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A MURDER IN SUNNYDALE


Chapter 5: ‘Here’s The Weird Part!’


A/N: In this chapter, through Spuffy banter, we find out how Spike and Buffy got their nicknames. Luv, S


“Amy?” Buffy mumbled softly at the younger woman who sat, handcuffed in an interrogation room of the precinct. “Buffy!” Amy cried eagerly, her dark eyes full of hope, “I mean, Lt. Summers,” the girl whispered and hung her dark head of hair down again. She was too thin, Buffy felt, Amy St. Claire was a stick, actually, thinner then herself. Even at almost twenty-five, Amy St. Claire resembled a mere waif of a girl, a wisp of the teenager she had once been when Buffy Summers first encountered her.

“Get out,” Buffy hissed at Xander and Officer Hope, yes, even Sgt. Ross, “get out, now,” she repeated. Xander began to protest, but Buffy shot him her most aggressive glare and her partner motioned to Hope and Ross to leave with him. “Amy,” Buffy turned to face the prisoner, her voice almost tender, almost that is, “what happened?” Amy shrugged, then suddenly burst out into tears, “I didn’t do it Buf…I mean Lt. Summers, I didn’t, I swear to God. Holden, that bitch of his, Katerina, I did not kill them. I…” Buffy shook her head and flopped down in the chair across from the table that Amy rested her cuffed hands and elbows on.

“Amy,” she began gently, “you were seen, at Webster’s penthouse, just an hour before the time of the murders. You left town, less then an hour after Katerina’s estimated death. How can you sit there and tell me that you didn’t have any knowledge of this mess? How?” The dark haired woman looked at Buffy, the desperation in her dark eyes glowed, bore it’s way into Lt. Summer’s hardened heart. “I did not kill Holden, Lt. Summers,” she rasped, “or his whore. I swear to God, I didn’t. It’s just, Holden and me, we had this thing, like a bond. I knew, knew that something was wrong that day and when a friend of mine told me that the cops had been called to Hold’s place. I just freaked, ran I guess. Buffy,” Amy whispered lowly, “I didn’t even know about the actual killings until I hit Yuma. I swear.”

Buffy sighed in frustration, “here’s the weird part, Amy,” she mumbled, “I believe you. As much as anyone had a right to blow Holden Webster’s head off, like you did? I just know you didn’t. The task at hand now, is to convince everyone else in Sunnydale that you’re not guilty.” Captain Wilkens stormed into the interrogation room, “Summers!” he barked angrily, “get this little loser into lock-up, or have someone else do it!” Amy gave Buffy that ‘little girl lost’ look she was so good at, but this time, her options had run out. “Send Hope in,” Buffy grumbled at her Captain, “Amy,” she turned her attention to the skinny, haggard younger woman, “go with Officers Hope and Ross. Do not give them any trouble. No hysterics, no drama and I will try and find some way to get you out on bail. I mean it Amy, no problems, right?”

Amy nodded in defeat, “sure,” she shrugged, almost indifferently. “Lt. Summers,” she gave Buffy her sincerest look, “I did not kill Holden Webster. I loved him.” Buffy felt her stomache drop, literally to the ground as she nodded for Scott Hope to remove the prisoner. When the prisoner and her captor had left, Buffy slumped down into the chair she occupied, ‘I hate this fucking job sometimes,’ she hissed to herself.

Later, hours later, Buffy was sitting at her office desk, a latte in one hand, her silver plated pen in the other. ‘Why would Amy kill Holden,’ she wrote the words on a tablet of paper on the desk in front of her. She listed reasons, one-by-one:

1) Holden Webster targeted Amy St. Claire as a whore for his call girl service. The minute she stepped off of a bus from Arizona, the manipulative bastard that Webster was.

2) Holden Webster spun a web of deceit, lies and promises around Amy’s sixteen-year-old impressionable mind. Promised her the moon, I suppose. Asshole!

3) Holden’s little ring of prostitutes got broken up by ‘yours truly’ and her partner Tom Ford. We play heros, Ford and I, save the desperate Amy and her pal, Andrew Price from a future life of prostitution, drugs and degredation. However, Holden escapes justice, as usual.

4) Tom Ford, who had issues of his own, takes up with young Amy, much to Holden’s chagrin. Or so we’ve heard. Ford dies, Amy falls back into Webster’s web of horrors.

5) Holden Webster, surprisingly, moves Amy St. Claire into a decent apartment of his. Actually makes gestures that ‘she’ is his woman. After her eighteenth birthday, of course. Even gives perks to Amy’s best buddy, Andrew.

6) Amy realizes, after a year or so, that Holden is not a long haul guy. He has women all over town and in LA. She, Amy, in an unusual act of self-dignity, packs up and takes her darling Andrew to LA with her.

7) Amy, a little older and wiser, returns to Sunnydale, a year later, with Andrew in tow, and sets herself and Andy up in a nice apartment on the west side. Holden, who is between mistresses, tries to renew their relationship, but Amy withholds. She stands her ground and insists (according to sources) that she and Holden remain ‘just friends’ or business associates, nothing more. However, the ‘bond or connection’ between Amy and Holden remains firm. Amy’s beloved Andrew falls back into drug addiction and…


“Oh, Amy,” Buffy whispered to the air about her, “you, if anyone had every reason to kill Holden. But, Katerina? It just does not add up. Not even for jealous motives.” Buffy reached for her office phone and hit a speed dial number: “Levy and Chase Bonds” came the greeting on the other end… “they bring you in; we spring you out!” Johnathan Levy, may I help you?” Buffy took a deep breath, “it’s Lt. Summers, Johnny,” she purred silkily, “and I need a big, big favor.”

Johnathan Levy sighed, audibly over the line, “Buffy,” he began tentatively, “if this is about Amy St. Claire, I already know. My sources informed this office, hours ago, that Amy is back in town and back in chains. Now, myself? I’d issue the bond paper immediately, but Cordy? Well…”

“Come on Johnny,” Buffy hated the whine in her tone, “Amy’s innocent, we all know that, right?” There was a pause at the other end, “well,” Levy hesitated, “maybe you and I know it,” he continued, his voice very conspiritorial, “but my boss, Cordy? Most of Sunnydale? I don’t think so, Buff.” Buffy thought for a moment then smiled to herself, smugly, “do you know of any of Webster’s British family?” She asked the elfin Johnathan Levy, almost indifferently. “Some,” he responded curtly, “why?”

“Well,” Buffy began again, “Holden has a cousin here, a Spike Williamson from England. He agrees with me, that Amy might be innocent that is. Think of it, Johnny. A Webster family connection, me and you, all together in the ‘free Amy the innocent’ camp?” Johnathan Levy could not resist name and money, this much Buffy knew for sure. “I’ll have a bond out, as soon as possible. But Buffy,” Johnathan muttered, “it’ll be high, the bond I mean. You must know that, huh?”

Spike sauntered through the Sunnydale Police Department precinct, determined in his destination. Lt. Buffy Summers’ office. He found her, Buffy, there at her desk, writing on some tablet of paper, her brows scrunched together in thought. “Lt. Summers?” Spike stood at the open door of his obsession’s office, “thought I’d stop by. I hear that they’ve brought Amy St. Claire in?”

“Oh,” Buffy sighed in mock frustration, “now my day is truly complete.” She motioned for Spike Williamson to come into her office. “Sit down, Mr. Williamson,” she ordered evenly. “Thought I told you to call me Spike,” he shot her a devlish grin. “Mr. Williamson might be more ‘businesslike’ for us, don’t you think?” Buffy gave Spike ‘her’ most saucy little grin. “Keep giving off naughty little smiles like that, Lt.,” Spike chuckled, “you’ll get yourself kissed, at the least, anyway.” Buffy rolled her green eyes in exhasperation.

“Can I ask you something, Lt.,” Spike asked the saucy little dectective in front of him. Buffy nodded, albeit a little reluctantly, “go ahead, Mr. Williamson,” she pursed her lovely lips. “Buffy?” he grinned, “where the devil did your Dad and Mum get a name like that?” The honey blonde woman before him, straightened up in her chair and eyed him, a little miffed he wagered. “I could ask you the same thing, ‘Spike’ Williamson,” she muttered defiantly. “How the heck does a guy get a name like Spike?”

“Okay,” Spike nodded, lighting a cigarette and taking a deep drag. “You’re on, Lt.,” he added with a wink. Buffy frowned, “you can’t smoke in an office or building Williamson,” she stated smugly, “not in California.” Spike laughed out right, “fuck the rules,” he chortled and continued to smoke his cigarette in defiance. “Oh,” Buffy gasped, almost in intimidated awe, “okay, uhm, well, about your nick name of Spike?”

Buffy was uncomfortable, as if what this blonde, Billy Idol wannabe might tell her, but she jutted out her chin and gave him her most defiant expression. “I’m nearly thirty-five, Lt.” Williamson grinned at her charmingly, “I was not quite fifteen when I embraced the ‘Punk’ world. If you think I’m a little punkish now, you should have seen me then,” he winked at Buffy, “now, I’m scaled way back.” “My hair, hell, every piece of jewelry I wore, and it was a lot, had spikes on them. That’s how I got my moniker and it stuck. Nothing more. Now, how about your nick name of ‘Buffy’ Elizabeth?”

Buffy sat up, a little disconcerned at Spike’s reference to both her nick name and given one of Elizabeth. “I, my Grandmother, my Mom’s mom, her name was Elizabeth,” she began, wondering why she was even offering this information to this asshole. “My Mom and Dad, they met on…well they lived on a commune, in Northern California, near Eureka. I was uhm,” she blushed bright red, she just knew it, “I was conceived at the commune. Mom, Joyce, that is, she wanted to give me some unique name, so, Buffy was born. I guess she thought it was a little more reasonable then Rainbow, or Moonshadow?”

Spike burst out into gleeful laughter, “yes, Buffy,” he smiled warmly at her, “I like Buffy much better then Rainbow or Moon whatever.” He was rewarded with a soft smile from Buffy, a delightful sight to him, “it fits you. Buffy that is,” he added honestly. “You’re such a little thing, you know? Kind of shiny like buffed silver or something.” Buffy blushed and Spike decided right then and there to ‘make’ her do that, blush that is, every chance he got.

“So,” Buffy stammered, “can I ask you this?” she eyed Spike up and down, pleased when he squirmed under her peruse, at least a little. “Go ahead, luv,” he purred at her with a smirk. “What ‘is’ your first name, really?” This time, Spike blushed bright red, giving Buffy the satisfaction she’d been looking for. With a raised brow, she dared this British man to answere her. “It’s William,” he whispered, obviously embarrassed. “What?” Buffy asked, “didn’t quite hear you?” Spike sat up and scowled at Buffy with his scarred left brow, “it’s William,” he responded, a little louder this time.

“William?” Buffy repeated, a little surprised, “as in William?” she chuckled. “What?” he scowled again, still blushing. “Your mother and father named you William Williamson?” Buffy asked incredulously. “Were they on drugs or something?” she chuckled loudly. “No!” he cried in his parents defense, “my Mum, she thought it was ‘cute’ William that is. Like Shakespeare and and Blake, that’s all.” He pouted, something that Buffy so did not need to see at that moment. ‘Too adorable,’ she thought with resentment.

“Nothing in your persona, William ‘Spike’ Williamson,” Buffy continued laughing, “cries ‘cute’ to me. Maybe, shady, dangerous or downright evil, but cute!” Buffy began to laugh even louder and ‘William’ stood up, leaned on her desk and growled, “I’ll have you know, William is a family name. A very proud one and…” She threw up her hands in defense, “I’m sorry,” she chuckled, “it’s really no worse then Buffy. I’ll give you that much.” The couple shared a mutual laugh that broke the tension between them, at least temporarily.

Xander Harris took that precise moment to stumble into Buffy’s office, “hey Buff,” he exclaimed, then apparently spied Spike standing at her desk. “Oh,” Xander growled through clenched teeth, “you,” he finished tensely. “Yeah, me,” Spike smirked at the taller man, “who’d you expect?” Harris frowned then dismissed Spike with a shake of his head, “Buff,” he turned his attention to his partner, “thought maybe we could grab a burger, after work?” Spike raised his brow, once again and looked at Buffy, who appeared to be caught left to right in a rather uncomfortable situation.

“Xander,” Buffy began, cautiously, “it’s Saturday, you know, Saturday?” she mumbled her finish. Harris, who appeared not to be deterred stood up straight and responded, “yeah, but like you said, you’ve cooled it with Parker, for now at least. Thought we might grab a burger, at the Bronze, talk about the case?” The dark haired man finished on a hopeful note. Buffy glanced at Spike, who was smirking, obviously at her, “Xand,” Buffy murmered, “why don’t you just go call Anya. Make a date with her. Work this out, huh? You know you love her.”

Xander gave Buffy a betrayed look, as if to ask ‘how could you talk of Anya and me’ in front of him? However, her partner nodded, in defeat, “okay, Buff,” he sighed dejectedly, “you’re probably right. I’m as tired of this break, between Anya and me as anyone. I’ll go call her.” Xander gave Buffy a pout and then scowled at Spike before he left the office. Buffy tried not to meet Spike’s blue eyes as she fumbled about with some paperwork on her desk.

After the lumbering fool, Harris, left Buffy’s office, Spike closed the door behind him. “So,” he purred, closing the gap between Buffy and himself, “this Parker, is he the ‘friend’ of yours?” Buffy slammed the paperwork in her hands down on her desk, “none of your business, Spike,” she hissed, with indignation. “You just called me Spike, Buffy,” he chuckled happily. “Slip of the tongue,” she explained curtly. ‘I’ll give you a slip of the tongue, Buffy Summers,’ Spike mused as he watched his obsession turn bright red.

“Have dinner, with me tonight, Buffy,” Spike ordered her, evenly. “I, I can’t,” Buffy stammered nervously. “Can’t, or won’t,” Spike slipped around the desk to stand next to her. “A little of both,” she responded quickly, maneuvering out of his space with an almost shy smile. “I don’t think my ‘seeing’ a relative of Holden Webster would bolster or be very good for my police career. Do you Spike?” she smiled at him and turned to file the St. Claire folder back in it’s place. “We could write it off,” Spike persisted, placing his body just behind hers at the cabinet, “write it off as business. You know, to discuss the case. I mean, Buffy,” he leaned in behind her, near whispered into her ear, “I do believe you, maybe even agree with you when you say that you don’t think that this poor, misguided chit is the shooter.”

Buffy snapped out of her daze, the one Spike was creating by murmering in her ear, business or not. She slammed the cabinet drawer shut and turned to face her nemesis, though why this particular man was such, she could not quite remember. “I’m not going to date you or sleep with you, Spike, I mean Mr. Williamson,” she hissed as she sidestepped him and moved back to her chair. “Sleep isn’t quite what I had in mind, Buffy,” Spike waggled his brows at her and smirked again. “Okay,” she spat, that’s it, “get out, Williamson.”

“Now, Buffy,” he pouted, “don’t be cross with me, I’m just in awe of your ‘natural appeal’ you know?” Spike smiled as he plopped back down in the chair across from her desk. “Awe or not, Spike,” Buffy hissed through clenched teeth, “this conversation, for at least today, is over. I would like to go home now, alone. Have a frozen pizza and a Cosmo martini. Maybe get a little tipsy, by myself, no matter what AA says and perhaps TIVO the new episode of Mad TV. Is that so much to ask?”

“All right, Buffy,” Spike threw up his hands in defeat. “You go on home, alone and eat your DiGornio, drink your martinis and TIVO your fave show. I’ll just toddle off to my lonely hotel suite, drink myself into oblivion and dream of what ‘might have been’ between us. I’ll say, good night, dear Buffy. Parting is such sweet sorrow and all that rot…” With that, Spike saluted the lovely Lt. Summers and exited her office.

‘This guy is beginning to be a real pain in the neck!’ Buffy grumbled to herself, trying not to smile. ‘Thinks he’s all that, now doesn’t he? Comes into my town, my precinct and tries to…’ For God’s sake, Buffy shook her head in self exhasperation, ‘get over yourself Summers. So he wants to sleep with you, and you know he does. So what? You’ve handled these situations before, very well, actually. You’ll get this case cleared up. You’ll go on, keep Spike at arm’s length, then send him packing back to England where he belongs. No problem.’ However, something deep down inside of Buffy realized that there might just be a problem after all.


A/N: Thank you to everyone who is reading this fic. It truly inspires me. Please read and review, Luv, Spuf





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