Title:  The Brat Pack

Rated: PG-13

Summary: William “Spike” Barrett is a successful singer who lives the typical rock star’s life.  Then his estranged sister dies, and he suddenly has not one, not two, but three young children to take care of.   His life is thrown for even more of a loop when he hires an inexperienced, aspiring actress, who he recently got fired, named Buffy.  Kids vs. adults.  Boss vs. employee.  Spike vs….everyone.  Yeah, this should be fun.

Disclaimer:  I own nothing; Joss, UPN, and WB own everything.  I’m just playing with the characters for my own twisted amusement.  Please don’t sue me.

Special Thanks: To my beta, Kris. 

AN: Just a stupid idea I’ve had for awhile, inspired by ‘The Nanny’ (of course) and a movie called ‘Jack and Sarah.’  Hopefully someone will enjoy.

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Chapter One

Los Angeles.  Some call it the city of dreams.  Some call it a cesspool of moral bankruptcy.  Maybe it was both.  Maybe it was neither.  But there was one thing that everyone could agree about the City of Angels: it was never boring.  There was always a party going on somewhere, one just had to know where to look for it.  And usually one only had to travel as far as Beverly Hills to find one.

Giles sighed as he stood in front of the large home.  The front door was left wide open, a blatant invitation for anyone who had wished to come in and join the fun the night before.  The disgusting smell of alcohol, vomit, and a third scent that Giles would rather pretend was not there, floated out into the Californian morning air and caused the older British man to gag.

A couple stumbled down the front steps, the trashy woman giggling ridiculously as her shoe slipped and nearly caused her to fall.  Her counterpart tightened his grip around her waist, laughing along with her as they disappeared down the driveway that was crammed full of vehicles.

Slowly, Giles made his way inside.  He had to step over several partygoers who had finally passed out, either from to much booze or other things, as he moved into the large living room.  It mimicked the foyer, only on a grander scale, with people strung about the place like fleshy cockroaches in a cheap apartment.  Furniture was broken, glass vases and mirrors were shattered, and there was an abundance of new stains settling into the fine rugs and carpets. 

Debauchery. That was what this was.  A pure and utter debauchery against any sense of breeding or class.  He was better than this, Giles knew that for a fact, considering he had basically raised the boy.  But then, this was William, so should he even try to expect anything more?

Giles recognized a large, brutish form that was resting comfortably in a chair with a slutty blonde in his lap.  She looked like a cat in heat as she rubbed against him, whispering things in his ear as she grinned wicked.

Lord, he had only been gone for two days and the place turns into a regular Sodom and Gomorrah!

“Angel.”

The woman stopped giggling and straightened when she realized her man was being addressed by the irritated Brit.  It took a moment longer for it to register with Angel, who only turned around in the chair because he wanted to see what she was staring at.

“Giles!  You’re back early.”  His words were slurred and the smell of beer radiating off the drummer was enough to make anyone sick.

“It’s eight a.m. on Monday, Angel.  I am not early.  I am right on time.”

The younger man’s face fell at the information.

“Party’s over then, huh?”

Giles narrowed his eyes slightly.  “Yes, the party is over.  Now, get these people out of here while I go speak to William.”

Giles turned on his heels to head up the stairs, not giving the man any choice but to do as he said.  As he stepped onto the second floor, the Brit glanced up and down the hall, surveying for any damage.  It was far less extensive here, and would only cost them a few thousand dollars to repair. 

Lord, at this rate, William was going to party his way right into the poor house before he hit thirty.

Stalking down the hall to the master bedroom, Giles forcefully threw open the doors.  It was no surprise to find that William was not alone; that once again some blonde groupie had found her way into his bed.

The older man walked heatedly across the room and jerked opened the curtains, letting the morning sun bathe the room in light.  Twin groans arose from the large bed as Giles headed for the other pair of windows.

“Get up, William,” he said, throwing the curtains back.

“Bloody hell,” the bleach blond groaned, slowly waking.  “What time is it?”

“Eight a.m.  Time to get up.” Giles headed into the large closet to retrieve some decent attire for the young man.

“Sod that.  Wake me again in ‘bout twelve hours.”

“Spikie?” a drowsily voice asked from beside him.

“Go back to sleep, ah...” Carol?  Melody?  God, it was something to do with music. “Harmony.  Giles is just bein’ a tight ass ‘bout his schedule again.”

“That butler guy?”

“I am not a butler nor am I being a tight ass about my schedule,” the older Brit said, coming out of the closet and dropping a suit onto the young man in bed.  “You, William, and the others have a meeting with the Wasteland executives in less than two hours, not mention lunch with Anya to discuss the new tour schedule, and the band has an interview tonight with that RTV fellow, Cameron.”

Giles paused in his reciting of the things that the young man was to do today as he thought of the last thing.

“And the executer of your sister’s estate will be by this afternoon to drop off whatever it is that she left you.”

Poor Drusilla.  It had been a good fifteen years since Giles had laid eyes on her.  It was hard to believe that she was gone now, and William truly was all that was left of that old life.

“Yeah, can’t wait to go through sis’s junk,” Spike said, finally making an attempt to get out of bed.  “So, what do think she left me?  Her collection of unicorns or her dolls?  Or maybe she sent me a list of the guys she shagged to prove she got more than me.  Course, she had a head start on that, didn’t she?”

“For God’s sake, William.  She was your sister!  How can you speak like that?”

Spike glared at the old man momentarily as he pulled on his jeans, completely ignoring the suit Giles had thrown at him.

“‘Cause she was my sister,” bleached blond said coolly.

He headed into the adjoining bathroom and Giles sighed.  Fifteen years and he still hated her for leaving.  Now she was gone, and there was no way the two would ever makeup about what happened.  It was sad, really.  He felt just as sorry for William as he did Dru.

With a shake of his head, Giles headed back in the disaster area and left Spike and Harmony to their own devices.

**********

This had so not been her day.  First, her alarm clock had not gone off, which made her late for her audition.  She had flubbed her lines through the whole scene, branding herself as the ‘worst actress’ they had seen all day.  Then, when she didn’t think things could get much worse, she had tripped on some cable on her way out, slammed into the table the casting people had been sitting at, and caused the pitcher of water to spill all over the headshots and résumés.  Needless to say, she didn’t think they’d be calling her anytime soon.

“You’re late, Buffy,” Cordy said, as the blonde came into the kitchen and headed into the back to change into her uniform.

“I know.  I know.  It’s just been one of those days,” the petite blonde sighed, hurrying to button up the white, long sleeve shirt. 

Once finished, she pulled her hair out of the collar, then proceeded to twist it into a bun on the top of her head while she held several bobby pens in her mouth.  She had done this for so long, that the process took less than five minutes, even with all the hair she had.  Loose strains fell along her neck, insuring that she didn’t look like an old time school teacher, but was still compliant to the Californian health code.

The blonde took off into the kitchen once more to get to work, and ran right into Willow who was carrying a large tray of bussed dishes.

“Geez, sorry,” Buffy said, grabbing for the edges of the tray to keep her friend from dropping them all over the floor.

“It’s okay, I’ve got it,” Willow assured her, steadying the tray.  When she was sure it would fall, the redhead took in a deep breath and let it out slowly.  “But you’ve got a table…with Anya.”

“Oh, no.” 

The young woman shuttered at the name.  Everyone who worked here knew Anya.  She was some music agent who always ended up bringing her clients here whenever she wanted to chew them out or discuss business.  All the girls knew her by first name, though the woman had never once bothered to learn theirs.  And the people she brought in were always so…rock star-ish.  If any of them ever showed the least bit of courtesy, Buffy was pretty sure that would be a definite sign of an upcoming apocalypse. 

“Who’s she dragged in here this time?”

“Looks like the guys from Cellar Dwellers.”

“Who?”

“The Cellar Dwellers.” Buffy continued to look at her friend blankly, not able to put the name to anyone.  “You know.  Tormented by Glory?  Wolf Cry?  Two Sided Soul?”

“They’re the ones that sing that?  God, I hate that music.  It’s so…eeww.  Like something only stoned teenagers would listen to.”

“Well, Wolf Cry isn’t that bad.” Glancing over her shoulder towards the swinging doors that lead into the restaurant, Willow added, “And the bass player is, um, kind of cute.”

Buffy watched with a grin as her friend’s face began to turn red.  She opened her mouth to make a comment, when Cordy brushed by them with a tray full of food and an irritated look.

“Guys, hungry people.  They’re not going to serve themselves.”

“Right,” Buffy said as she and Willow parted ways.

**********

Spike leaned back in his chair, his dark glasses pushed up high on his face as he stared out of the window. 

Anya, that damn bitch.  She chose this section with all its light on purpose because she knew he and Peaches had hangovers.  Teach them a lesson for partying the night before a big meeting with the execs.  God, if she wasn’t a vengeance demon sent straight from hell, he would start wearing lifts, over gelling his hair, and change his name to Little Angel.

Speaking of the poof, he didn’t look any better than him.  Well, actually, Spike did look better considering that he did get some sleep last night.  And his sunglasses didn’t look like he stole them off Audrey Hepburn.

Oz sat off to the side, appearing to read the menu.  In actuality, he was watching Xander fold a piece of paper he had stolen from Wasteland Record into a perfect triangle to play ‘football’ like teenagers do in study hall.  He was sitting directly across from the green-haired bass player, and, once he had finished his project, held up the projectile triumphantly.  Xander looked towards Oz, silently asking him to play the game, but the stoic man just turned his attention back to menu much to the brown-haired guitar player’s disappointment.

“You two look terrible,” Anya said for the hundredth time that afternoon, addressing the two men at the other end of the table.

“Feel terrible too, ducks, if that makes you feel any better.”

“It doesn’t.”

“Well, Anh, look on the bright side.  At least they actually showed up this time,” Xander offered, trying to be helpful.

Angel belched slightly and his face was paler than usual, like he might be sick at any moment.

“I don’t think that’s a real selling point right now,” Oz said dryly as he watched his fellow band member.

“No, it’s not,” Anya agreed, glaring at the two men.  “Those men we met with this morning decide how much money we will get to produce your next album and executives don’t like giving money to people who they think will just blow it on beer and drugs.  I don’t like not getting money.  So, at the next meeting, either show up sober, with some stuff to impress these men with, or don’t show up at all.  Is that understood?”

“God, Anya, you’re starting to sound like Giles,” Spike complained, turning his attention back to the window.

“Good, then maybe you’ll start listening to me.”

“Not bloody-.”

“Hi.  I’m Buffy and I’ll be your waitress.”

The bleach blond turned his head to chew out this Buffy woman for interrupting when he found himself staring at possibly one of the most attractive females he had ever laid eyes upon.  And he had laid eyes upon quiet a few in his time. 

He wasn’t sure what it was about her that he found so appealing considering she wasn’t really his type.  Generally, the woman he wanted were tall, with dark hair, and pale skin, excluding last nights little adventure.  This girl was the polar opposite to that: blonde with a healthy tan and a short stature.  A wisp of a girl really.  But still, he bet he could have fun with this one.

“What can I get for you?” she asked innocently. 

‘Many a thing, love,’ Spike thought, eyeing her up and down the best he could while running his tongue between his slightly parted teeth.

“Beer?” Angel asked hopefully, not really having looked at the woman who stood right behind him.

“It’s eleven-thirty in the morning!” Xander exclaimed.

“Nothin’ better for a hangover than to start drinkin’ right away,” Spike said from the far end of the table.  When Buffy glanced his way, a wolfish smile appeared on his face.  “Inn’t that right, pet?”

“We’ll have coffee,” Anya declared, ignoring the two.  “And bring lots of cream.”

“And sugar,” Spike added.

“Alright.  I’ll be right back to get your orders,” she said smiling, before disappearing back from where she came.

The bleach blond enjoyed watching her go, since it gave him a nice view of her backside.  He smiled as he thought, ‘Maybe today won’t be as bad as I thought.’

**********

Buffy groaned as went back into the kitchen, ready for her tray to be weighted down with the next group’s meal and drinks.  She hadn’t stopped since getting Anya’s group’s order and things did not look as if they were going to let up anytime soon. 

The lunch crowd had always eaten her alive, considering that it was generally made of execs from the law firm down the street.  To them, time was money, and - though she only brought the food when it was ready - she was wasting theirs.  Well, she couldn’t make Larry cook any faster, so they would just have to wait.  Unfortunately, their frustration was always taken out on the poor waiters and waitresses who they were dealing with.

“God, there awful today,” Cordy groaned, following Buffy to the counter so they could fill their trays.  “I actually have this one guy who first decides the soup is to cold.  Then it’s too hot.  Now, he doesn’t want soup at all, just the crackers.  Ugh!  They should shoot people like that.”

“Tell me about.  The lawyers in my section are working on some big case, so nothing I do is right.  I’m not fast enough.  I brought them the wrong kind of coffee.  It’s something new every time I go out there.” 

Buffy lifted the heavy tray and skillfully balanced it in her hand, proving she was much stronger than she appeared. 

“And at Anya’s table, that bleached guy keeps checking me out and bugging me about bringing him more sugar for his coffee.  With the amount of Sweet ‘n Low I’ve dumped on him already, I’m surprised he hasn’t grown a tumor the size of a cantaloupe by now.  And he keeps watching my butt whenever I walk away and he’s not even discreet about it!  And he has sunglasses on!”

Cordy made a face as she lifted her own tray.  “Ugh.  What a jerk.”

“Tell me about it,” the blonde said, pushing the swinging doors to the dining room open with her backside and heading back into the lions den.

Though they were rude and insulting, Buffy kept smiling as she distributed the food around the table.  If she was younger and not in need of this job so badly, she might have added her own special topping to their meals.  But she did need this job, no matter how much she hated it.

When she finished giving them their food, she began to walk away when one of the older men said, “Thanks, sweet cheeks.”  He then proceeded to slap her on the butt.

Buffy’s first instinct was to free the gentleman of the offensive appendage permanently, but instead she forced a smile and kept on walking.  More customers were waiting, and that guy was not worth getting fired over.  But just wait for when he asked for a refill.

As she headed towards a couple who looked particularly irritated, she heard a rough sounding British voice call for her.  “Miss.”

Buffy paused.  Great, the Billy Idol wannabe wants more sugar.  God, she wished could take a sugar cane and shove it right up his-.

“Yes, sir,” she said, turning around to face the bleached blond with a large, faux smile on her face.

Spike found himself amused by the look, the one that said ‘ask me for sugar one more time and I’m going to shove this tray up your ass.’  Maybe if he wasn’t such a prick he would leave her alone to do her job.  But he is a prick, so she’ll just have to suffer.

“Could you bring us some more coffee and sugar, love?” he asked, trying to sound as sweet as he could.

Buffy held the faux smile the best she could. “Yes, sir.  I’ll bring it to you in a minute.”

She turned to head back to the table she had been originally traveling towards when he called, “I’d rather have it now.”

Drawing a deep breath, Buffy let it out slowly.  This guy really was wearing her patience thin.  ‘Okay, be nice.  Remember, must keep the job.  The job is what is important.  And he’ll be gone soon, so just hold out until then.’

“I understand, sir.  But I am very busy and will get to you when I can.”

“Come on, Spike.  Leave her alone,” Xander chimed in.

“Oh, no, Harris.  We’re the customers.  She’s the waitress.  She has to bring us what we want when we want it.  Inn’t that right?”

“Yes, sir.”  The look on her face was enough to make the others present, expect for Anya, want to dive under the table until the ‘All Clear’ siren went off.  However, it just made Spike grin all the more.

“Then go on off to the kitchen and fetch the coffee and sugar.”

“I will,” Buffy assured him once again, barely controlling her anger.  “Just as soon as I take care of my other customers.”

“But I want my coffee now.”

“And I will get it to as soon as I can.  But there are other people waiting.”

“I said now.”

She could feel her eyes narrowing as a single thought crossed her mind.  ‘That’s it.’

“Look, bleach boy-.”

“Bleach boy?” Spike exclaimed, getting to his feet to face off against the small girl.  He might have found the girl attractive, but no one was going to talk to him that way!

“Spike, sit down!” Anya ordered, but he had long ago given up on listening to her.

Buffy’s shoulders were squared as he moved in and leered at her.  This was no longer about coffee; it had turned into an issue of respect and knowing one’s place.  An issue that was going to be had out in front of a dining room full of lawyers.

“Do you know who I am?” the British man asked, his accent becoming much more polished in his anger. 

“You mean besides a colossal jerk that can’t wait five minutes for me to do my job?”

His eyes narrowed even more, as if suddenly he would develop heat vision and destroy the annoying bint in front of him.  But she wasn’t backing down or being intimidated and was determined to put this jerk in his place.

“Yes, Spike, I know who you are.  But do you know who I am?”

“An overpaid waitress that’s a bitch?”

She snorted a laugh, then said sarcastically, “Yeah, I’m an overpaid waitress that’s a bitch.  But guess what?  I’m also the one who has the coffee and the sugar.”

If Xander had been drinking anything at the moment, Oz would have been drenched in soda and spit.  Even still, he moved his hand up to his face in a lame attempt to cover his amused smile, but didn’t bother to try and hide it from his voice.

“Oh, man.  She told you.”

Angel looked as if this was turning out to be the best moment of his life.  Spike being told off by a girl in the middle of a busy restaurant with everyone watching was a delightful daydream he had had for awhile.  Now all that was left was for that cute little waitress to push the annoying bleach blond out of the way, strip down to nothing but a naughty nighty, and let Angel have his way with her.

Even the ever stoic Oz had a ghost of a smile on his face.  Or, at least, what passed as a smile for him.

The only one not amused by this little display was Anya, but her venomous glare was directed at the band member, not the waitress.  Well, he had been the one to start it.

Spike could only stare at the little blonde before him, who was smirking.

“What is going on here?!” a voice suddenly bellowed. 

The whole room, who had been silently watching the exchange up until that point, turned in unison to the voice.  Standing there was a short little bald man with his own frown deeply etched on his face.  He was glaring at the young waitress, whose own smirk had fallen once she realized she had been caught.  Her shoulders dropped and she ducked her head as the man stalked over to them.  Any joy she had gotten out of telling the rocker off was now gone.

“Ms. Summers,” the bald man said, making her name sound like some ancient curse.  “I should have known you would have something to do with that delightful little display.”

“Mr. Snyder, it-.”

“Quiet you,” he hissed dangerously, causing the young woman to shrink back a little more. 

Spike almost felt sorry for her.

Almost.

The evil sneer on Snyder’s face quickly shifted into an apologetic smile as he turned his attention to Anya.

“I am terribly sorry about this, Ms. Jenkins.  I do hope that Ms. Summers’ crude behavior will not hinder you from continuing to visit our restaurant.  And don’t worry.  The meal will not be charged to you because of this.”

“But Spike was the one-OW!!” Xander shot Anya a dirty look for kicking him under the table, but the business woman kept her attention on Snyder.

“If you insist.”

“Oh, I do.  I assure you that it will be coming out of Ms. Summers’ paycheck.”  He turned his deadly glare back to Buffy before adding, “Her final paycheck.”

Squeezing her eyes shut, the little blonde fought the urge to franticly try and explain what had happened.  But Snyder had had it in for her ever since she had turned the little weasel down for a date, and there would be no changing his mind, no matter what she said.  Well, she might have won the fight with Spike, but it had cost her job.

God, it really hadn’t been her day.

**********

The late afternoon light flooded into the living room, causing the furniture that Giles had spent the day replacing and cleaning to glow warmly.  Spike frowned at some of his choices; he himself would have never bought an apothecary table.  Hell, he didn’t even know they still made those.  Still, maybe this one could hold more weight than the coffee table it had replaced.  One little group of college girls dances on top of it and it falls to pieces.  Really, what shoddy craftsmanship they have these days.

Glancing down at his watch, he sighed.  Where the bloody hell was that stupid lawyer?  He was supposed to be here an hour ago, and Spike had that blasted interview he had to be at in twenty minutes!  Anya was already sore enough at him about this morning and the thing at the restaurant; he didn’t need to hear about being late for Cameron too. 

“William, Mr. Travers is here to see you,” Giles said walking into the living room with a pudgy, old man following behind him.

“Sorry, I’m late,” the British lawyer apologized, closing the gap between he and Spike.  “My name is Quentin Travers.  I’m the executer of your sister’s estate.”

“Estate?  Dru actually had an estate?”

“Well, yes.  She and her husband had accumulated quiet a bit of net worth over the years.”

“Husband?”

Travers blinked as he looked at the young man, glanced over his shoulder to the older Englishman, then back to Spike.  “Er, yes.  Mr. David Griffin.”

“If she had a husband, why’d she leave me anything?”

“He was killed in the same car accident as your sister, Mr. Barrett.  I’m afraid that you are the only living family member left.”

“So, what?  You sayin’ I get everything?”

“In a nutshell, yes.”

“Great,” Spike muttered. 

That was all he needed, a bigger headache dealing with liquidating his sister’s and her husband’s assets.  Well, that might give Giles something to do for awhile, and keep him out of Spike’s hair at the same time.  And, if she really did have money and left it to him, that’s always a plus. 

“I would like to sit down with you and go over everything before I have you sign the papers.  Especially concerning what I have to leave with you tonight.  It’s imperative that you understand-.”

“Look, Mr. Travers.  I would really love to talk about all this with you tonight, but I have an interview in fifteen minutes.  Just give me what it is that I have to sign, and leave whatever is so important of my sister’s that you had to bring it tonight on the coffee table and be on your way.”

“Mr. Barrett, I’m afraid you don’t understand.”

“Just give me the damn papers and I’ll sign them, alright?”

“Mr. Barrett-.”

Spike snatched the folder out of his hands, walked over to the desk, and flipped through it until he came across a document with his name on it.  He scanned over it, recognizing a few legal terms from his days at Law School, then scribbled his name at the bottom. 

“There, all nice and legal.  Now we can both get on with our lives.”

He turned back to the old man, forcefully slapped the folder into his chest, then started for the staircase.

“Just leave it on the coffee table.”

“Mr. Barrett!”

Jogging up the stairs, Spike called over his shoulder, “The coffee table!”

Spike heard the old man sigh as he disappeared into the upstairs hallway and headed for his room.  After digging through his dresser for several minutes, the bleach blond started back down the stairs buttoning a new, fresh shirt. 

“I’ll be back in awhile, Giles,” he called, heading for the door.

“William, I think you should come see this.”

“Giles, I’m already late enough as if is.  Anya’s going-.”

“To have to wait,” the older man finished for him.  “You really need to see this.”

Spike groaned.  God, at this rate, he was never-.

He blinked at the sight before him. 

There, standing on the apothecary table, were three young children. 

The oldest didn’t look as if she were over twelve.  She was glaring at him evenly, her arms crossed and a deep frown on her face that reminded him a little too much of Dru whenever she used to catch him reading her diary. 

Beside her stood a young boy.  He was ten, maybe eleven, with reddish blond hair.  Unlike the girl, he seemed to be scared out of his wits, trying to take in the new surroundings.

And finally was the littlest one.  She looked to be six at the most, and was clinging onto her brother.  When she saw Spike was staring at her, she buried her face into the boy’s side, in a desperate attempt to hide.

“What the bloody hell is this?” the bleach blond demanded.

A familiar smirk grew on the oldest lips. 

“Well, Uncle William, can we get off the coffee table now?”

***********

Chapter Two

“What do you mean, ‘I’m their legal guardian’?!”

Travers stifled a groan as he sat back in his chair and tried once more to explain.  “You signed the papers, they belong to you.”

Spike could not believe what he was hearing.  An hour ago, his life had been simple.  He was the lead singer of Cellar Dwellers, who liked to party and drink and live the rock star life to the fullest.  Now, this lawyer was sitting here, telling him that he had basically just signed his life away because his sister had left him her three little brats?! 

“You - you tricked me!”

“I did no such thing.  I tried to tell you, but you weren’t listening!”

“Well they can’t bloody well stay here!”

“But they have nowhere else to go.”  Travers calmed himself a bit and then said, “It’s like I told you.  You are their only living relative.  If you don’t take them, they’ll be put into foster care.  Your sister didn’t want that.  That was why she specifically left you as their guardian in case of her death.”

Spike sighed at the mention of a foster home.  He never actually had to do a tour himself, but he did know those who had.  It was like playing Russian roulette with kid’s lives.  Sometimes they got sent to a good home, sometimes they didn’t.  Well, really, he couldn’t imagine them not ending up in a home better than this.  He was never home, and, when he was, it was definitely not a kid friendly environment. 

Walking over to the office doorway, Spike peered into the living room at the three children seated on the couch. 

The two girls were facing one another, playing some version of patty cake that he had never seen before.  The oldest one was laughing at the youngest, who seemed to be concentrating with all her might to get the hand movements down correctly.

The boy sat off to the end by himself, staring at the television that was playing some brightly colored show.  Damn, cartoons sure had gotten a lot more violent than when Spike was a kid.

Could he really do that to them?  Could he really split them up and put them into foster care?  They had already lost their mum and da’. Could he really live with himself knowing that he had caused them to loose each other too?

But still…

“I don’t know a thing ‘bout raisin’ kids,” the bleached blond said, turning his attention back to Mr. Travers. 

The old man smiled at the younger, knowing his intentions even before Spike did himself.  Travers could see it in his face.  Though he might have wished he had later on, the rocker was not going to split those kids up. 

“No one does when they start out, son,” the older Brit assured him, rising to his feet.  “And those who say they do are damn liars.”

Giles, who had been reading over the aforementioned, signed document while they talked, looked up at the youngest Brit.  “You’re actually considering taking them in?”

Spike glanced over towards him at the comment, but didn’t say anything or give any indication of what he was thinking.  However, to Giles, it told him everything he needed to know.

“That is remarkably mature of you.”

“Yeah, well, don’t be gettin’ all proud papa just yet.  I haven’t-.”

“William Barrett!  You get your punk ass out here NOW!!”

Anya?  Oh, God.  Cameron!

Spike quickly came into the living room and looked to the foyer where the voice had bellowed from.  There stood his agent, her eyes blazing as she directed the fires of hell on the singer with her gaze.  Never once in all the time he had known the little woman had he ever been afraid of her, but at that moment he wondered if perhaps the kids would end up in foster care anyway because Anya killed him.

“Spike!” he heard Xander call from outside.  “Watch out!  Anya’s…”

The brown-haired man skidded to a stop a little behind the agent, causing Oz to nearly run into him.

“…here. How did she beat us here?” Xander turned and asked the green-haired bass player who could only shrug in answer.

The two men stood as far away from the young woman as they could, like she was some rabid pit bull that might turn on them at any moment.  But Anya already had her intended victim and didn’t even seem to notice that they had arrived.

“Do you have any idea what you’ve done?” Anya asked dangerously. 

Slowly, she began to stalk the bleached blonde as she came into the living room.  Defensively, Spike began to move backwards, trying to put as much space and furniture between him and the angry agent. 

“Anya, I can explain-.”

“You blew off Cameron Michaels.  Cameron Michaels, Spike!  The host of RTV’s top-rated show.  He can make or break your career.  And you blew him OFF!!!”

“Wow, you ditched on Cameron Michael?” Spike’s eldest niece asked, looking rather amused and impressed.  “That’s pretty cool.”

Anya blinked, her anger towards the bleached blonde temporally forgotten as she stared at the young girl on his couch.

“Who’s this?” she asked, looking at the child before turning her attention to the man she had been yelling at.  “Who’s she?”

Even though it put him in danger of being in Anya’s reach, Spike slowly moved closer to the children.  Besides, he was pretty sure she wouldn’t hurt the preteen crowd.  After all, they were the next generation of consumers that she was always trying to target.

“Anya, this is my niece, um…”  God, had they even told him their names?! 

Any admiration that the prepubescent had for her uncle after finding out he ditched on LiveWire’s host vanished when he was unable to recall her name.  Instead, the even, tight frown returned as she turned back to the agent and introduced herself.

“I’m Dawn.”  She glanced down the couch to her sister and brother.  “That’s Tara and Andrew.”

“Hey,” Andrew said nervously, having nowhere near the courage that his older sister seemed to posses.  He looked as if he wanted to disappear into the couch, especially when Anya turned to look at him.

Tara was even worse.  When the attention was on her, she moved right up against her big brother, trying her best to hide behind him.

“Niece?” Xander finally spoke up, coming into the living room.  He was standing right beside their agent, his fear of the woman temporally forgotten.  “Since when did you get a niece?  And why don’t they sound all British-y?”

“Apparently he got one about twelve years ago,” Oz said, watching the kids from off to the side. 

This was the bass-player’s way.  Observe the people presented, size them up by their responses, then proceed to not say anything to them anyway.

“And we’re from New York,” Dawn answered, but she was pretty sure no one was listening to her.

“I only found out ‘bout ‘em an hour ago.”  Spike sighed as he came around the couch and flopped down into the matching armchair.  “And guess what my dear sis left me…”

“You mean they’re yours now?” Anya asked, assimilating the information into her brain. 

Nodding his head, the singer said, “Yeah.  Apparently, I’m now their legal guardian.”

The agent stared at him for a long moment, her mouth hanging open slightly.  Spike couldn’t decide whether she was about to pass out, or perhaps start screaming at him again for his stupidity. 

“Um, Giles, you might want to take the kiddies into the kitchen.” Before Anya castrates me, he added silently.

The older Brit nodded his head, knowing why the younger one wanted them gone.  The spectacle put on by the agent was only a slight taste of what she could really be like once her anger took over.

“Come along, children.  Let’s get you something to eat,” he said, spreading his arms out like a mother hen gathering her chicks.

The two youngest followed without question, but Dawn looked as if she were ready to protest.  She turned a heated glare towards Travers, who had been silently watching from the office door.  Returning his own stony glare, he jerked his chin in a silent order for the child to follow.  After making that loud, annoyed sigh that only teenagers could do while rolling their eyes, she got up and left the room.

When the children disappeared with Giles into the kitchen, Travers spoke up.

“Perhaps I should be on my way.  I will contact you tomorrow to go over the rest of your sister’s affairs,” the old man said, basically fleeing out the door.

Damn coward. 

Too bad he couldn’t do that.

Spike turned back to Anya and prepared himself for the worst as she began to speak once more.

“This is…wonderful!”

‘What?’

“What?”

“What?!” Xander and Oz echoed in unison.

However, the woman had not heard any of them. “Spike, don’t you understand?  You’ve stumbled onto a publicist’s wet dream!”  A starry glaze appeared in her eyes, the same one she had whenever she had a brilliant idea for marketing her clients.  Lifting her hands, she spread them in front of her.  “Can’t you see it?  ‘Rocker Takes in Nieces and Nephew After Parents’ – It was parents right?”

“Yes.”

She returned to the pose.  “‘Rocker Takes in Nieces and Nephew After Parents’ Tragic Death.’  You’ll be on every magazine cover from here to Timbuktu!  It’s like the ultimate way to get publicity that cannot back fire because you are the hero.  The kind hearted uncle who takes in these poor children.”

“God, Anya,” Xander said, staring at the woman in disbelief.  “If I loose an eye in a wining accident, would you say that it was my way of speaking against alcohol?”

The agent rolled her eyes.  “Oh, get off your high horse, Harris.  I’m just stating what will most likely occur once the press finds out about this.  I mean, yeah, it’s bad that their parents died and everything, but it’s not like we can help that they made Spike look like this really great guy by leaving him their brats.”

“Looks like those sensitivity classes are really paying off,” Oz said dryly, adding his own disapproval to the whole idea in his own stoic way.

“Anya, have you forgotten that this means I will actually have to raise these children?  How the bloody hell am I supposed to do that?”

“I don’t know,” she said dismissively, lost in her own thoughts of how this whole thing was going to work to their advantage.  “Do what you rich people always do: hire someone else to do it.”

“You want me to hire a soddin’ nanny?!”

***********

“So, what?  You’re like the butler or something?” Dawn asked, trailing behind Giles into the kitchen.

Andrew and Tara had already seated themselves at the island before their big sister came to join them. 

“No, I am not the butler,” Giles said rather evenly as he pulled on an apron to start to prepare the children something to eat.  “I simply take care of the affairs around the house, but I am most certainly not William’s butler.  Or yours for that matter.”

“Yeah, I can see the big difference there,” Dawn said sarcastically which caused the Brit to glare at her.  She threw him a sweet, ‘bite me’ smile. 

Yes, this child was definitely related to William.

“What do you three want to eat?” he asked, ignoring the oldest look.

“Pizza,” Dawn answered quickly.

Andrew said right after her, “I want a burger.”

The youngest pushed herself high on the barstool and leaned over to whisper something into her brother’s ear.

“And Tara says she wants tacos.”

Giles blinked at the order.  Who did they think he was?  Some short order cook?  “Three ham sandwiches it is.”

Sighing, the oldest rolled her eyes then said, “You’ll have to make Tara’s a peanut butter sandwich.  She doesn’t eat anything that she knows is pork.”

“Why not?”

“Oh, because a certain brother kept referring to his pork chop as ‘Babe, the other white meat,’” she explained. 

A guilty look passed over Andrew’s feature with a nervous smile before he found a particularly interesting spot on the ceiling to look at.

“Very well.  I think we have some peanut butter in the pantry.”

When the older man disappeared into an adjoining room, Dawn turned to the two younger children who sat at her side.  She jerked her head back towards the living room, silently ordering that one of them to go and investigate.  Her two siblings nodded in agreement before Andrew got up to do the job.

“I hope this is still good,” Giles said as he reappeared in the kitchen, eyeing the large jar of JIF suspiciously.  When he put it down, he noticed that there were now only two children waiting instead of three.  “Where did Andrew go?”

“Um, he had to, ah, go to the bathroom,” Dawn answered, trying to lie as smoothly as she could.  “He’ll, ah, be back in a minute.”

“Perhaps I should go with him and show him where it is,” the older man said, starting to make his way after the boy.

“NO!  I mean, no.  H-he’ll find it.  He’s, um, like a blood hound when it, ah, comes to finding…places.”  The brown-haired girl smiled innocently at Giles, with Tara following suit. 

The older man raised an eyebrow at this act.  Though it had been quiet a few years since he had dealt with children this age, he did remember it pretty well.  They were trying to pull something on him, but what he didn’t know.

“Dawn!” they heard the young boy exclaim as he came charging back into the room.  When he found Giles was back, he skidded to a stop on the tile floor, nearly causing him to spill onto the ground.  That same nervous smile the child had had all night once again emerged on his face as he looked to the older man.

“Did you find the restroom alright?” Giles asked, though he knew that had not been what the child was doing. Especially considering that the nearest bathroom was on the other side of the house…in the opposite direction that he had come from.

“Restroom?” the boy repeated, not following.

“Yeah, Andrew.  You went to find bathroom, remember?” Dawn said, her tone clearly saying ‘play along.’

“Oh, right, yeah.  I found it, no problem.”

Normally, Giles would have busted them both for lying, but the kids had been through a lot lately, so he’d give them a break just this once.  Next time, though, they would learn why their mother and uncle used to refer to him as Ripper.

“What would you like on your sandwich?” the British man asked, letting the subject drop.

Letting out a breath of relief, the young boy headed back to the counter where his sisters sat and retook his stool.  “Cheese, please.”

“Dawn?”

“Mustard,” she said before leaning in close to her little brother.  “What did you hear?”

“Not much,” he whispered back.  “But I guess he’s going to keep us ‘cause he said something about getting a nanny.”

“A nanny?!”

Dawn winced at how loud her voice had gotten, then glanced over her shoulder to make sure Giles hadn’t heard her.  Sure enough, the ‘non’ butler still had his head stuck in the refrigerator so he couldn’t have heard.  Sighing, the preteen turned back to her little brother. 

“Just what we need, another stranger telling us what to do,” she said with a frown.  “Well, we’ll just see about that.  Won’t we?”

**********

Willow sighed as she walked down the aisle, staring at the assortment of different candies and chips.  Let’s see, she needed comfort food and lots of it.  Not for herself, of course, but there was an upset blonde back at the apartment waiting to start a night of ‘Why all men, especially famous ones, should be dragged out onto the street and shot at dawn.’ 

It hadn’t helped that they had turned on the TV only to see that man – well, Buffy had reclassified his evolution status as a scum-sucking parasite – was going to be featured on the ex-waitress’s favorite show, LiveWire with Cameron Michaels, either.  Willow had barely kept her friend from drop kicking the television when the bleached blonde’s picture was shown.  And Buffy was a whole lot stronger than she looked, too.  The redhead was sure that she was going to have bruises in the morning.

God, Willow hoped Buffy didn’t find her Cellar Dwellers CD in the stereo.  She could replace a CD easily, but that stereo had been a graduation present and was expensive.

Musing to herself, the redhead walked the length of the isle.  “Let’s see: Snickers, Three Musketeers, and Doritos.  What else?” 

Her eyes scanned the shelves until they came to rest on a small box stuck off to the side. 

Animal crackers?  She didn’t even know that they still made those.  Willow remembered that she used to love them as a kid, but it had been at least ten years since she had had any.  Well, since most of this stuff was for Buffy, the redhead was sure the blonde wouldn’t mind if she picked something up for herself.

As she grabbed the box, another hand appeared seemingly out of nowhere and covered hers in an attempt to take the same product.

“Oh, sorry,” she and the owner of the hand said together.

The young woman looked up and felt her jaw drop.  There, knelt down with her, was Daniel Osborne.

Oz smiled at the redhead before him who was staring at him like he was some sort of sign from heaven she had been praying for but never expected to get. 

He and Xander had just left Spike to listen to Anya go on about how wonderful his sister was for leaving him her three kids and how much publicity they were going to receive.  That was Anya for you.  She didn’t mean to be so insensitive, well most of the time anyway.  And she probably would start to feel bad for the kids once she stopped thinking about how much money they were going to bring in for the band and herself.

After dropping Xander off at his apartment – not all of them could afford nice houses like Spike since they didn’t come from ‘old money’ – Oz had felt like getting a late night snack.  So, he headed for the one place he knew carried his favorite cookie, the animal cracker, Bob’s KWIK Stop.  However, he never thought that someone else would want them, let alone anyone as cute as this girl.

Slowly, the two rose up, still staring at one another.  Willow was surprised to find out that he was hardly any taller than her.  Funny, for some reason, she always pictured him taller.  Even when she saw him that morning in the restaurant, she had thought so.  But, he had been sitting down and was pretty far away from her when they left.

“So, you like animal crackers?” he asked.

Willow blinked from the question before glancing down at her hand that held the box.  “Huh?  Oh, um, yeah.  I like animal crackers.” ‘And flowers and pretty rainbows.  God, he must think I sound like I’m five!’ she thought, barely suppressing a groan.

“Me too.  Although, I’ve always wondered if the other animals were jealous of the monkey.”

“Huh?”

“Well, he’s the only one that gets to wear pants.  Just seems like maybe the other animals would have liked to wear a shirt or pants too, you know,” the green-haired bass player explained.

“I, ah, guess I never thought about it,” she said, glancing down at the box in her hand once more.

“Most people don’t, but it’s a big issue in the animal world.”  He paused for a moment, and watched her smile.  “I’m Oz.”

“Oh, I know who you are - but not, like, in that stalker-y kind of way that I just said it, I just mean, I know who you are because you play in that band, Cellar Dwellers, which you already know the name of ‘cause it’s your group, so no reason for me to remind you of the name, which I think is kind of cool but I don’t know what it means and-and I have a tendency to babble so just shut me up whenever you feel like because if you don’t I’ll probably ramble on until I pass out from lack of air which would be bad because of obvious reasons and-and…”

The redhead felt her face burning from embarrassment but just couldn’t make herself shut up.  However, Oz just chuckled slightly, but not in a mocking way, it was in more of ‘I think it’s cute’ kind of way.

“I’m Willow,” she finally just stated.

“Nice to meet you.”  He looked down at her hand that still held the package of cookies, then asked, “So, Willow, do you want to share a box of animal crackers?”

“Okay,” she said dumbly.

Buffy was going to have to be on her own tonight.

**********

AN:  Sorry about the delay between updates, it’s just school started back and I’ve been busy for the past couple of weeks.  Anyway, thanks for the nice reviews, and, hopefully, the next chapter will be out soon.  Oh, and sorry about the shortness of this chapter.  I’ll try and make the next one longer.

~*~

Chapter Three

The last three weeks had been a living hell.

Anya had been true to her word, the whole world had found out about what Spike had done and now everyone wanted a piece of him or the Cellar Dwellers.  People who would have never even considered bringing the band on their show had been calling just so they could do an interview. 

And the news programs and talk shows? Forget it. The bidding war had been rather interesting to watch, though.  Babs had won, of course.  When you’re offered a contract to do what would insure that your band would be playing on New Years Eve in New York and would have its own special on RTV, it tends to seal the deal.

But networks hadn’t been the only people at war.  His home had turned into a regular Gettysburg, with a string of nanny’s as the casualties.  Even the milk was starting to outlast these paid professionals.

The last one hadn’t even lasted two days.  Two days!  How the bloody hell those kids had managed to get ride of her that fast was beyond him. 

Lord, this was enough to drive anyone-

“AAHHH!!”

Oh, no.  Not another one.

Spike jumped off the couch, the guitar he had been strumming falling to the side as he viewed the latest victim charging down the stairs.

“What’s goin’ on?!” he demanded, hurrying to try and cut her off.

But the gray-haired woman pushed right past him, a small suitcase swing at her side as she headed for the closet.

“Where are you goin’?”

Grabbing her coat, the older woman slammed the door shut and glared at the bleached blond. 

“Away.  Far, far away from those…children!”

She heatedly pulled on the jacket, taking out her frustrations on the poor piece of clothing. 

“Mr. Barrett, I have been employed as a nanny for more than thirty years and have had my share of unruly children before.  But never – never! - have I had to deal with heathens such as those!”  Once she was ready to leave, she picked up the suitcase, squared her shoulders and lifted her chin before she said, “You do not need a nanny, Mr. Barrett.  You need an exorcist!”

Then, professional childcare giver number five was gone from their lives.

Spike groaned as he turned from the door, his hands grabbing the side of his head in anticipation of a headache.  Yeah, he might not know anything about kids, but he most certainly knew that this could not be normal child behavior.  Even he and Dru had not been this bad.  Maybe having a young priest and an old priest come out and take a look at the three wouldn’t be such a bad idea.

Although, someone has been enjoying the children’s behavior.  Giles had been rather amused lately whenever Spike would start to complain about the kids and how they were driving him crazy.  Though the older British man would never say it, the look on his face had clearly said, ‘Pay back’s a bitch, isn’t it, Spikie?’

“So, I take it Ms. Robins will no longer be under your employment,” he heard Dawn say.

Spike dropped his hands and looked up the stairs to find his eldest niece and nephew standing there.  The preteen had a Cheshire cat grin on her face as she crossed her arms over her chest.

“Too bad.  I was starting to like her.”

“What did you two do to that woman?” Spike demanded, glaring at what was left of his family.

Placing her hand over her heart with a mocking insulted look on her face, Dawn asked, “Why, dear Uncle William, whatever do you mean?”

“Don’t call me that and you know what I mean, Scarlet.  She didn’t even last…” He glanced down at his watch.  “Nine hours?!  You two managed to get a professional to quit in less than nine hours?!”

“Nine hours?” she repeated with a smile and sounding rather proud of herself.  “Hear that, Andrew? We’ve got a new record.”

“This is not a bloody game!”

“You’re just saying that because you’re losing, Spike.”  Before he could reply, the prepubescent turned on her heels and headed back up the stairs, dragging her little brother along with her.  “Come on.  We’ve got to strategize for the next one.”

The singer groaned again, grabbing the side of his head. 

He thought back to a concert the band had played out in Las Vegas a few years back, when they were just starting to get popular.  It had been an outdoor performance, and, after baking in the sun all day during rehearsal, they had nearly frozen to death that night when it came time for the show. 

Afterwards, he, the poof, and Harris, who was a partier then, had gone out and gotten good and pissed.  None of them could recall much from that night, only a few pieces here and there that involved the cops, gambling, a transvestite, and a chicken.  The next morning, Spike found himself in a Vegas hospital, suffering from second degree burns, a sprained wrist, and alcohol poisoning.  He remembered he had been sick, miserable, and in some of the worse physical pain he had ever experienced thanks to the placement of the burns.

Now, after living with those children, he longed to be back in that hospital room.

**********

Buffy was at a loss as to what to do.

After losing her job at the restaurant, she had been unable to locate a new one…well, one that would allow her to keep her top on anyway.  No one was hiring.  But with the economy in the preverbal toilet, should she really be all that surprised? 

At first, she had looked at the impromptu vacation as an opportunity to focus on her acting career.  After all, that had been the reason she had moved from Sunnydale to LA in the first place.  She was going to live the American dream of going to Hollywood, becoming a big star with lots and lots of money, and living in a huge house in Malibu or Beverly Hills or, hell, maybe both.  The only thing that the dream failed to mention was all the years of rejection and having to work odd jobs to make ends meet.  Now, she couldn’t even do that.

Stupid rock star.  If she ever saw him again, she was going make sure that he could only sing soprano from then on.

“What am I going to do?” Buffy groaned, flopping sideways to lay on her couch with her face buried in her throw pillow.

“Well, how much money do you have left?” Willow asked, sitting down Indian style on the other side of the coffee table.

The redhead lived in the apartment directly across the blonde.  They had met the first day that Buffy had moved there, and she had been surprised to find that another Sunnydaler had come to LA as well. 

Willow had graduated about two years ahead of Buffy, thanks to accelerated classes.  She had been attending UCLA, up until her sophomore year when she got involved in some nasty stuff.  She’s better now, but it took awhile.  In the meantime, she had lost her scholarship, and was now reduced to being a waitress instead of running some computer company like she should be. 

It was sad, really, but that was life sometimes.

“Let’s put it this way.  I got a notice the other day that said they haven’t received my final payment on this lovely furniture.  I was going to write them back and say ‘Yes. You have’ but I couldn’t afford the stamp,” Buffy told her, contemplating the merit of smothering herself with the pillow.

“Ouch.”

“Big ouch.  Which brings me back to my original question.  What am I going to do?  The rent is only paid up until the end of the month and you know Parker.  He’ll toss me out of here faster then you can say ‘Slum Lord.’”

Stupid dignity.  If she didn’t have that, she could have a job right now shaking her butt up on a stage while grungy businessmen literally threw money at her.  Stupid mother for instilling stupid dignity in her in the first place.

“Well, I guess if things got real bad you could always just move back home.”

Buffy lifted her head to glare heatedly at the redhead.

“Or not.”

“I’m not running back to Sunnydale, with everyone looking at me like ‘I told you so.’  It’ll get better. I just have to, you know, give it time.  Something will come up soon…right?”

The blonde looked hopefully to her friend, silently begging her to say that it would all be okay.

“Yeah, it’ll work out.  You’ll see.  And, if you, you know, do get kicked out, you can come stay with me if you have to.”

“Thanks, Wills,” Buffy smiled at the statement, then pushed herself upright before sliding to the floor to sit across from her friend.  “Now that that is settled, tell me about this new guy you’ve been seeing that you don’t think I know about.”

**********

The Caritas was the watering hole for the Cellar Dwellers.  Before Spike’s life had been invaded by three rambunctious ankle bitters, the band had generally made it a point to meet there at least once a week to just hang out.  Work was not to be mentioned here, even if it was a karaoke bar. 

Alright, so these kinds of bars weren’t the coolest places in the world, but they generally didn’t have to worry about anyone they knew recognizing them here.  And the owner was cool, in that Liberace kind of way.

Spike spotted his friends at their regular table in the back as soon as he walked in. 

Anya was with them tonight, dressed casually instead of those power suits she was generally so fond of wearing.  She was actually kind of pretty, he supposed.  Well, she would be if he didn’t know how damn evil she really was.

Oz’s new girl, Red, was there tonight too.  She seemed like a good girl, very polite if not a bit flaky when you first met her.  But she had relaxed into the group over the past few weeks and was actually becoming a good friend to all of them. 

Well, expect for Spike.  She was nice enough to him, but he could sense some underlying uneasiness she had when he was around.  Some of that had dissipated when she heard the story about the kids; from Oz, not from the TV or magazines.  But still, there was something in the way she looked at him, like she wanted to be his friend, but couldn’t for some reason or another.

Xander was the first to spot him.  “Hey, look who finally made it out of the house.”

The bleached blonde sighed, taking his seat before signaling to the waitress to bring him a beer. “Yeah, well, I only had to pay Giles time and a half to make it out of there.”

Everyone present knew what that meant.  If Giles was back at the house watching the kids, even though his day was supposed to be through, that means-

“They got her to quit already?” Angel asked.

“Yep.  She didn’t even make it ‘til five o’clock.”

The group sat in silence for a moment.

“Damn, those kids are good,” Xander finally mused aloud.

“Too good,” Spike agreed as a frosty glass of hops was placed before him.  He downed half of it before telling them, “So good in fact, that I’ve been blacklisted.  No nanny this side of the Rio Grande will come near my house.”

“What?  You’re kidding!”

Sullenly, the singer shook his head no. 

He had been blacklisted, by a place called ‘Lot’s ‘o Love Nanny Agency’ no less.  Spike had been banned from many places before – bars, clubs, and he was pretty sure St. Louis – but from a nanny agency?!  Now that was just down right embarrassing.

“Dawn’s the one that was doin’ it all,” he explained, tracing his finger on the rim of his glass as if mourning some lost love.  “She’s just Pie Pipperin’ the other two.  They go along with whatever she says, and then another nanny bites the dust.”

Turning in his seat, Spike glared at his agent.

“Well, Anya, you got any more bright ideas in that pretty little head of yours ‘bout what I should do?”

“Buy a cattle prod,” she said with a shrug, taking a sip of her drink. “That’ll teach those kids.”

“Anya!” Xander snapped.

“What?”

“Have you thought about boarding school?” Willow asked meekly from next to Oz, ignoring the agent and the guitar player.

He actually had…a lot.  He had even investigated a military school in hopes that they weren’t just for boys anymore.  Turns out the good ones are still only for men.  Damn it.

Spike opened his mouth to answer, but Anya quickly cut him off. 

“Boarding school?!  I don’t think so.  He’s been made out to be this great uncle who wants to take care of those kids. If he was to send them off to some Swedish boarding school the press would crucify him and the band.  He might as well kill those kids in their sleep as send them there.”

“Then what do you suggest I do?” Spike asked heatedly.  “Besides resort to child abuse?”

“Find someone new,” she said simply.  “There’s a butt load of unemployed people out there. Sure, they might not have any experience, but that’s better than nothing.”

“Well, he’s going to need someone who can control those kids, Anya,” Angel stated, taking another sip of his beer.

“Also, someone who won’t take Dawn’s crap,” Spike added.

The green-haired bass player went on, “Someone who will work for minimum wage and live in that tiny room you’re providing.”

“Not to mention someone who wears flame retardant clothing,” Xander added dryly, bringing his drink up to his lips.

“How is Mrs. Oliver anyway?” asked Oz.

Shrugging, the bleach blond took another drink from his beer.  “The agency said her eyebrows are finally startin’ to grow back, but she still havin’ to wear the wig.” 

Spike sighed as he leaned back in his chair and stared at his now empty glass. 

“Experienced or not, where am I goin’ to find someone like that who is desperate enough to take on those monsters?”

The group went silent again when the question was posed.  It was one thing to say what kind of person he needed. Unfortunately, it was quite another to actually find them.  And when the nanny agency has given up on finding the right person, what chance, really, did they have of finding her?

Actually, the longer they sat there, the better and better Anya’s cattle prod idea was sounding.

Chewing lightly on her bottom lip, Willow slowly rose her hand, praying she was not going to die from what she was about to say.  But Spike just looked so sad, and really did need help.  And it would be work.  She would just have to push that point.  It’s work, a free place to live and free food.  Yeah, she’ll go for that…the redhead hoped anyway.

‘Oh, God, please don’t let her kill me for this.’

“Um, I might know somebody.”

**********