A/N: OK, I promised a new fic, so here it is! Please keep in mind that I know nil about actual police work, so I’m just playing it by ear. If I step on any law-enforcement toes, sorry! Please don’t throw sharp implements or those bludgeon-thingys at me :)

~*~

“There is abso-freakin’-lutely no way,” Officer Elizabeth Summers said flatly.

The LAPD police captain, Officer Rayne, leaned forward menacingly. “Officer Summers, you have no choice. I have extracted our current operative from the position, and you are the available candidate.”

“Are you on crack?” Elizabeth shot back. “Captain, you know I suck at undercover! Sticking me right into the middle of some extensive gang operation—not a good idea!”

Captain Rayne leaned back in the chair, massaging his temples. Elizabeth scowled at him. How in hell had she gotten into police work anyway?

Oh yeah, Willow had recommended it. Little Buffy Summers, straight out of high school, no college degree, and there was her best friend saying that the LAPD was a great place to work. It had seemed like a good choice at the time.

Of course, Wills works with their computers. She’s not sitting in an office trying to talk a superior out of making her go on an extensive undercover mission.

Elizabeth sighed, ruffling her hair. She’d changed back to brunette at the same time she’d changed her name from Buffy to Elizabeth: when she joined the force. No one would hire a blonde former cheerleader named Buffy for serious police work.

“Look, Captain, it’s a great position and all, but please, give it to someone who’s actually good at all the undercover stuff! I’d be horrible, I can barely remember to put on my uniform before I come to work!”

“Officer Summers, this is LA. We have some of the worst crime in the country, and we are working hard to obliterate it. We can’t spare any other officers. Either you agree to take up a position in the crime ring, or you turn in your badge. It’s your choice, but make it quickly.”

Fuck. “Fine,” she growled. “I’ll do your stupid undercover thing.”

“Excellent.” Captain Rayne’s scowl disappeared, to be replaced by a sly smile. “Captain Elizabeth, from now on you will go by the moniker Buffy Summers. Tomorrow you will be contacted by one Miss Harmony Kendall, the operative we formerly had filling the position of secretary in the ring. She will tell you when to start. Also tomorrow, you will go to the Sweetcheeks Hair Salon and have your hair re-dyed blonde.”

Buffy stared at him. “How the hell did you know about that?”

The Captain’s smile grew. “My dear Officer, we know everything about you.”

OK, why does that sound as way-creepy as it does? she wondered, but her years of training helped hide her discomfort. “Um. Right. I’ll do that then.”

“Excellent. Remember, Officer, this crime ring is extensive and ruthless. You get caught, you get killed. It’s not the department’s responsibility.”

Oh, this is going to barrel-loads of fun, Elizabeth thought sarcastically. “Right. Got it.”

“Oh, and one last thing.” He pulled out a stack of papers an inch thick. “This is all the data we have on the ring. I suggest you look through it before you go undercover tomorrow, OK?”

“Yeah. I can do that.” Inwardly she groaned. Reading boring crime reports was definitely of the bad.

“That’s my girl! Now go home and get some rest.” Captain Rayne smiled, a hollow smile that didn’t seem to quite reach his eyes. “You’re going to need it.”

“Gotcha. Rest. Um, bye.” Elizabeth was out of the chair and trotting through the LAPD headquarters in record time. Before she went home, she had an errand to run.

She grabbed her purse and went to the bathrooms to change into civilian clothes. As soon as she was sans uniform, she made her way over to the Forensics Department.

Sitting in a cubicle and tapping away at a keyboard like there was no tomorrow was her best friend Willow. Elizabeth slammed a hand on the wall. “I am so gonna kill you!”

Willow looked up from the screen. “Buffy, hi!” she said, her face lighting up. The two women had been friends since high school, so Willow still called her by her old nickname. “Wait...” the redhead added, face falling, “Not hi. Why are you gonna kill me?”

“Four years, Wills. I’ve been on the force for four years, and all I’ve ever done is fieldwork. And now stupid Captain Rayne wants me to do undercover!”

“Uh-oh.” Willow knew that her friend was really horrible at anything involving lying. She hadn’t even been able to lie her way out of detention in high school. “I sense badness. So that’s what your meeting with the Captain was about?”

Elizabeth cocked an eyebrow at her friend. “How’d you find out about that?”

“Oh, you know, word travels,” she stuttered. “So, um, why are you gonna kill me, again?”

Elizabeth groaned and slumped against the short wall of the cubicle. “You made me get this job.”

Willow laughed. “Oh, come on, I did not. You didn’t have any other job prospects, and you’d always liked martial arts, with the hitting and kicking and...okay, yeah, I kinda pushed you a little.” Elizabeth raised an eyebrow. “Or, a lot?” Willow corrected herself, smiling hopefully.

Elizabeth cracked a smile. “Relax, Wills, I’m not that mad. It’s just—arrrg! How can he expect me to do undercover?”

“Maybe he thinks you’re ready.”

“Ready? That’s just great, Willow. Oh, and look,” she continued rating, holding up the stack of papers, “I get homework!”

“Hey, it’s not so bad.” At her friend’s skeptical look she said, “Well, you know, most women would love to feel like a high-schooler again.”

“Ha. Funny. Oh, and guess what else. When I go to work as a secretary, I’m gonna have to go to Sweetcheeks Salon and be re-dyed as a blonde. And, guess what? From tomorrow on I get to assume the perky, happy Buffy persona!” Elizabeth put on a fake smile, baring a little more tooth than was necessary.

Willow shook her head. Personally, she’d liked the ‘perky, happy, Buffy persona’ way better than the grim and focused Officer Elizabeth, but she knew that after the death of her mother, that girl had all but disappeared. “So the Captain knows all about your high school years?”

“Yeah. Way creepy, when you think about it, but whatever.” Elizabeth waved her hand dismissively. “Listen, I gotta go. Captain Jerk-face wants me to rest up for the big op tomorrow.”

“OK. You wanna come over for a chick-flick fest later?” Willow hoped her friend would say yes; Buffy hadn’t unwound in so long...

“Nah. I gotta work on my simpering.” Elizabeth hefted the bag that had her uniform in it, trying to ignore the way her best friend’s face fell. “See ya later?”

“Yeah, sure. See ya.” As soon as Buffy was gone, Willow turned back to her computer.

She brought up AIM and typed in: It’s all ready. She’s coming tomorrow.

A few minutes later, she got a response: Excellent. Does she know?

And Willow Rosenberg, after looking around cautiously, typed back: No. She knows nothing.

~*~

Elizabeth tried to concentrate on the bathtub she was filling up. Just because she was a way serious cop didn’t mean she couldn’t enjoy a bubbly bath, right?

Elizabeth sighed. She even lied horribly to herself. The truth was that she was actually looking forward to being Buffy again. She’d been so happy in high school, before everything caved in.

God, she could still remember finding her mother’s body. She squeezed her eyes shut, but the images were in her mind, where she couldn’t erase them. Finding Mom lying dead on the couch, calling the ambulance...at that moment, it had all fallen apart. Careless, happy Buffy had been buried for what she’d thought would be forever.

She’d dyed her hair back to its original brunette the very next day. No sense in being a sunshine-y blonde bombshell at graduation if there was no one there to see it. Her only other relative was her father Hank, and he hadn’t even bothered to send her a Congrats card.

Elizabeth closed her eyes. A single tear slipped out, falling into the bathtub and mixing with the floral-scented water. “No, Elizabeth,” she muttered to herself. “You’re a tough cop now, right? Not the high school girl who ran from her own mother’s funeral because she couldn’t bear to see the body.”

She eased herself into the hot water, grimacing as it stung several bruises on her legs. She’d helped bust a local prostitution ring that morning. It had been nice kicking serious bad-guy ass, but she hadn’t exactly gotten off scott-free in the ass-kickage area.

She soaked for a long time, willing the bruises to go away. When the aches in her muscles had diminished slightly, she drained all the water out and wrapped herself in a towel.

She was about to walk into her bedroom to put on her pj’s when her reflection caught her eye. Almost involuntarily, she stared at herself.

Brown hair that reached a bit past her shoulders, usually braided but now free to go all frizzy on her. Wide hazel eyes with more sadness in them than they should have. A thin, small frame that looked delicate until you saw the way she moved, with athletic, predatory grace.

She grimaced at her reflection before plastering a huge, fake smile on her face. “Hi, I’m Buffy Summers, and I’m here to be your new secretary slash spy for the LAPD. How may I help you?”

Her face fell. God, even her smile looked majorly wrong. And when was the last time she’d laughed? Not in a long, long while, she thought, pulling on her pj’s and crawling into bed.

As she began to fall asleep, various stories she’d heard about the crime ring floated into her head. She’d heard that the headquarters were in Sunnydale, a smile town about two hours from LA. They dealt in drug dealing and child prostitution. The head of the operation was...William something, maybe? She couldn’t remember.

I’d better get started on all that stupid reading tomorrow, she thought at sleep began to take her. Stupid paper...what the hell am I getting myself into?

~*~

“So what, you’re saying I have to move?”

“Well, duh. I mean, Sunnydale is like so totally in the middle of nowhere, but as a secretary you have to live nearby. Plus if the boss finds out that you live in LA, he’ll totally know you’re a plant.” Harmony Kendall talked fast, loud, and sounded annoyingly like the typical California Valley Girl. Elizabeth was starting to wonder how she’d managed to stay alive for three years as a plant in the crime ring. She seemed way too dumb.

“Okay. You have a house there, right?”

“Yeah, it came with furnishings and everything, but I’m moving out so—Omigod! You can have my apartment!”

“That’s the plan. Where can I come pick up the key?”

“Oh I won’t be there, as of today I am so out of Sunnydale...um I guess I could leave it under the doormat, but wouldn’t that be like—“

“Under the doormat’s fine,” Elizabeth cut in impatiently. Jeez, if she’s this stupid maybe I’ll be able to survive on the job after all. “Thanks. I owe you one.”

“Oh no, it’s totally cool, you know since you’re a fellow cop and all. Hey, maybe we could have coffee or something sometime. I bet we could totally bond on, like, all the spy-stuff and everything,” Harmony chirped.

Over my— so totally!—dead body, Elizabeth thought grimly, but she said only, “That’d be great, Harmony, but right now I’ve got an appointment as Sweetcheeks Salon. Talk to ya later, k?”

“Oh, that sucks. Oh well! Guess I’ll, like, see you later!”

“Yeah,” Elizabeth muttered before slamming the phone down. “When hell freezes over, maybe.”

Well, at least she had an apartment. Now all she had to do was dig out the pink and pastel-colored clothes that she’d buried in boxes and go to Sweetcheeks, and she’d once again be Buffy Summers.

And of course I’m looking forward to it, she thought as she walked to the salon. Not.

The salon was a pretty nice place. She was directed almost immediately to a stylist who winked when she told him curtly, “I need to be blonde and bouncy-looking. Put it on the LAPD account.”

“Sure thing, sugar,” the male hairdresser said. His nametag identified him as Lorne. “You ever tried this look before?” he asked as he began to snip at her hair.

“Yeah, once, in high school. Can you tell?”

“You might not be a blonde, sweetie, but you act like one,” he said with a wink. “All confidence and bouncy step.”

Elizabeth snorted. “You gotta be kidding me. I’m a cop, buddy, not a cheerleader.”

“Not anymore...” Another wink.

“Just finish my hair, ok?” She was more than impatient now—she was starting to get just a little bit mad. Who the hell did this Lorne guy think he was, digging in her past like that?

“Of course, honey,” he said, and the rest of the styling was done in silence.

“All done,” Lorne announced a few hours later. “And oooh do you look fab!” Before she could protest, he twirled the chair around dramatically so that it was facing the mirror.

Almost in spite of herself, Elizabeth gasped. The makeup that she put on as a matter of routine suddenly became way more obvious. Her eyes looked bigger and greener. Her hair had been cut to just past her shoulders and dyed honey-blonde. With the tan she’d picked up from all her street work, she seemed to almost glow.

“So, what do you think, sweetie? I told you it would be gorgeous!” Lorne crowed with triumph.

“Um...thanks,” she settled on saying. “You did a great job.”

“You bet I did!”

She thanked him again, smiling amusedly, and then left the salon. As she walked back to her apartment, she couldn’t help but think, Good-bye, Officer Elizabeth of the Los Angeles Police Department. Hello, Buffy Summers—secretary slash undercover extraordinaire!

She boxed up the clothes she’d need and changed into a jean skirt with a pale blue tank top. She’d hired a guy named Gunn to drive her car, small U-Haul trailer attached, down to Sunnydale. Her in a car was bad enough; throw a trailer into the mix and major bad things would happen.

He insisted on helping her load the numerous boxes and other possessions into the trailer, despite her protestations that she could manage just fine. Oh, well, I did hire him, she thought as she settled into the passenger seat. But still, having him toss boxes over his shoulder that I can barely lift? Way embarrassing!

“So, why you gonna go to Sunnydale?” Gunn glanced over at her as they merged onto the freeway.

“I got a job as a secretary for someone I know. A friend quit,” Buffy said, deliberately being vague.

“Oh. And what’s your name again?”

“E—Buffy,” she corrected herself quickly. “Buffy Summers.” Wow. Why did that feel so normal, so natural, when saying ‘Elizabeth’ always felt kinda wrong?

“How old are you? Sorry to be intrusive, it’s just, you look almost like a teenager.”

“I’m twenty-one.” Jeez, was he ever gonna stop questioning her? It was like Harmony, only he was black and older and didn’t say ‘like’ as much...okay, he was nothing like Harmony, but right now she felt that silence would be of the good.

“Wow. You look about sixteen.” Gunn grinned at her.

“Yeah. I’ve been told that.” Maybe if she kept it simple, he’d stop talking...

“Oh, really? Let me guess, your boyfriend tells you every day.”

...Or maybe not. “I don’t have a boyfriend,” she said shortly.

He finally seemed to get the hint, if his next words were any indication. “You aren’t the talkative type, are you? I’ll shut up.”

She realized too late that her ‘leave-me-alone-I’m-grouchy-and-troubled’ attitude didn’t exactly go with the California girl look thingy she had. She smiled at him sunnily. “Sorry. I’m just tired, I guess.”

“It’s cool. So, you’re going to work as a secretary?”

“Yeah. I’m thinking it’ll be cooler than my last job.”

“Which was?”

Suddenly Buffy realized that she hadn’t bothered to think of a fake former career. “Ah...um...d—daycare,” she stuttered, cursing in her head. “I worked in a daycare. I just love little kids.” She clamped her mouth shut before she babbled any more.

“Oh. Any siblings?”

“No.”

“That’s too bad. Your parents live in Sunnydale?”

Her mother’s body passed before her eyes. She clutched her purse. “My mom’s dead and I haven’t seen my dad since he walked out on us nine years ago. Okay?”

Gunn glanced over at her. When he saw her suppressed tears he said, “Hey, sorry, I didn’t know. My condolences, alright?”

“Don’t worry about it.” She looked out the window at the rapidly flashing by desert. “I’m over it.”

They passed a sign that said ‘Sunnydale: 15 miles.’. Buffy looked at it, thinking, Sunnydale. That’s where everything changes. That’s where I start living one humongo lie.

“Hey,” she said a few minutes later. “Ya wanna help me unload once we get there?”

“Yeah, sure. I’m down with that.”

They arrived at Revello Drive a half an hour later. Gunn pulled up to house number 1620. “Honey, we’re home,” he joked.

Buffy was staring at the large house. “Um. Wow,” she said. The house was large enough for a family of four. Harmony hadn’t mentioned living in the lap of luxury! This whole spy thing just got way better...

“Yeah, it’s a pretty sweet pad,” Gunn agreed. He shot her a narrow-eyed glance. “’Course, you oughta know that, since you were the one who picked it out.”

“Oh, of course. It’s just such a shock, seeing it again. Memories lie and all that.” Speaking of lying—Buffy fought back a hysterical giggle. “I’ll just—go, and, and unlock the house so we can start moving things in,” she said, and almost tumbled out of her car.

Gunn watched her go up to the house, bend over, and grab the key out from under the mat. When she’d disappeared inside the house he reached inside his coat pocket, pulled out a walkie-talkie, and held it to his mouth. “You get that, boss?”

A voice, laden with static, crackled back at him: “Every bloody word.”

~*~
 

2:

~*~

The trailer was unloaded in just under two hours. Standing in the middle of her furnished, box-filled room, she handed Gunn two hundred dollars. “For the driving, and the help, and all that,” she told him with a smile.

Gunn nodded. “Thanks. Be seein’ you, then?”

“Well, Sunnydale seems to be a small town, so I guess! Bye!” She ushered him out the door.

As soon as he left her smile fell. Damn it! She was really not doing well with this whole perky ex-cheerleader act. Even if was kinda sorta partly true, that didn’t mean she had to like it, and she didn’t.

But now really wasn’t the time for complaints. She had to finish unpacking before tomorrow, when she started her wonderful new job at—what were they calling it—oh yeah, Jenkins’s Employment Inc. Buffy snorted as she started rummaging through boxes. Stupid name for what was essentially a Mafia-style crime corporation.

Oh, well. At least she got an awesome house. Buffy eyed the living room appreciatively. Comfy couch, nice TV, ooh, big chest behind comfy couch, I can probably put all my guns and stuff in there. Hate him she might, but she had to hand it to Captain Rayne, her accommodations—not too shabby!

It was ten o’clock at night before she was all unpacked. When she finished she slumped down on her new bed, exhausted. It wasn’t like she was exactly a packrat, or anything, but she’d never really realized how much stuff she had until she was stuck moving it.

Ugh. And now it’s all late and I forgot to eat dinner... She frowned. Wait, hadn’t Harmony mentioned some club or something that was open all night long? And yeah, it was Wednesday, but...Buffy concentrated hard, trying to remember exactly what Harmony had said.

”The Bronze? It’s, like, the coolest place in Sunnydale—not that there’s much in Sunnydale, but, you know, I could totally have some fun in there, and it’s open for like ever, even on weekdays...

“Okay, then,” she muttered. “The Bronze it is.” She grabbed her purse and headed for the door, but then she stopped dead. Elizabeth Summers, LAPD cop, would go to a bar in whatever she happened to be wearing. Buffy Summers, secretary? Not so much. Buffy gave a beleaguered sigh. “Dammit.” She was in ‘moving day clothes’: a baggy shirt and drab blue jeans. She could not go clubbing in that.

She rummaged through her closet before coming up with a short black suede skirt and a mint green halter top. Not great, but it’d have to do. Thank God her hair looked good with minimal fussing. She strapped on high-heeled sandals—black, of course—and winced. Ow. She’d forgotten what wearing heels was like...

As soon as she was Buffy-fied she snatched up her purse (again) and headed out the door.

It was plenty dark, but she wasn’t exactly scared. She had two guns and a knife on her, which in her book made for some pretty good confidence. She’d checked a map and discovered that the Bronze was in an alley off of the main street running through Sunnydale, oh-so-creatively named Main Street. She decided to cut through the park, since she’d get there faster.

Unfortunately, the park was very much unlit by any streetlights, and all of a sudden, Buffy was reminded strongly that she’d been scared of the dark when she was a kid. She hesitated outside the park entrance, feeling ridiculous.

Get a grip, Bu—Elizabeth, she scolded herself. You’ve been out at night on patrols and drug busts dozens of times in a city way bigger than this!

Yeah, a part of her that she was starting to identify as her ‘Buffy’ side whispered back, But that was always with a squad, and there were no huge scary-looking trees all around. Remember what you used to tell Mom? You and trees aren’t at all mixy!

“Okay,” she muttered, “This is stupid. I’m a grown woman with a gun, for fuck’s sake.” And with that, she wrenched the lock off the park gates and slipped inside.

But she couldn’t help but notice that it really was kinda dark, and she hated it, and the trees made every shadow look like a crazy serial killer guy about to cut her throat, and OH MY GOD THERE’S SOMEONE BEHIND ME!!!!!

She whirled around, reaching for a gun, but before she had time to grab it the man was on her. Big, burly, and not exactly friendly, he grabbed her arm and attempted to restrain her with something—a belt, maybe. She didn’t try to find out. Her training took over almost instantly.

She rammed her hand into his nose, cracking the cartilage and driving it back into his skull. He howled but she showed no mercy, driving her knee into his groin even as she dealt him a horrible punch with her left fist.

And as she grabbed his arm and twisted it at a hitherto impossible angle, she couldn’t help but think, Thank God I was so good in all the self-defense classes!

He fell to his knees on the park path, whimpering, a bloody mess. Buffy gazed at him coolly. “You finished whimpering yet, or would you rather I kicked your ass some more?”

He didn’t say anything, only lurched to his feet and stumbled off. Buffy watched him go, wishing hard that she wasn’t undercover right now. She really would have loved arresting that dork...

What was up with the clothes, anyway? Didn’t he realize that wearing all white didn’t exactly help with the whole mugger career? God, thieves were so dumb! It was probably a good thing most of them were in jail.

So absorbed was she in her thoughts that she didn’t notice the other figure in the bushes, the one watching her silently. She didn’t hear, when she continued walking toward the other side of the park, him prowling along silently.

She sure as hell heard the blundering moron who came up behind her.

She sighed, turning slowly, not even bothering to be wary. “You know, I’ve known dogs smarter than you,” she informed the beat-up mugger. “They at least know when to quit.”

“Got a job,” the figure wheezed before rushing at her.

“A job? And exactly what does it entail? Me kicking your ass multiple times?”

He didn’t answer, only swung a fist at her.

She dodged it contemptuously and planted one right in his face. “Damn, you’re stupid. Didn’t you get the Kick-O-Gram? Leave—“ she dealt him a right cross to his eye—“Me—“ now a kick to his stomach—“Alone!” And to finish off the job, she gave him a punch that sent him flying into the shrubbery.

This time, when he high-tailed it out of the park, she really didn’t think he was going to be coming back.

She was about to continue walking through the suddenly un-creepified park when a man strode out of the bushes, applauding.

Her first conscious thought was OH MY GOD, he’s gorgeous!

Because he was. Gorgeous and eatable in a way no guy had been in so long Buffy was starting to think all the good ones were taken.

She couldn’t see the color of his eyes, but his hair glowed platinum-white in the moonlight. Dyed, surely, but it worked more than well on him, especially with his all black outfit. He also somehow managed to pull off wearing a long black duster without looking completely ridiculous. Quite a feat, that.

And his body—he was better built than most of the guys on the force! Muscled arms that she itched to have wrapped around her, a torso that she was certain held a ten-pack, and legs that—well, actually, she couldn’t see his legs, but she was sure they were just as yummy as the rest of him.

Unfortunately for him, he was wearing a truly annoying smirk. She narrowed her eyes at him. He might be hot, but if he was going to try laughing at her, she’d have to kick his ass. “And you’re applauding...why?”

“Well, I was gonna come in an’ play rescuer for the pretty bird, but you kinda squashed that plan, what with the kicking and punching and all.”

And he did sound amused! And oh God his smirk was sexy...Oh no you don’t, Buffy. He’s a yicky man who likes laughing at you, remember? And plus, he’s short! Accordingly, she scowled at him. “I doubt you could have helped me out. What are you, five-five?”

The smirk disappeared. “Five-ten, Blondie, an’ you’d better watch it. I know who you are.”

“Is this the part where I’m supposed to be frightened?” Sarcasm blanketed her voice.

“No. This is the part where you’re s’posed t’ lick m’ boots, considerin’ as I’m your new boss.”

Bad night, Buffy decided. Bad, bad night. “You’re William Jenkins?” Oh, wonderful, it had had to come out as a squeak, hadn’t it?

“Not unless you’re m’ grandma, in which case, hey gram,” he retorted. “The name’s Spike, an’ you’ll do well to remember it, pet.”

“I’m not your pet,” she snapped. “And Spike? What kind of idiot goes around calling themselves Spike? I thought you were supposed to be the serious business type.”

He opened his mouth to reply, but another voice cut him off. “Spike! You idiot, why can’t we just take a car like a civilized person? I’m tell you, if you mess up my hair because you’ve been dragging me through the wilderness I’ll exact vengeance the likes of which you’ve never seen! You’ll never be able to have orgasms with anyone ever again! I’ll—oh, hi!”

A woman had blundered out of the bushes where Spike had just been. She had wide brown eyes and honey-brown hair. Coupled with a very determined chin—Buffy could very much picture her slicing Spike’s dick off, or whatever she’d been promising to do. Wish I could watch... “Hi,” she replied, smiling. “You know him?”

The woman gave Spike a disgusted look. “Unfortunately, yes. He’s my brother. I’m Anya, by the way,” she said, holding out her hand. “Anya Jenkins. And you are?”

“Buffy Summers,” she provided, smiling and trying to tell herself it was purely because she’d have to ingratiate herself with these people if she was going to be an effective undercover cop. She firmly told herself it had nothing to do with the instant liking she took for the woman, or how hot her jerk of a brother was.

“Now that the charmin’ introductions have been made, can we please get to the Bronze?” an impatient voice interrupted. “I don’t fancy spendin’ the whole night in the bloody park.”

Ignoring Spike, Buffy turned to Anya. “What’s his deal? And why does he have the wiggy accent and you don’t?”

“He doesn’t have a deal, he’s just always annoyingly rude and blunt,” Anya answered as they turned and began to walk back toward the other side of the park. “Spike’s my twin, and thought I honestly do love him, I’m really starting to understand why our parents stuck him with a nanny in England until he was fifteen. That’s where the accent comes from. Although honestly, he’s been here for ten years, you’d think he would learn how to talk right, but no, he keeps his silly accent. Anyway, why are you here?”

Anya was talkative, but also a good source of information, she mused. Without even realizing it she’d just provided Buffy with valuable information she could give to Ethan. “I’m taking the place of Harmony Kendall as the secretary of Spike’s little company.” She smiled at him sweetly, letting him know that she was in on just exactly what the ‘little company’ really did. “Harmony told me all the details.”

“Did she tell you it’s a drag to work at? Even with my love of making money, I can barely stand it,” Anya said, again cutting Spike off. “All those hours of being nice to people! I’m thinking of going into retail. Getting money for the exchange of goods and services seems so much more reasonable.”

“Anya, would you shut your gob?” Spike cut in. “’M trying to get to know my new employee, here.”

“And if I don’t want to get to know you?” Buffy questioned.

“Then ‘ll fire you,” he responded blithely. “So tell me, what’s your name again?”

“Eliz—Buffy. Summers.”

“So, Summers, why’re you plannin’ on bein’ my secretary?” He leered at her. “Not that ‘m complaining, or anything.”

“Oh for God’s sake, Spike, stop ogling her. Ignore him,” Anya advised. “He can barely restrain his desires even when they’re purely sexual.”

Her face turned bright red. “I’m sure he wasn’t—“

“Don’t be so sure, Goldilocks.”

She whirled around to glare at him. He’d been walking behind her and Anya, and it was making her way uncomfortable. “I have a name, you know, and it’s not Blondie, pet, or Goldilocks!”

“But seein’ you get mad is so much more fun,” he teased, grinning at her.

She held up a fist. “You’d better shut up, or I’ll—“

“Go ahead then, Summers. Hit me.”

She glared at him for a moment before throwing up her hands and increasing her pace. “Arrrrgh!” She couldn’t hit him when he was acting like it was just going to be sooo much fun, dammit!

Screw the job. There is no way in hell I’m walking with this arrogant bastard! With a scowl planted firmly on her face, she stalked off toward the Bronze, doing her best to put as much distance in between her and Spike Jenkins as was humanly possible.

*

Spike watched the blonde chit go with an amused smile on his face. He hadn’t had this much fun since he’d introduced himself to Anya as her long-lost twin...

Whowas currently blabbering away at him, he realized as he watched Buffy Summers’ ass disappear into the night. It was a nice ass, which made sense, since the rest of her body was damned nice as well.

He was feeling pretty lucky just then. Who’d have thought that Harmony’s replacement would be as appealing as Harmony had been repulsive? Blonde hair that made him want to run his finger through it for the rest of eternity, a body to die for, and though he couldn’t see her eyes, he’d be willing to bet they were quite nice, too. And she was a good fighter, clearly, since she’d dispatched the would-be mugger quicker than even he might have been able to. And she’d displayed a fairly formidable intellect, too.

Yes, all in all, Buffy Summers was one very appealing girl.

Really, it was a damn pity she also had to be a cop.

“Oh, and by the way, an eighteen-wheeler decimated the DeSoto this morning.”

That got his attention. “What?” he roared, snapping back to reality instantly.

Anya only smirked at him.

He narrowed his eyes. “Bleeding hell, Ayn, you ever do that again and I’ll—“

“Oh, please, save it for our kids,” she said, rolling her eyes. “Because I for one stopped being intimidated by you when I caught you crying over that idiot show you like.”

“Passions is not an idiot show,” he snapped. Damn it, Anya was like a dog with a bone when it came to that little incident. Stupid bint. Too much like me for either of our own good. “And could you stop mentioning the kids so loudly? ‘S supposed to be a covert operation, y’know.”

“The only other person in the park is Buffy, and I’m pretty sure Harmony filled her in on the truth of the matter,” Anya pointed out.

“Well, yeah, since Harmony couldn’t keep a secret ‘f her sorry life depended on it. But that’s not the point. D’you really want to tell the whole soddin’ town what we do for a living?”

“The town isn’t wet,” Anya replied cheerily, “Much less sodding. We live in California, remember? Not your precious England. And Sunnydale is an open-minded town, I’m sure they’d accept what we do.”

“Yeah, they’d love hearin’ that we exploit the weaknesses of this town for our own gain,” Spike said sarcastically. “’M so sure.”

“Well, it’s not all our fault, you know. It’s better to do that than just let all that potential money be dealt through someone else.”

Spike shook his head as they began walking. The whelp and Faith and Cordy were probably pissin’ their pants right about now, they were so late. “You are one delusional girl, you know that?”

“I get it from my beloved twin,” Anya shot back. They continued bickering as they walked to the Bronze.

When they reached the Bronze, the bouncer let them in without even asking to see ID. It was no wonder, since they’d given him his job.

Spike’s eyes roved the room, searching for potential employees and customers, as he always did. His business required pretty much constant vigilance.

Or at least, that’s what he told himself he was doing. But a nasty little feeling told him that he was also looking for one Miss Buffy Summers.

He found her soon enough. Somehow, without guidance from either himself or Anya, she’d gravitated toward his friends and co-workers.

She was sitting in a chair next to Faith, laughing at something, mostly likely something ribald, that the sultry brunette had said. Xander was on her other side, and Spike had never seen the whelp with quite that goofy a smile on his face.

Bloody hell, he thought as he made his way over to the table. She’s been here—what, five minutes? And she’s already charming the pants off of everyone there.

“So, you lived in LA before, right?” Cordelia was saying as he neared.

Buffy smiled, a brilliant, happy smile. Spike wished it had been he who made her smile that way. Hey, wait just a bleeding minute, mate. She’s your secretary, not to mention the latest spy sent from the Hell-force to sniff at you. Down, boy.

“Yeah,” the blonde replied. “It’s a nice city, I love it.”

“Nice? I dunno, Buff, I’ve heard some nasty things about Los Angeles,” Xander said.

“Have you really? Well, I guess it’s crime-ridden, but the police are doing their best, you know,” she told him.

Her nose was adorable when it was wrinkled like that—no. Not in a million sodding years was he gonna go there. “You would defend them, wouldn’t you?” he drawled arrogantly, sliding into the seat.

She narrowed her eyes at him, a gesture she seemed to be perfecting where he was concerned. Too bad—now that he could see her stunning hazel eyes, he wanted a view of them that was unobstructed by her eyelashes. “Yeah, I would. You got a problem?”

He held up his hands. “Cool it, pet. ‘M just here for the food.”

Faith laughed. “Hey, Spike, did you get the 411? Someone pulled those onion blossoms off the menu.”

“What? Bugger!” He leapt to his feet. Bungled deals with clients he could deal with, but this—“Where the hell is the cook? ‘M gonna tear his throat out.”

“Assuming you could reach it,” Buffy muttered.

He glared at her. “An’ that’s s’posed to mean what?”

“Just that really, you’re kinda short,” she said, smiling sweetly at him.

That was it, he decided. Whether or not she was the hottest bird in the room, he didn’t like her. “You’re a real bitch, you know that?”

“Coming from you, I’ll consider it a compliment,” she retorted. Her eyes lit on someone behind him. “Anya, hi!”

He barely restrained a groan as his overly blunt twin said, “Hello, Buffy. I see you’ve found our partners in crime.”

The rest of the group, who up until then had been watching with interest, widened their eyes. “Ah, Spike, Buffy’s not—“

“She’s filling in for Harm, whelp,” Spike cut in impatiently. “Who as you know, could hardly keep a secret if the Pope himself told her to. A’right?”

“Jesus, chill out, Spike.” Kennedy was one of his more successful charges, and also one of the most bratty. “And take the stick out of your ass. We’re here to have fun, remember?”

“The bitch has a point,” Faith told him.

“Yeah, Spike,” Buffy said with a smile that he itched to wipe off her face, “Chill out, why don’t you.”

He growled and lunged for her. “You little—“

She was on her feet in an instant. “Finish that sentence,” she dared, her eyes dangerous.

He glanced over at the group. They were watching with great interest, much as they’d been doing a moment ago. When he glared at Anya she said, “Don’t come crying to me for help, Spike. You’re the one who can’t keep his mouth shut.”

“Yeah, well, ‘s not like I wasn’t provoked,” he shot back, before glancing back at Buffy. She wasn’t exactly shoving her fists in his face, but she looked prepared for any fight he might feel like bringing to her. Oh, bugger it.

He unclenched his fist and sat back down. When she continued to stand, he motioned to a chair. “C’mon, Blondie, don’t be stubborn. ‘M not gonna start a fight in the Bronze, I don’t much fancy bein’ thrown out. And anyway, you haven’t even started work yet. Can’t be scarin’ you off now, can I?” He smiled at her, praying to God that she’d decide that he was charming enough to put up with for awhile.

Plants were so hard to identify, much less keep tabs on, and he was positive that she was harmony’s replacement as the LAPD’s eyes and ears. Need to keep her here, where she can’t spread her poison back to that bastard Rayne, he thought.

“Fine,” she finally snapped, flopping down in the chair next to Xander. “Pig.”

“Stubborn bint.”

“Butt-head.”

“Bitch.” He watched with amusement as her face turned a number of truly interesting colors.

“Oh my God,” Cordelia cut in, “Have you ever witnessed anything more immature? For God’s sake, you two, stop acting like a pair of high-schoolers.”

“Yeah, no kidding, it’s fuckin’ stupid how much you two are fighting,” Faith chipped in.

“This could be the martini talking, but the ladies are right, Spike,” Xander told him.

Spike sneered at him. “Like I need your help, you bloody—“

“Hey Spike,” Kennedy said, leaning over and sending him a sly smile. “Polka-dotted underwear.”

That was it. He buried his head in his hands, the incident Kennedy was referring to reducing him to absolute, humiliated helplessness. “You’re a right heartless bitch, you are,” he told her.

“You know you love it,” she shot back, downing a huge gulp of Jack Daniels. Beside her, Buffy began to laugh.

“Oh, bloody hell,” he muttered, burying his face in his hands. It was going to be a long night.

~*~

“And the documents have been planted?”

“Yes, sir,” came the voice on the other end of the phone. A deep voice, dark, capable of saying horrible things in an even worse monotone.

“Excellent. And she still doesn’t know?”

“She is ignorant, sir.”

“What of him?”

“We attempted to dispose of him. We failed.”

“Is that so?” Eyes glinted in a dully lit up room. “Well then, I’m afraid you have a very short time to live. Our force is limited enough without you dragging failure into it...”

And the silent night helped to muffle the screams of the dying.

~*~

Buffy frowned as she leafed through the documents that Harmony had left. She was lying in bed and it was past midnight, but she’d been too curious to wait till morning.

Not exactly warm bedtime-y goodness, she thought as she read the numerous charges associated with Jenkins, Inc. Child prostitution in addition to good old-fashioned pimping, drug dealing, rape, murder, it was all there.

Most of the accusations tied directly into Spike.

No, no, no, she scolded herself. Bad Buffy. Not Spike. Jenkins. He’s the bad guy, remember?

And yet, even when she’d been fighting with him, it was so hard to remember! She couldn’t see, couldn’t understand, how a man who seemed to be if not nice than at least decent could be a cold-blooded killer.

That’s why you’re a good guy, Summers, ‘cuz you can’t understand the bad guys.

But they’d all been so nice! That had been what was confusing her, the fact that none of them acted like evil nasties. OK, she could see Faith taking a guy down, and Kennedy wasn’t exactly gonna be joining the cast of Barney anytime soon, but none of them had acted like killers.

And yet, she’d noticed the sidelong glances, the insinuations, and the hints that indicated that they were all in on some covert operation. Thank God they assumed that she knew exactly what they were talking about.

The truth was that though she was reading about all their various crimes, she really didn’t understand how they went about actually committing the crimes. They talked about ‘clients’ and their ‘business’, but how exactly did they sell the drugs and run the brothels?

Well, she guessed she’d find out soon enough. As the secretary, she’d be privy to most if not all of the goings-on in the so-called Jenkins Employment Inc. Including whatever Spike was up to. And given what she’d seen when they’d walked her home...

She leaned back into her pillows and remembered:

”Sorry, Buffster, but you’ve had a fight with Spike and endured Anya’s sex-comments,” Xander said, with a cheerful grin. “You’re one of us, and that means we’re walking you home.”

“I agree with her Royal Bitchiness.” Spike was being a smartass, kind of like he’d been being all night long, actually.

“Oh, shut up for one second, Spike,” Cordy ordered. “God, you’re such a moron.”

“Guys, really,” Buffy tried once again to protest. “I’m fine making it home on my own.”

“Well, yeah, but Sunnydale’s a fucked-up small town. God only knows what kind of jerk might try to jump ya.” Faith wore a loopy smile, and Buffy suspected that she was more than slightly wasted.

“Which means we’re gonna walk you back, no matter how much you try to convince us not to so that you don’t have to put up with my odious brother any more,” Anya finished Faith’s thought, grabbing Buffy’s arm and fairly dragging her down Main Street. “So come on!”

The rest of them raced ahead and Buffy was left standing alone in the dark street, staring after them, more than a little stunned.

Well, not alone, technically, since Spike was standing there beside her. But really, he didn’t count.

Unfortunately he didn’t seem to realize that, since he smirked at her and said, “Well lookee here, I managed to get you all alone in the dark. Do you normally do this on a first date?”

She sneered at him. “Go to hell.”

“Been there, done that. Wasn’t much fun,” he answered, and his tone of voice might’ve made her think that he was joking, but his eyes were deadly serious.

She opened her mouth to reply, but was cut off when someone leapt from the darkness onto Spike’s back.

A gun was in her hand almost before she thought about it, and she was preparing to fire, but it turned out that there wasn’t any need. He threw the man onto the muddy alley floor, bashing his nose in as he did, and placed his boot heel at his throat. “You’d best watch it, mate. I dunno who you’re workin’ for, but stay away from me and my girl, got it?”

“Please...” the man wheezed. Spike ground in his heel a little harder as Buffy watched with wide eyes. His face was so cold, so unfeeling, that it frightened her, and in that moment she could picture him forcing an eight-year-old to sell herself on the streets. blood trickled down the man’s neck, and she could see him mouth, “Stop, please...”

“Right then. Get the hell out of here.” As abruptly as the fury had appeared it left. He lifted his shoe off the man’s throat and held out his arm to Buffy. “C’mon pet, let’s get you home.”

She’d taken his arm because she had been too scared to do anything else. Spike hadn’t explained to the others why they’d been detained, which led her to believe that this sort of thing happened fairly requently.

But...Spike had told Xander that she knew what was going on. Which meant that Harmony must have been in on things. Wait—so how had Harmony insinuated herself into the group? And if it really was an elite crime ring that stretched all the way to New York, why would they trust the bimbo’s recommendation?

And while she was lying here being all ultra-suspicious, what was up with the freak attacking her in the park?!

Something didn’t add up, but she was too tired to even try to figure it out. The hard, disciplined cop Elizabeth was ordering her to stay awake, but secretary Buffy was tired from a night out on the town with her friends—No! Not friends! Evil child exploiters, remember? Not friends!

But Faith had been funny, and Cordelia was nice if a little conceited, and Xander and Anya were so adorable, and well Kennedy was Kennedy, but she seemed cool enough...

Completely exhausted, Buffy fell back onto the bed. Sleep overcame her before she even had a chance to set her alarm.

~*~
 

3:

~*~

The next morning found Buffy standing in front of her mirror, staring at her reflection. She was holding up various outfits, but she hadn’t yet decided which one to wear. Was she going for serious and trustworthy, or fun-loving and a little bit slutty?

“They’ll underestimate me if I dress like a slut,” she mused. “Okay then.” She held up a yellow skit and a white blouse. “Hi! I’m Buffy, the new secretary!” she said to the mirror, “And please, just ignore me while I report back on your every activity to my boss in LA, whom I really don’t like but who says we need to bring down this crime ring, led by the hottest guy I’ve seen since oh I dunno pretty much ever...” She trailed off, plopping down on the bed and sticking out her lower lip in what was undeniably a pout. “Crap.”

Unfortunately she didn’t have much time to mope. The clock already read 8:45. She had to get dressed soon, or she’d be late.

“Stupid Captain Rayne,” she muttered, yanking on the skirt, “Making me do spy-stuff. I don’t like spy-stuff.”

She yanked on a pair of flip-flops and stared at herself in the mirror. To tell the truth, the barely recognized herself. Officer Summers had been who she was for so long that seeing herself as a carefree young woman was majorly freaky.

She took a deep breath and grabbed her purse. “You can do this, Buffy. You can.”

She arrived at the Jenkins building just before nine. She stood for along time, staring at the nondescript grey building. “Headquarters of a gang worse than the Crips,” she muttered, walking up the steps. “Yay. This should be barrels of fun.”

She was going to just open the door and walk in, since she worked there and all, but right before she put her hand on the knob it turned and was opened by Faith.

“Hey, B.” The brunette grinned at her. “Come on in. The staff’s fucking crazy without that blonde bitch Harmony, we’re gonna need you today.”

“Um. Okay.” Buffy frowned as they walked in. “So, no secretary results in major badness, right?”

Faith laughed. “I’ll let you decide, B.”

They walked through a series of halls. At first Buffy tried to keep track—this was stuff the Captain could definitely use—but the twisty halls were too, well, twisty, so she gave up.

Faith led them up a pair of stairs and up to...

“It’s a door,” Buffy observed, giving the other girl a quizzical look. “A big, grey door.”

“Kudos to Sherlock.” Faith rolled her eyes. “The real operation’s behind the door.”

“Uh-huh.” Buffy reached out and pushed the door open...

And very nearly fell over in shock.

She was standing in the middle of a humongous room, three stories high and about half the size of a football field. She knew the Jenkins building was big—it took up like three blocks or something—but this was more than just big. Big could not possibly describe the hugeness that was the Jenkins’ headquarters.

Open hallways were attached to the walls on the second and third floors, and doorways opened into what she assumed were more rooms. Holy crap, she thought, staring at the dozens of doors lining the two upper floors. Looks like it takes a lot to run a crime ring!

She turned around to ask Faith where she worked, only to find that the brunette had disappeared when she’d been looking around. “Major weirdness? Check,” she muttered, staring around desperately. Where the hell am I supposed to work?

“Hey! Blondie! Get your ass over to your desk!”

The nickname alone told her who was yelling, and the accent only reinforced the hunch. She suppressed a shiver and walked over there. Wonderful. Bid, bad man ordering around all day, the same big, bad man who shoved his boot in a guy’s face last night while I watched...this is really just terrific.

“So, this is my desk?” she asked in what for her passed as a perky manner. It was a huge desk set up against the farthest wall. Filing cabinets were behind and beside it, and huge stacks of papers covered most of the wooden surface.

“Yeah. Now listen, you watch the entrances, got it? Business we’re in, we need to know everybody who comes in an’ out. Someone you don’t recognize comes in, you buzz me.” He pointed to a huge intercom. “Mine’s the only room on the ground floor. Other than that, sort all these bloody papers an’ put ‘em in the proper files. You got all that?”

Buffy was staring at the desk with huge eyes, feeling more than a little dazed. OK Summers, don’t get all wiggy on him now...wah. What happened to, ‘these are the bad guys, you shoot them with the gun?’

“’Ello?” Spike snapped his fingers in front of her face. “Earth to Goldilocks! I haven’t got all day, y’know.”

“Oh! Sorry.” She smiled at him in what she hoped was a cheery manner. “So I sit at the desk and file papers?”

“Yeah, pretty much. ‘s not exactly a difficult job, so you shouldn’t have a problem with it.”

“What?!” A voice in her head warned her not to fight the boss, but she didn’t listen. “Are you calling me stupid?” She questioned in a dangerous voice.

He smirked at her. “Might be. Wait—yeah, ‘m definitely callin’ you stupid. A bloody idiotic, silly little chit.”

“You—you—jerk!” She spluttered, unable to come up with anything more creative or insulting. Her fist was doing most of the talking. It flew up and toward his face with blinding speed.

He was faster. He caught her fist in his hand and forced it back down. Anger sparked in his eyes. Blue eyes, her beyond frightened mind gibbered. The bad evil man has blue eyes. Very pretty blue eyes. No, Buffy. Pretty blue eyes equals very very bad, okay?

And yet when he back her up against the edge of the desk, she was too frozen, too busy staring into those eyes of his, to stop him.

“’M gonna give you a piece of advice, kitten,” he said in a soft, deadly voice. “You’re not the one in charge here. That honor goes to me. And in place like this, you’d best be watchin’ your step. Maybe you were safe back in LA with all the thugs walkin’ round callin’ themselves cops. You’re not safe here.” His hand tightened ever so slightly on her fist.

It hurt. It hurt enough that if she had any sense at all, she would have shut up and sat down and worked like a good little secretary. But Buffy had never been the sit-down-and-shut-up-type. Besides, in a way bizarre kinda way, she liked fighting with him. “Are you trying to scare me again? ‘Cause, it’s really hard to take a wanna-be Billy Idol freak seriously.”

He narrowed his eyes, but just then, his cell phone rang—and the tune was a Billy Idol song. She smirked at him and sat on the edge of the desk as he stepped away from her and checked the caller id. “Shit,” he muttered, before flipping the phone open. “A’right, talk, Bit,” he ordered. “What’s the problem?”

He was silent for a moment. Buffy took the opportunity to stick her tongue out at him—totally juvenile, she knew, but for God’s sake, the man looked seriously hot in a suit.

And even hotter when he scowled at her...

Focus, Buffy, she scolded herself. You’re not here to seduce your hot evil crime-ring-running boss, okay? Yeah, that was why she was swinging her legs on the edge of her desk, doing her absolute best to be seductive, right?

“He did what? Dammit, ‘m gonna kill him...no, you annoyin’ chit, not lit’rally...good. Yeah, you do that. Right, then. See ya.”

He hung up and rounded on Buffy. “You. Get your ass in the chair and keep it there. I don’t have time for your shit. Someone named Dawn comes in, you get her straight to me, got it?”

“Um...” she hopped off the desk and hurried around to the other side, sitting down. “Dawn. Okay.” She smiled at him. “Thanks for giving me this job, Spike.”

He sent her a look that could only be called one of deep disgust. “Don’t even try it, pet.”

She winced as he slammed the door to what she assumed was his office. Oh, yeah. I’m sure this job will be laughs, hugs, and puppies.

*

Spike felt bad as soon as he slammed the door, because the person sitting on his couch jumped about a half a mile into the air.

“Jesus, you white boys are all the same,” Charles Gunn berated him, tucking the gun he’d pulled out back into his pocket. “Let a girl get you all pissed—it’s pathetic, you know that?”

“She’s not a girl, she’s the sodding cop sent to spy on me and m’ company,” Spike snapped. “An’ that’s what’s got me so mad at her, not the fact that she’s a girl!”

He was lying, of course. Even he knew he was lying. You’re damn pathetic when you can’t even fool yourself about something.

He had the worst luck when it came to these things. Why the hell had Rayne sent him such a pretty girl? Weren’t there right ugly chits in the LAPD, too?

Gunn, too, was staring at him like he’d just tried to convince him the earth was flat. “’M tellin’ you, the fact that she’s a bird—“

“Has everything to do with it. Admit it, Spike, you think she’s hot.”

“I do not!”

Gunn just looked at him. He was really good at that, Spike mused as he walked over to the desk and picked up a paper, stubbornly refusing to meet Gunn’s eyes. Just starin’ at you till you caved...

“Okay, fine, maybe a little.” When he saw Gunn’s smug smile he snapped, “Hey. A little, mate, so wipe the grin off your face.”

“Okay, okay, a little. I’m down with that.”

“Down with what? You Americans, always so—oh god.” His eyes finally focused on the piece of paper he’d been holding for the past few minutes.

“What’s up?” Gunn tensed, ever so slightly, but it was the look of someone readying themselves to kill.

“It’s them. Makin’ trouble, again.”

“We gonna go and stop ‘em?”

“Um...” Spike plowed a hand through his hair. Bloody hell. A chap can’t get two minutes’ rest around here, can he? “Yeah. Yeah, we’ll do that. Buffy!” he hollered.

Something banged, and a few seconds later Buffy was standing in the door, holding a stack of papers and looking extremely annoyed. “What...sir?” she added, scowling at him.

He smirked back. Probably shouldn’t have, but really, he couldn’t help himself. She was too cute when she got mad. “’F Dawn comes in while ‘m out, just amuse her for awhile, a’right?”

“Amuse her?” Buffy repeated incredulously. “You want me to...amuse her? What the hell am I, a babysitter?”

Spike had had enough. There was a job to do, and the little blonde cop was in his way. Not too bad a view, but still...down, boy. She’s a bloody cop, remember? “No. You’re my employee, which means you do what I say, when I say it, you got that?” He caught her fist right before she landed a punch on him—girl could really throw one, all things considered. “And no hitting! This is a civilized establishment, y’know.”

Buffy narrowed her eyes at him, but really, what was she supposed to say? He had her trapped, and he knew it. “Fine. Sir.”

“Excellent!” He walked past her, barely resisting the urge to pat her on the ass. She had a cute one, all firm and tight...damn. “Be seein’ you!”

He heard her mumbling behind him, something about assholes and fornicating pigs. Jesus, she even sounded cute when she was threatening death by slow torture.

He grinned. “C’mon, mate,” he said jovially to Gunn, “Let’s go get down an’ dirty, shall we?”

And as they left, he could resist turning back around and mock-saluting his smoldering secretary. “Oh, an’ do us a favor, pet. Get the coffee on for when we get back?”

He dodged the heavy book she threw at him and left the building laughing.
 

4:

~*~

Buffy scowled at the mountain of paperwork that Spike had ordered her to sort through. “Stupid, worthless sonofa—“ She sighed. At least most files were marked...but still, that was a hell of a lot of paper to get sorted! And she was just barely getting paid minimum wage. Way unfair in her opinion, but then, that was what was wrong with this whole job: no one had asked for her opinion.

“Get the coffee on for when we get back,” she mocked. “Who does he think he is, anyway? A good guy? Strutting around this stupid warehouse, going off to deal with—whatever it was. Bleached idiot.”

“Um...who are you talking to?”

Buffy looked up from the desk, startled. She hadn’t heard anyone come in and crap, hadn’t Spike told her to watch the doors? Oh, well. “Who the hell are you?”

The girl pursed her lips in a manner Buffy found instantly irritating. “I asked first.”

“Your point being? I’m the secretary, I need to know who you are.” Buffy smirked at the brat. She was almost relieved that there was at least one person in this...establishment...she could actually dislike.

“Some secretary. You seriously need niceness lessons,” the girl said.

“Oh yeah? Look who’s talking,” the girl shot back. “You don’t ask ‘Who the hell are you?’ when you’re the secretary. You ask, ‘How may I help you? Want Coffee? Tea?’ God,” she finished, “Did that stupid freak Harmony teach you anything?”

“You know, you are the absolute most annoying little brat I have ever met,” Buffy said in an approximation of a cheerful voice. “Now would you please just tell me your frickin’ name?”

“It’s Dawn,” the girl said, glaring at her. “I’m a client, and a friend, of Spike’s.”

Wonderful. The girl was what, fifteen? And Spike had stuck her out on the streets. Buffy eyed the girl. Whoring, or dealing? Maybe both? Nah, she didn’t have the look of a drug dealer. Which meant...all of a sudden she felt sick. This Dawn kid was being a brat, but that didn’t mean she deserved to live her life as a street whore. I’m gonna have to talk to Captain Rayne about this one. No one that young should have to live such a horrible life.

In the meantime, Spike had said to entertain the girl, and, well, no matter what he’d done to Dawn, she seemed to think of him kinda like a bid brother. No accounting for taste...

“Sorry, Dawn.” Buffy tried to smile. It felt more like gritting her teeth. “Spike’s not here right now, he went...well, to be honest, I’m not sure where he went. But I’ll keep ya company, if you want.”

Dawn just looked at her. “You’ve gotta be kidding me.”

“No, really. I wanna talk.” She stood up and went over to the little waiting area outside Spike’s office, patting the lurid yellow seat beside her. “Come on, sit down.”

Dawn was now staring at her like she thought Buffy was insane, but she complied—warily. “What do you want to talk about?”

“Um...actually, I’m kinda curious about how you know Spike. I really don’t understand much about how his business works.”

“Oh, it’s not a business thing—well, it was,” Dawn corrected herself. “He got me the job I have now!”

And you’re smiling like it’s Christmas and you just got a puppy...why? Buffy thought, but she kept her face blank. “And you like your job?”

“Oh yeah, it’s great!” Dawn grinned. “I mean, before he helped me out, I was just a kid on the streets, ‘cuz you know, Sunnydale’s kinda got lots of those, but then Spike was all, hey, maybe I can help, and so he pulled a few strings, and now—bang!—I’ve got a job!”

Well, okay, maybe if you were homeless, being a prostitute would be a good option. Ha. Buffy knew she was kidding herself. “So, it pays well, huh?”
“Uh-huh!” Dawn beamed. “Taking orders was hard at first, and sometimes the customers are a little snooty, but if I’m extra fast and super nice, I get tips!”

Buffy couldn’t do anything except sit in her neon yellow chair and stare at the girl before her. Dawn looked radiantly happy, and she was talking about her profession like it was something perfectly normal.

“Um, you okay?” Dawn frowned worriedly. “You look pale.”

“Right.” Buffy shook herself, inwardly cursing for being such a sensitive idiot. You have a job here, stupid, and it isn’t just filing papers! “So, you still come to visit him? Spike, I mean.”

“Oh, yeah. He’s like a brother. Well, a big, annoying, bleach-blonde, kinda dumb brother, but hey. Still a brother.” Dawn looked at her questioningly. “Hey, how’d you get your job here.”

“Harmony was a—friend—of mine,” Buffy lied quickly. “Um, another one of my friends, Willow, knew her. Harmony recommended me when she quit.”

“Huh. I’m surprised Spike took her word for it. I mean, some stuff you’re going to be seeing is kinda—you know—sensitive.”

“Sensitive?” Buffy pretended to be confused. “What do you mean? I thought Spike ran an employment business.”

“Well, he does. But what with the, um, extra-curriculars—you know what I’m talking about, right?” Dawn all of a sudden looked guilty, like she knew she shouldn’t be saying all of what she was. “Please say you do. About the other agency, and the lap-dancers, and all that?”

Lap-dancers? What the hell—Captain Rayne is gonna hear about that one! But right now, Buffy had to pretend she was in the loop. That way, Dawn would keep talking. “Oh, that. Of course, Harmony filled me in on all that.”

“Oh, well that’s a relief.” Dawn smiled at her. “Spike woulda killed me if—oh, hey, Spike!”

The fifteen-year-old leapt to her feet, smiling cheerfully at Spike. She did that a lot, Buffy had noticed. “Your new secretary is so way cooler than the last one,” she informed him.

“Really?” Spike cocked an eyebrow at Buffy. God, he was sexy when he did that...No, Buffy. Evil man who plucks fifteen-year-olds out of the streets and turns them into happy, well-adjusted prostitutes is not sexy!

“’ll have to stick around when you decide to chat with her, then,” Spike continued. “’Cuz she’s been downright nasty to me.”

“Because you’re a conceited jerk who seems to think that running a business consists of sticking your boots in prone men’s faces and bossing a lowly secretary around,” Buffy retorted. “I’m nice when I actually like the person I’m talking to.”

“You stuck your boots in somebody’s face and didn’t let me watch?” Dawn pouted. “Meany.”

“You’ll get over it, Bit, you always do.” Spike ruffled her hair affectionately before turning back to Buffy. “Listen, I need a file. ‘S labeled lap-dancin’ and it oughta be somewhere in the drawers. Bring it in when you’ve found it.”

“Lap-dancers again?” Buffy rolled her eyes. “This esteemed company’s fixation on lap-dancers is weird to the extreme, ya know.”

“Whatever. You gonna do it or not?” Now she could tell he was annoyed, because that little vein in his temple throbbed. She probably shouldn’t be looking at him so closely that she noticed it, but hey, she was a cop, and cops were supposed to be observant—

Oh, who was she kidding, anyway? What was she going to do, sit in Captain Rayne’s visitor chair and tell him all about the layout of the building, and the suspicious lap-dancers, and oh yeah, the brains of the operation has a little blood vessel that throbs when he’s mad!

Not so much.

So she only smiled at him and said, “Of course. It’s my job, isn’t it? Sorry if I was a pain.”

Now he was the one who looked suspicious. “You feelin’ all right, Blondie?”

“Fine! Absolutely fabulous!” She beamed at him. His eyebrow stayed cocked, and his electric blue eyes let her know that he really wasn’t buying it. “Um...I’ll just get that file, okay?”

“Right. You do that.” He walked back into the office, shutting the door quietly—an action that Buffy had a hunch wasn’t normal for him.

Crap, she thought, and turned to the filing cabinet. Great job, Summers. You’ve really done it now!

*

“What the bleeding hell did you say to her?” Spike demanded.

“Um...well, I mentioned the other side of the company...the extra-curriculars, I called them. And the lap-dancers, but I don’t think she really understood that.”

“So now she knows. Except—wait, she knew before. Didn’t she?” Spike frowned. All of a sudden, some things really didn’t add up. “She’s with Harmony and all the lap-dancin’ rotters, right? So why was she so damn surprised?”

“Good question,” Dawn said, frowning. “Sucks that we don’t have an answer.”

“You don’t think they didn’t tell her, do you?”

“I don’t know. That bitch Harmony sure as hell knew about it.”

“Dawn!”

“Well, she did!” Dawn stared at her friend for a second before realizing that he had no problem with her telling the truth. “Oh. Language.”

“Damn right. When you’re around me, keep it pg-rated, ok?”

“Damn right, I will.” Dawn grinned at him cheekily. “Hey, you get to say it, so do I.”

“You’re a brat, you know that?” Spike only groaned when Dawn nodded. The little bit could be incredibly annoying, but she was also cheerful to a fault. “Now, getting back to Buffy...”

“I don’t know what she doesn’t know, or what she does know, or even if she knows that I don’t know what she does or doesn’t know.”

“And that meant what?”

”That she might be in on what the lap-dancers are doing, or she might not.” Dawn shrugged. “To be honest, there’s no way to tell.”

Spike barely restrained himself from groaning again. Things just kept getting worse, didn’t they? First those nancy-boys he and Gunn had had to deal with, and now the issue with Buffy-bleedin’-Summers. “But we know she’s a plant. Fine then. We let her know only what she needs to. I dunno what she thinks we’re doin’ on our off hours, and frankly, I don’t care. ‘F we keep her in the dark, then she’ll just stay confused. Got that? No more runnin’ your mouth, Bit.”

“Hey,” Dawn said indignantly, “don’t lecture me when half your friends are as floppy-mouth as I am. If you let her near Xander for more than three seconds, he’ll be sure to slip.”

“And if he does, I’ll kill the stupid whelp,” Spike snapped. “Listen, Bit, this is important, a’right? We have to convince Buffy that we’re hardly a threat at all, got that?”

“Good luck. I just think—oh! Oh! Oh!” she suddenly squealed, bouncing up and down in her seat.

“Think what? What’s so exciting?” God knew he could do with a little good news, although knowing Dawn it was probably just that Chad Michael Murray was coming to town, or some rot like that.

“Willow!”

He whipped around so fast he felt his neck crack. “AURGH! Buggering hell! Where, Dawn?”

“She’s not in the room, moron,” the teenager said, rolling her eyes. “God, you can be stupid sometimes. She mentioned Willow. She’s friends with her.”

Spike stared at her for a second, completely still. Dozens of ideas were rushing through his head, all at once. “Red. ‘Ve got to get in contact with her. She’ll be able to tell me how much Buffy knows.” It had been he who IM’d her a few days ago, of course. Red had told him she was completely ignorant about Jenkins’ true dealings—but now he wasn’t so sure. If Red was Buffy’s friend, then she could easily ply her for the truth.

“OK, you have fun with that.” Dawn checked her watch and sighed. “Well, the customers call. Holy crap, I’m not looking forward to serving people all night long...”

“Have a good time,” Spike muttered. He was rifling through his papers, looking for Red’s number.

Dawn rolled her eyes and left.

As soon as he located the slip of paper with her number on it, he dialed her up. “Hey, can I speak to Willow Rosen—oh, hey, Red! Listen, I need a favor...”

A few minutes after he got off the phone with Willow, Buffy opened the door and strolled in. “I got the file on lap-dancers.” She handed it to him. A crinkle appeared in her brow. “This company is beyond bizarr-o, by the way.”

“Bizarr-o?” Spike arched an eyebrow at her. “Tell me, pet, do you ever talk normally?” God, she looked sexy in that skirt. Abruptly an image came to him, of Buffy sitting on the edge of his desk and slowly, slowly pulling that skirt off...

He shook himself. Good God, man, pull yourself together! She’s one little chit, for Christ’s sake!

Uh-huh, that other voice, the one he could never quite make shut up, said. Just like you’ve got the whole ‘manage the plant and tell her only what we want her to know’ thing under control, right?

Buffy grinned at him. God, she had a cute smile...”Not if I can help it,” she replied. “So, I saw Dawn leave?”

“Uh, yeah, I had work to do,” Spike replied, shaking himself out of the stupor her smile had induced.

“I was nice of you to help her find a job,” Buffy said, but her brow was wrinkled slightly. Spike smirked.

Snoop all you like, sweetheart, you’re not gonna find it easy gettin’ anything outta me, he thought before replying, “Well, that is what we do here. Jenkins’ employment and all.”

“Oh, right. I knew that...” she trailed off for a moment before redoubling her efforts: “So, what are all the offices for?”

“Consultants. Counselors. Helpers. Takes a lot to just find people jobs here,” he replied curtly. He watched with amusement as anger, then stony determination, flashed across her face.

“Oh, okay. I’ll just...go file, then. Call me if you need anything.”

God, the things that flashed through his head when she said that—he was a truly immoral man. “Will do, luv.”

“Um. Bye.” She awkwardly turned on her heel and walked out.

Spike flipped through the file intently. Paperwork really wasn’t his thing, but there were some things in here that really couldn’t be seen by anyone but him. “How the hell did I get into the business, anyway?” he wondered out loud, before remembering: “Oh, yeah. My bitch of a sister Anya forced me to. Said it’d make loads of money, so ‘f course I had to do it.” No, that wasn’t fair. Anya wasn’t a bitch, and she hadn’t forced him, exactly. Just...compelled him.

Persuasively.

And now he was stuck dealing with a way-too-smart-for-her-own-good spy, who also happened to be a drop-dead gorgeous bird, though he didn’t really like her much, and a bunch of lap-dancin’ nancy-boys who barely knew which way was up.

“Bloody—fucking—hell,” he cursed, banging his head on his desk. Maybe if he hit it hard enough, he’d just get knocked into a coma.

God knew it’d be easier than what he was doing now.

*

“And you’re certain he is ignorant of your ties to our organization?” A pair of eyes glittered in the darkness of the room. Riley Finn tried to ignore them as he concentrated on giving prompt answers.

“Yes, Captain. He doesn’t know anything.”

“Excellent. And the girl?”

“Will be eliminated, sir.”

“Yes, but when? This needs to happen soon, Finn.”

“I understand that, Captain. As we speak, the plan is being set in motion.”

“Who have you sent?”

A glint of teeth. “The most trusted member of our venerated psych ward, who else?”

And they both laughed, picturing the demise of the one thing that could keep their plans from coming to fruitation.

Neither of them noticed a third pair of eyes, glinting in the darkness behind the men. And neither noticed when the darkness became a shape that slithered off into the night to bring a report back to the one who sent it.

~*~
 

5:

A/N: Sorry for the wait. Thanx to Minerva for reviewing!

~*~

Two weeks. Buffy stared down at the desk, just as full of papers as it had been when she started—although to give herself credit, they were different papers.

Still, she felt like she was making no progress. Two whole weeks, and I still have zilch to tell Captain Rayne.

It wasn’t like she hadn’t been trying. She was trying to be super-observant, but somehow, she never heard anything useful. Everybody talked around her, but it was like they were talking in code. “Hey, got a job, let’s go,” one person would say, or “Did you do the thing last night?” Even Dawn, whom Buffy had seen several times lately, was incredibly ambiguous about the whole thing.

And to tell the truth, it was getting beyond frustrating. She liked these people, honestly she did. Xander was funny, Cordelia was a complete softie underneath the bitchy exterior, Anya was weird but nice, and Spike—well, okay, Spike was Spike. He was a complete jerk. But she thought she was starting to understand even him.

And they were just the main group. She’d met other people she genuinely liked, such as Faith and Kennedy. She hadn’t quite managed to figure out what the two of them did for the company, though she was pretty sure they were in on the other side of Jenkins’—the side that sold eight-year-olds in warehouses. And this—liking Faith, and Kennedy, and Xander and Anya—was dangerous. Because they were the bad guys, and she was supposed to take out the bad guys. Undercover sucks.

She hadn’t even been able to talk to Willow in more than a week, which was wicked unfair. And—

“Sorry, pet, but I don’t pay you to stare at the papers. You’re s’posed to file them.”

Buffy lifted her head to glare balefully at her all-too-familiar boss. “I’ve been working all day, you idiot. I’m on break.”

“That stack of papers says you’re not. Get to work. Oh, and get me some coffee, ‘m almost all out.”

“Get your own damn coffee,” she snapped, grabbing a file folder full of papers and checking the labeling. God, she hated this...

She froze when two large, very capable-looking slammed down on either side of the desk. “What did you just say?”

Buffy swallowed hard, but she also sat up straighter. There was no way he was going to get all menace-y and actually intimidate her. “I said, get it yourself. I have work.”

“Look at me, Summers,” he ordered. When she continued to focus on the desk, two fingers insinuated themselves under her chin. She fought not to shiver as he slowly urged her head up. He doesn’t affect me, he doesn’t affect me...oh crap, how can fingers feel this sexy?!

“I don’t care ‘f you’ve got work,” he informed her. “I don’t care ‘f it’s the end of the bleedin’ world, you’re gonna do what I say.” He leaned forward, ever so slightly, and Buffy’s breath caught. His blue eyes were holding her just as still as she would have been in a straitjacket. “When I say jump, you ask how high. An’ if I say I want coffee, you go and get it.”

He leaned in even closer. Okay, forget catching breath; she couldn’t breathe anymore. “Understood?” he whispered in her ear.

Two could play this game, she realized. She leaned forward just far enough so that her lips brushed over his in a graze as light as a feather.

She was momentarily shocked by the incredible electricity that shot through her at that simple touch. She half-gasped, looking into his eyes. They’d become darker, and she knew that she wasn’t the only one who was affected by her maneuver.

Slowly, slowly, she smiled. It was a sly, sexy smile, the kind that said she knew exactly what he was thinking—and she approved. She was gratified to see his muscles tightening. “Perfectly,” she said, her lips only inches away from his as they moved and pursed to create words.

Spike blinked before standing up abruptly. Buffy watched him with a slight smile. He looked annoyed, and she was pretty sure it was anger at himself. Lusting after the secretary...bad, bad Spike, she thought, amused, as he glanced back over at her.

“I want the coffee in twenty minutes, tops,” he barked before marching into his office. Buffy took the opportunity to watch his ass as he crossed the room. Ooh, very nice. All firm and tight and—

Whoa, girl. He’s evil, remember? Lusting after evil is bad! But evil was so frickin’ hot...

She brought him his coffee exactly twenty minutes later. When she entered the room she rolled her eyes in disgust. His black boots were propped up on the desk, and little dirt clods littered the formerly shining wooden surface. When he saw her, he smirked. “Thanks for gettin’ my drink, pet.”

“I’m nobody’s pet,” she snapped, slamming the cup down. “Especially not yours.”

“Touchy today, aren’t we?” He regarded her calmly. It was starting to freak her out, since usually he had such an explosive temper.

She smiled at him sweetly. “Well, usually my temper is much better, but twenty minutes ago an autocratic, chauvinistic jerk tried to boss me around, so I’m in a teeny little mood.”

He arched an eyebrow at her, acknowledging her dig. “I see. Well, I hope you gave the wanker what he deserved.”

“Not even close.”

“That so?” The casualness in his voice was a strong indicator of his real feelings, which were much more angry than casual.

“Yep. I was thinking that he deserved being eviscerated, or something,” Buffy said cheerfully. “Anyway, I gotta go. I hafta file a crapload of papers.” She turned and walked toward the doorway.

Her hand was on the doorknob when he called out, “Buffy?”

She turned. “Yeah?”

He nodded at her. “Thanks for the coffee.”

She recognized it as a peace offering. She’d known him long enough to know that Spike saying thanks was pretty much Spike saying sorry. “No problem, Spike.”

“Be seein’ you?”

“Um, yeah.” She gave him a bemused little look. “Every time you walk past my desk.”

He laughed. “Get back to work, Blondie.”

“Get your shoes off the desk, pig,” she retorted. Before he could get another word in, she hurried out of the door.

When she reached her desk she collapsed into the chair gratefully. Okay, not only was she hanging with the bad guys, she was also flirting with one. And seriously thinking about making with the smoochies, too.

She was pathetic.

She closed her eyes and tried to calm herself down. Buffy, it’s no big deal. Even if they are the bad guys, you have to befriend them to find out information for Captain Rayne, right?

Riiiiight that nasty little honest voice she called her inner Elizabeth said.

“Hey, B, you alright?”

Buffy’s eyes snapped open. Faith was staring at her with a quizzical expression. “Sorry!” Buffy said, pasting a very insincere smile on her face. “Just dozed off there...so, um, what do you need?”

“Got a file Spike wanted,” Faith said, giving it to her. “Just put in under CO’s.”

Buffy glanced at it curiously, wishing fervently that she could leaf through the papers and see what the hell a CO was. Unfortunately, the whole lobby was full of security cameras. Someone would see her. “Right, OK.” She set it on the desk. Maybe she could just glance at it later...

“So, ya like the job?”

“As a secretary?” Buffy laughed slightly. “It’s growing on me. What about you? Do you like, um, whatever you do?”

“I help out customers,” Faith said with an evasive grin, “And yeah, when they’re not pains in the ass, it’s a wicked cool job. A little short on the kicking and punching, but a girl can’t have everything, right?”

“Um. Right.” Buffy managed a slight smile. “So, what exactly do you help the customers with?” She was being incredibly obvious, but Faith wasn’t exactly good at subtlety, so hopefully she wouldn’t notice.

She didn’t. “Oh, just the usual.” Faith winked. “Ya know what I mean.”

Actually, she didn’t, but there was really no way she was going to tell Faith that. She only smiled and said, “Oh yeah. That stuff.”

“So, anyway, Anya and Xander wanna know if you’re free tonight. Bunch of us are goin’ to the Bronze.” Faith unsheathed a knife and started tossing it in the air, catching it expertly. Buffy winced. If Faith had a license for that thing, then Buffy was a movie star.

But she couldn’t exactly ask Faith for identification. She said instead, “You guys want your secretary to come along?”

“You kiddin’? You’re the only one who can mouth off to Spike and get away with it. I don’t know how you do it.” Faith grinned at her. “C’mon, B, it’ll be fun. You’re too damn serious for a secretary.”

Buffy shook her head. “Faith, are you feeling okay?”

“Five-by-five,” Faith replied. “Why?”

“’Cause you’ve got to be completely nuts to think that I’d want to come to the Bronze. I’m a secretary! I’m the most junior member in the building!”

Faith just rolled her eyes, completely unimpressed by Buffy’s tirade. “Whatever, B. Just be there, ‘k?” And before Buffy had time to say a single thing, she left.

Buffy slumped back into her desk chair, beyond dejected. Wonderful, now she had to go to the club with the bleached idiot. She really didn’t like him. Who did he think he was, anyway, all bleached hair and sexy leather and...

Okay, who was she trying to kid? He was totally hot, and anything with eyes—male or female—could see it. It was perfectly natural to be attracted to someone that sexy, right? Right?????

No, she knew, it wasn’t. It was normal to like looking at the guy. It wasn’t normal to have fun trading insults with him. No, she knew that normalness was not exactly the word to describe that.

But he was the only one who could appreciate her puns and be just as snappy as she was. Xander and Cordelia and Anya and even Willow were all nice, but in terms of wittiness, Spike was her equal. She liked knowing that when it came to mean, cutting comments, she didn’t have to hold back.

Yeah, she was definitely going insane.

And worst of all, she had a meeting with Captain Rayne the next day. That was what worried her more than anything else. She had to meet with the Captain of the LAPD, and she didn’t have a single thing to tell him.

What could she say? “The building’s big and way pretty?” “My fake boss is so hot I want him pretty much 24/7?” “Oh yeah, and those evil child-porn people? They’re really nice. I went to a club with them.” If she told him anything even close to the truth, her ass was as good as fired.

Of course, I could always just work here for real...

No. Not gonna go there. That was way too tempting for her to think about.

She was one majorly pathetic excuse for an undercover cop, she mused with a sigh. God, Harmony had probably been better at this than she was.

Of course, Harmony had absolutely no respect for rules. Rules like no looking in the top-secret files she spent the majority of her time filing...

Okay, so there was a security camera. But that was only during the day, right? At night they probably shut it down. They might engage in all kinds of illegal activity, but Buffy was pretty sure they didn’t have enough money to keep constant surveillance.

So. If she raided the filing cabinets tonight, then tomorrow she’d have enough information to hopefully keep her job. She glanced around nervously, half-convinced that someone could hear her thoughts.

Part of her was convinced that this was completely crazy. It probably was, actually. But she was a cop, which meant that sometimes she had to make with the sneakiness. Even if she hated it.

She’d just wear black to the Bronze, and then afterwards she could take a little detour on her way back to Revello Drive.

Simple.

Funny how her stomach felt like it was a bowl full of spaghetti...

What if she got caught? Major badness would ensue. She could get arrested and sent to jail. How would she explain that? A member of the LAPD in jail was not so good. And nobody, not even Anya, would ever speak to her again. Spike would hate her.

Which of course she didn’t care about.

Still, even in the spirit of non-caring-ness, she would have to be careful. Who knew what Spike might do to her if he caught her sneaking around? He could tie her up in an alleyway and leave her for evil Sunnydale muggers to find. Or he could tie her up and...major ick. Not even gonna think about it...oooh, just did!

This was getting exasperating. Buffy lust plus Buffy curiosity seemed to equal absolutely nothing getting done in terms of work. It had to stop. Tonight, she would sneak into the building and raid the files. Tomorrow, she’d report every single thing she’d learned to Captain Rayne.

OK. That was that, then.

She turned back to the papers resolutely, determined to get at least a little work done. It wasn’t like she was nervous, or anything. She was just fine. This was her being perfectly fine.

So why were there butterflies in her stomach the size of German Shepard puppies?

~*~

 

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