to admit, that she had allowed the blonde Brit to fondle her, also no question about that! If she was really honest with herself, Buffy would have to confess that it was that damn Angel O’Connor she was really pissed with. “Asshole!” she hissed at no one in particular as she stumbled into her office. The first thing that greeted her were the still beautiful red roses that Spike had sent her. For some reason, this upset her more then anything. But, not in an angry way.

“No one had better get in my face today!” she groused to the empty air of the office. I’m in no mood for any damn surprises this morning!” She would find out, soon, that she was in for a rude awakening.

Buffy found a few messages on her office answering maching.

1) “Buffy, dear, it’s Giles. Could you please come to my office, ASAP? Very important.” That one was at 8:30 AM.

2) “Buff, it’s Willow. Don’t forget, your next appointment is of the today kind. 10:00 AM, on the dot! See ya’!” This message was at 8:33 AM.

3) “Buffy, honey, it’s Mom. Dawn says you look tired and nervous. Call me, please, sweetie. Love you.” Precisely 8:41 AM.

4) “Buffster, it’s the Xand Man. Will be late. Anya and me, well, never mind. Anyway, late as in after 11:00 late. Bye.” 8:50 on the dot.

5) “Buffy, luv, it’s Spike Williamson. About last night, I think we should talk about it. Please call me. Sunnydale Arms number is 850-573-1212. Just ask for my room phone. I’ll be waiting. Please, please call me, Buffy.” Right on the button…9:00 AM.


She decided to handle Spike’s call first. Buffy dialed the Sunnydale Arms Hotel and asked them to ring his room. Apparently, he really was waiting for her return call. Spike answered it on the second ring. “It’s Buffy,” she murmered softly into the phone. “I’m sorry,” was the first thing out of Spike’s mouth. “Don’t,” Buffy quipped simply, “I was as much to blame. I should never have let it get out of hand like that. Please, Spike, let it go.”

“Okay, Buffy,” he agreed quietly. There was a moment of silence then, “I would still like to ‘see’ you Buffy,” he finished on a hopeful not. “Oh, Spike” she sighed, “I just don’t think that…” He interjected immediatley, “then don’t bloody think about it. Just say you’ll see me. When you want. When you’re ready. Even if it’s to go for a walk together at the beach. I don’t care, just meet with me. Sometime?”

Buffy felt a tingle run up her spine and sighed, silently this time. “Okay,” she finally relented a little. “I’ll think about seeing you. Sometime. Is that good enough Spike?” She could hear his rich, musical chuckle from the other end, “more then enough, sweet,” he replied happily. “I’m bettin’ it’ll be sooner rather then later, dear one, believe me.” She giggled despite her exasperation, “you really are sure of yourself, aren’t you Spike?” He was suddenly quiet again, then, “not where you are concerned Buffy Summers. I’m not sure at all. Have a wonderful day, sweet.” Then he hung up.

The minute Spike hung up the phone, he picked up his cell and dialed his new best friend, Cousin Wesley. “Hello Wes,” Spike greeted jovially, “need another favour. Yes, you did fine with the restaurant thing, and yes it went great. Well, until I did something rather stupid, but… Nevermind Wes, it’s not important right now.

I need you to do some real detective work, Cousin. You know that key we found in Hold’s things? Well, I’ve a feeling that our dear departed cousin and my best mate in the world was trying to leave us some clues to something. No, not his murder, not necessarily, but maybe. Anyway, I’ve a feeling that where ever this ‘information’ is locked up at, it’s going to be very very revealing. Yeah, like in who’s in on what in this fucking dump of a town. Kind of our own little Watergate.”

Buffy reluctantly headed down to Gile’s office. She wasn’t sure if this had to do with Amy St. Claire and the Webster/McClay case, or if it was something else. The problem was, Buffy did not want to talk to anyone today, about anything. That botched up business dinner with Angel, then the couch wrestling with Spike had colored her whole week in shades of darkness. Buffy simply did not want to talk to anyone, now or for the rest of the week, that simple.

Giles motioned her into his office and told her to sit down. He looked pensive to say the least and Buffy felt quite intimidated by ‘this’ Giles personna. “What’s up?” she asked innocently.

“I guess I could ask you the same thing, Buffy,” Giles responded quietly, an odd look on his face. “My rent’s up,” Buffy giggled slightly, trying to break the tension between them.

“Not funny, Buffy,” Giles frowned and took off his glasses to clean them. Buffy recognized the man’s ‘I’m worried, concerned, angry or downright dissapointed’ move when she saw it.

“All right, Giles,” Buffy sighed, “let’s have it. What’s going on and what does it have to do with me?”

The older man put his glasses back on and leaned back in his chair, his hands folded on his lap. “Buffy,” he began cautiously, “Angel O’Connor called me this morning.” Buffy groaned, audibly.

Giles held up his hand, to stop any comment, “let me finish. He’s made it clear that after your ‘business dinner’ to discuss the case and such, that he’s going to make things quite difficult on Ms. St. Claire at the arraignment. It’s tomorrow, absolutely. I am afraid that DA O’Connor is going to go out for blood in this. Starting,” Giles sighed loudly, “with the bail. Buffy,” he paused to clock her reaction, “Angel’s talking about somewhere up close to $1,000,000.00 for Amy’s bail.”

“That fucking bastard!” Buffy jumped up from the chair, shocking Giles by the look on the poor man’s face. “I wouldn’t sleep with him, so he’s upping the bail to as high as possible. I’ll, I’ll…”

“Sit down!” Giles ordered loudly. Which, for some reason, Buffy did. “Calm yourself, Buffy,” he instructed evenly. “I’m not sure even the rising Star of the DA’s office can get a judge to go for that, however…”

Buffy just hated Gile’s ‘howevers’ they made her feel about ten-years-old again. “However?” she asked timidly. “However, there’s more to this, isn’t there?” he asked with a stern glare at her.

“Angel mentioned Spike Williamson’s presence at that ‘dinner’ last night Buffy. And I heard about the Rose Parade that was delivered to your office from him. I think Angel is just worried, concerned for your welfare. After all, you two did date and…”

“Oh, yeah, I remember that,” Buffy stated sarcastically with an evil smirk. “Angel fucked me, then dumped me to fuck Darla Walsh so he could ‘rise higher’ in the legal world. Talk about the big fuckover. Oh wait, it gets better…Angel’s going to use this case against Amy to fuck her over, royally, too. He ought to get a lot of press and shit for this one, huh, Giles? Hell, he could run for office after this. And all’s he has to do is keeping fucking over women to get to his political goals! What a charmer that ‘Angel’ is, huh?”

Giles looked ill to Buffy, suddenly, and she wasn’t sure if it was her fiflty language or her harsh words about Angel O’Connor in general. Frankly, she didn’t give a rat’s ass.

“Giles,” she began, much calmer now, “my social life is my business. Angel O’Connor is going through a ‘sense’ of rejection right now, the poor darling.” Her sarcasm was not lost on Giles because he smirked himself a little. “If I see Spike Williamson, I see him. Nobody, not even you or the DA’s office is going to stop me. Understand? Besides, I’ve got Wills to psychoanalyze my odd behaviors and stupid moves. Right?”

The older man nodded briefly, still smirking a little. “Yes, dear,” he sighed softly, “I understand and you are a grown woman so I guess that means you should do what’s best for you. I just worry, like your Mum and Dad do, especially since that awful day when…” He didn’t finish the sentence, but Buffy knew exactly what he was talking about. The day she was shot and lost the baby she was carrying.

“Well,” Giles began, a littler brighter, “if Willow Rosenberg is your Doctor, then I guess that makes me your Confessor!” He seemed so pleased by the thought, that Buffy had to giggle a little. “Yes, that’s it, Giles,” she nodded warmly, “you’re my precinct Priest!”

“Well,” Buffy stood up, “if that’s it, I have to get to my next head shrinking session with Wills, like, right now. I’ll see you later, Giles, and thanks.” She exited his office and headed off to ‘confess’ her inner feelings to her best friend and doctor.

Spike watched as his cousin paced up and down in front of him in the living area of his room at the Arms hotel. “So you think that Holden left some secret papers, some insight to who was, let’s see…” Wes scrunched his dark brows together, “how do American’s put it? On the take to our dear, departed cousin?” The blonde man nodded and shot Wesley a serious look, “I’ve a feeling, Cousin,” he grunted, “that there’s more coverup shit going on in this town then Washington, D.C. Well, okay, not that much, but a lot. And,” Spike continued as he eyed his cousin’s reactions, “I think that old Holden was paying off more people then even we know about. I’m real interested as to just ‘who’ those people were and what Hold had on them, completely.”

Wesley nodded, “yes,” he responded, deep in thought. “You know, Spike,” he began carefully, a concerned expression on his handsome face, “I’m afraid you might be right about all of this. If this cop, the one that gave you the ticket ‘knew’ you like he seemed to, then that means there’s other cops involved here. I’m sure Miss Summers is on the up and up, no question. I respect your intuition about people, however, if someone close to her is involved deeply, or I should say ‘was’ involved deeply with Holden? Miss Summers could be in big, big danger.”

Spike took a deep breath and then let it out slowly. “I know, Wes,” he sighed heavily, concern edged in every word. “But, no worries, mate. I’ll protect Buffy Summers, or die trying to.”


A/N: Sigh, what a guy that Spike is. I’ll be honest, I’ve decided to take this plot line in a litter different direction. The cover up, etc. Wonder who’s in that secret info of Holden’s? Anyway, thank you for reading. Please review and let me know how you feel about this fic. Luv, Spuf





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