Paper Pusher :: Chapter 5/?

[fenderlove]

Title: Paper Pusher
Author: fenderlove
Pairing: Spike/Fred
Warnings: This chapter is rate PG for language.
Summary: This is a new ongoing series for sockmonkeyhere's Fantasy Island request on nekid_spike. The events of this story include plot points from Angel: After the Fall as well as Angel: Almost Human. Spike is working at a medical examiner's office to earn extra cash after being brought back from Hell. Gunn arrives with a proposition that Spike can't refuse.



Paper Pusher
Chapter Five

The week passed by with no word from Gunn. Spike found himself sleepwalking through each of his night jobs, and he had indeed caught hell for missing his shift at the newspaper office while he and Gunn had dallied at Hargreaves & Sons. Spike had to admit that he was on edge. Probably had something to do with not having a decent wank in days. Every time Spike tried he would relive his encounter with Becker the Incubus, remembering his cruel taunts. It was not exactly something to inspire romantic, relaxing feelings.

At least at the Santa Cecilia Community College Library there was something to keep him distracted, and Spike was grateful of the fact as he clocked in at his third part-time job of the week. Some idiot manchild of a frat boy had crashed an entire return cart into the European History section and knocked over two rows of shelves.

Having only a few hours until he had to be at his shift at the morgue, Spike flipped on the radio at the check-out desk, turning the volume all the way to eleven as he set to work. It was nice to be the only person in the library, no one would be around to shush him (or blackmail him) for singing along to whatever pop diva was telling her man to "put a ring on it."

As Spike caught sight of the damage, he realized it wasn't as bad as he expected. One shelf was resting flat on the floor while the other was slightly leaning on top of it. There had been a note on the shift sign-in sheet at the front desk telling him to leave the shelves as they were, that the maintenance staff would be fixing them in the morning. As Spike looked over the scattered mess of books and the two fallen rows, he quirked an eyebrow. Righting the shelves would no problem for someone with vampiric strength, no sense in leaving work for someone else. Still, he might have to explain how a single fellow of a slight-to-medium build was able to lift a bookshelf that easily weighed over two hundred pounds by himself.

Convenience won out over the chance of being questioned. After clearing all the books from the floor and situating himself in the center of the shelf that was leaning over the other, Spike got a good grip on the panels and lifted. The weight of the bookcase was no issue, all right, but balance was a problem. He took one or two missteps backwards before settling it upright, just as it had been before the return cart had made contact.

The shelf that was flat on the floor posed a more difficult prospect. Finding no way to get a proper grip on it from the bottom, Spike lifted from what would have been the top and pushed it upwards, easing it along to keep it from toppling over to the other side.

"Wow, you're really strong..."

Spike whipped around to see Dr. Dominick standing at the end of the aisle with a look of surprise on her face. He mentally kicked himself for not hearing her approach.

"Oh, these? They aren't all that heavy," Spike forced a laugh, trying to appear nonchalant, lightly smacking the flat of his hand on a shelf. When she appeared dubious, he quickly added, "And I work out... a lot."

Dr. Dominick was a smart lady, and she made her living weighing and measuring dead bodies. Spike knew that she would never buy his explanation. The mechanics of it just did not add up in a normal, human world.

Hoping to avoid a particularly awkward conversation, Spike ran a hand through his hair and asked, "What are you doing here? And how'd you get in anyway?"

Dr. Dominick seemed to finally blink, shrugging her messenger bag a bit higher on her shoulder, "I remembered you said that you had a shift here, and since you don't have a car, I thought I would give you a lift. It's dangerous to be walking around at night... though maybe not for you." She eyed the shelves uneasily, but then continued, "The front doors are still unlocked, so I thought it was okay to come in. I'm sorry, I should go-"

"No, it's all right, really," Spike wanted to put her at ease. "I'm going to be here for a bit longer; you don't have to wait on my account."

"I've got nothing better to do. Maybe I could help?" she pushed her glasses up a bit further on her nose.

Spike nodded and was grateful for her assistance. They worked in relative silence save the few instances where the Doc would double-check where certain volumes went on the shelves. Out of the corner of his eye, Spike caught her trying to lift up on the bookcase as if to test exactly how heavy it was. He had the sinking feeling he was about to lose one of his part-time jobs.

After leaving the European History section far better than it had been hours earlier, Spike left the locking up to the janitorial staff and walked with Dr. Dominick out to her car. It was a dull pink, dent-riddled VW Beetle. Spike cringed a bit at the cuteness of it as he climbed into the passenger seat.

As they drove down side streets to avoid a patch of road construction, the Doc glanced over at Spike, "You're not human, are you?"

Spike was at a loss for how to answer that. Dr. Dominick did not have the scent of fear about her, though he did notice she was steering with one hand gripped white-knuckled on the wheel while the other hand toyed nervously with a billiard ball keychain hanging from the ignition.

"It's okay if you're not. I work in the Coroner's Office in L.A., Will. I've seen some damn weird things- mysterious neck wounds combined with bodies drained of blood, shooting victims found on the night of the full moon pumped with silver bullets, corpses getting off the autopsy table in the middle of the Y-incision. Yeah, and there was that whole bit where all of L.A. went to hell," the Doc said all of it in one long breath without pause as if she had been waiting a long time just to tell someone. "You're really pale, you don't balk at death-y things the way even the seasoned staff does, and sometimes your breath smells like decomp, no offense. I knew something was up."

Spike smiled softly. The Doc had more guts than he'd given her credit for, and he felt a sort of admiration for anyone who hadn't run screaming for the hills at the things she must have seen.

"No," he spoke, "I'm not human, but I'm not a bad guy." He left off the "anymore" for the sake of providing the slightest bit of normality to the conversation.

"Didn't ask you that," she said flatly. "We've been to the movies and for coffee. Do you think I would make my delicious baked treats for someone I thought was evil?"

"So does this mean I still have a job?" he leaned over and gave her a sort of innocent puppy-dog expression.

"Are you kidding me? Do I look like HR to you? If I had the power to fire people, I'd have gotten rid of Dr. LaBianca a long time ago," Dr. Dominick gave a little snort through her nose and added, "And couldn't you sue if they fired you because you were a... well, a different species?"

Spike laughed, finally relaxing, "If I did, I'd have just the lawyer for the job." His brow furrowed suddenly, "What did you mean my breath smells like decomp?!"

The Doc smirked, "I said that it only sometimes smells like decomp."

"Well, your hair sometimes has brain matter in it," he frowned, folding his arms petulantly.

Dr. Dominick was quiet for a moment before she spoke, "William?"

"Yeah?"

"Just don't sparkle on my seats, okay?"

Spike glared at her, "You're on my list for that one, missy."

"Is it a sparkly list?"

Spike couldn't remain annoyed; he laughed harder than he had in weeks. The Doc was smiling. She knew he was a vampire, and she still liked him, which was a nice feeling.

They chatted casually all the way to North Mission Road. The Doc had several questions about vampire biology, some of which Spike didn't have an answer for but he bullshitted some responses for fun. Dr. Dominick's green eyes were a-light with curiosity, practically bouncing in her seat every time she thought of another query to ask him.

"So if you don't go to the bathroom, but you eat human food, where does it go? Does it just dissolve? And how far in your digestive system does it go?"

Spike quirked an eyebrow, "That's going far too deep in my privy business, Salafia."

"Is it really privy business if you don't make it to the privy?" she matched his querulous expression.

"A yank shouldn't be saying the word 'privy;' it sounds bloody unnatural," he retorted.

As she pulled her Pepto-pink Beetle into the parking garage, the headlights cast over a figure standing in a hoodie near the staff entrance.

"Maybe I've been watching too much film noir, but a creepy dude standing in the shadows doesn't bode well."

Spike recognized the hoodie, "Remember when I said that I knew a good lawyer? Would you like to meet him?"

Dr. Dominick looked unsure as she killed the ignition, keeping her keys tight in her fist, one key protruding through her fingers just as her self-defence class at the Learning Annex had taught her.

"Easy there, Wolverine," Spike tried to be reassuring as he exited the vehicle, "He's my friend."

Cautious to follow, the Doc kept close to his side as they approached Gunn, who kept his hands tight inside the front pockets of his hoodie.

"What's new, Charlie? Besides lurking in shadowy corners like a suspicious thing?" Spike said, taking his photo I.D. badge from his pocket and clipping it on the front of his shirt.

Gunn cast a glance at Dr. Dominick and then back to Spike, "I tried calling your place, but you didn't answer."

"I had to go to work- my other work than this," Spike replied defensively. "My rent doesn't pay itself."

The other man appeared more than a little peeved, "I followed up on the tip I got from the Hargreaves. We need to move tonight."

Spike's back stiffened. The Doc was gripping his arm tightly. He placed a hand on her shoulder, "I hate to ask this, but can you cover for me again, luv?"

"Are you in some kind of trouble?" her eyes and voice were filled with concern.

Spike felt guilty for abusing her trust, but he put on a brave face, "It's nothing. Just a bit of unfinished business. I might even get back in time to finish out the shift."

Walking her to the security cage, Spike watched her head down the corridor to the Pathology Wing; she kept looking back over her shoulder at him until she turned a corner and was gone. Spike returned to Gunn's side.

"Don't let me keep you. I would hate for you to miss out on something important, like mopping out a toilet," Gunn tapped on the laminated badge on Spike's chest.

"Some of us can't eat just any garbage to survive," Spike growled, knocking Gunn's hand away.

"There must be a ton of free blood in that place," Gunn gestured to the building.

"I eat evidence, and some murderer or rapist goes free," Spike snarled, "And then my pesky soul would make me feel bad. Maybe you forgot what it was like to have one?"

Gunn's eyes narrowed, but he spoke evenly, "I've got the location of Wolfram and Harts permanent records, but we've gotta stop and get reinforcements first." He began to walk towards a rust-bucket of a truck parked some distance off.

Spike tilted his head, "You want me to ride in that? I'd rather go ask the Doc to borrow her Barbie-mobile."

Gunn did not reply, and Spike at last was forced to reluctantly follow. Within moments, the truck peeled out of the parking garage, tires squealing.

"So I take it the plan is to get reinforcements after we're pulled over by the cops?" Spike was feeling rather snarky. There was a part of him that wanted no hand in this enterprise and had actually hoped that Gunn had given up. That same part wanted to go back to North Mission Road and get to work cleaning up blood and guts from the autopsy tables. It was a lot more seemly.

Remaining silent during the whole of the car ride, Gunn pulled the truck over outside of the East Hills Teen Center in Crenshaw and said, "Stay here. I'll be back in a few minutes."

Once Gunn was in the building, Spike muttered to himself, "Not bloody likely."


Gunn took the outside stairs two at a time. Anne's office was located just off the main entrance. Before he could knock, Anne opened the door, pulling on her coat as though she was ready to leave for the night.

"It's about time you got here," she said, tucking a stray lock of blonde hair behind her ear. "Patrick's downstairs getting supplies." She led him to the basement door, hurriedly.

"Thanks, Annie," Gunn replied softly, following her down the stairs leading into the basement. "I know you don't approve, but-"

"It's to help your friends," she interrupted. "You guys have helped out the Center plenty, and if Patrick and the others want to go with you on this mission, then I can't stop them anyway." She pointed to a storage room at the end of a short hall. "They're getting some flashlights and other gear in there. I've gotta get going before my cat destroys my apartment, but," she looked up at Gunn, her hand resting on his upper arm seriously, "I want you to take care of them, okay? I know they're part of your old crew, but they're still young."

Gunn nodded, kissing her forehead gently. Anne had been good to him, giving him a place to stay after L.A. was returned from the hell dimension he was partially responsible for sending them into. She had also given him a very good shoulder during the difficult interim as he searched for answers. She smiled and turned to head up the stairs.

Spike, meanwhile, let his impatience get the better of him. He'd entered the Center and headed towards the open basement door. Just as he began heading down, Anne was heading up. She stopped suddenly, looking horror-stricken as she saw his face.

Even without the vampiric ridges lining his brow, Anne recognized him- the sharp cheekbones, the white-blonde hair. She thought he was beautiful when she had seen him, the first real Lonely One she'd ever laid eyes on, but when he'd snapped his fangs at her, growling, she'd realized too late that he was far from the misunderstood creature she'd imagined vampires to be. Her throat tingled with the dull memory of the pain of his teeth sliding into her neck. If it hadn't been for Buffy, she'd be dead. Anne, however, was no longer an ignorant teenage girl; she knew enough now to take care of herself without anyone's help.

Spike grew tense as fear rolled off of the young woman in front of him. Her blues eyes were wide, and her jaw was locked tight. He tilted his head, not sure what he had done to frighten her, but he tried to be friendly. He had put the Doc at ease after all.

"Hi, there, darlin'. I was just following Charlie-"

Anne reached into her pocket and, with speed that Spike could not even fathom, flicked open a can of mace and sprayed him straight in the eyes. He screamed in pain, tears instantly welling up as he fell backwards onto his ass.

"Annie, stop!" Gunn raced up the stairs, grabbing her arm before she could pepper-spray Spike anymore.

"He's a vampire!" she struggled in his grip, obviously not done inflicting pain upon the thing that had nearly taken her life.

Gunn tried to convince her to calm down, "He's on our team; he's like Angel!"

Spike had rolled onto his stomach, shielding his face from another assault. He felt weak for getting maced like a would-be mugger, but he still found the strength and presence of mind to reply angrily, "I'm not like him, dammit!"

"You're not helping, Spike!" Gunn finally wrestled the can of pepper-spray away from Anne, letting it roll down the stairs.

"He bit me!" Anne jerked the collar of her turtleneck away from her neck. The bite mark scars were faint, barely visible.

Sitting up on the edge of the stairs and pulling up the hem of his t-shirt to wipe away some of the tears and mucus running down his face, Spike's mind raced as he tried to place her face in his memories. Had he picked her up in a bar? Why did he let her go? That wasn't like his evil self just to let someone go after only half-doing the job. He just couldn't remember her.

"I'm sorry for trying to eat you," he said, his vision still blurry, "but that's not who I am anymore."

Anne looked skeptical, but eventually Gunn was able to let her go. She pulled out a water bottle from her purse and tossed it to him. Even when visually impaired, he could still catch it in mid-air.

"It'll keep stinging if you don't wash the mace off," she said, her expression still harsh.

Twisting off the cap from the bottle, he frowned, "There better not be holy water in this."

While Spike was pouring the water over his face, Gunn pulled Anne aside, "He's a good guy now. Whatever he used to be makes no difference when we're still trying to take down what's left of Wolfram and Hart in this city."

"All right, if you trust him," Anne's lips were tightly pursed together, as she kept a close eye on Spike's movements as he stood up and came down the rest of the stairs, bracing one should against the wall in case he misjudged a step.

"I do," Gunn turned to Spike and brought Anne over to him, "Let's get this off on the right foot. Anne, this is Spike. Spike, this is Anne. She runs the Center."

"Pleasure," Spike nodded in her direction with a tone that stated this meeting had definitely been the opposite. The skin around his eyes was red and irritated. "I'd offer my hand but I'm afraid I'd pull back a nub."

"You're probably right," she replied, crossing her arms.

Spike poured one more draught from the water bottle over his face before smirking, "I like you. You remind me of somebody I know."

"Did you kill that somebody?"

Cool as steel, this one is, Spike thought to himself before answering, "Tried to, luv, but never even got close."

A clamor behind them signaled that Patrick and some of the other teens from the shelter had finished gathering their supplies and were returning. As Spike looked them over, he had to wonder what the hell Gunn was thinking bringing a bunch of kids along with them. If he wanted young bloods as reinforcements, Connor or some of the Slayers lurking about L.A. would have been better choices.

"I trust them," Gunn spoke quietly off of Spike's glance.

Trust was always in short supply and rarely reliable in their business, but Spike managed to find some for Gunn's decisions. This was, after all, his game plan they would be following.

To be continued...


Previous Chapters: One :: Two :: Three :: Four.
x-posted on nekid_spike and darker_spike

Comments

[mulder200.livejournal.com]

Poor Spike! Not being able to jerk off? Poor guy. At least, he has Dominick has a friend and she didn't freak at him being a vampire.

And why does Gunn want his old crew with him? Just what does he have in store?

[fenderlove.livejournal.com]

Not being able to wank, AND he got pepper-sprayed. Things aren't going so well for Spike.

Thanks for reading! :D

[sockmonkeyhere.livejournal.com]

Oh my gosh! LOVED the doctor witnessing the bookcase-lifting, and their discussion about bowels and sparkling, and him calling her Wolverine, and calling her car the Barbiemobile! Wonderful, wonderful chapter.

[fenderlove.livejournal.com]

Thank you! I'm glad you enjoyed it! :D

[bliss714.livejournal.com]

Love the relationship between Spike and The Doc. I have to agree with Sockmonkey, it was a wonderful chapter.