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04 November 2005 @ 03:29 pm
Father of the Brat, chapter 1  
Feeling: Image hosted by Photobucket.com peaceful
Listening to: Guiding Light

Okay, so I've decided to start reposting this story because this way, I could actually have something up when I decide to head on over to btvs_santa and put up my wish list. So, here's to that! Not to mention that I'm actually writing the next chapter to this so I thought I'd start posting it up here. And now that I'm done babbling, here's the chapter.

He didn't want to be disturbed. As a matter of fact, all he really wanted was to eat a decent meal, smoke his last cigarette so he could open a new pack, take a shower, and go to bed. It wasn't necessarily in that order as long as he got it all done.

The cigarette would be first, William 'Spike' Giles decided as he threw his leather duster onto the foot of his bed. A moment later, his shirt joined it.

Spike shook his head as he opened his window and went through the familiar routine of lighting a cigarette. Sometimes he wondered why he had ever become a journalist. Oh yeah, now he remembered. It was that rush he felt, the danger he faced when he traveled to other countries or states in order to get the story and to see the situation for himself. The burning desire to tell people what was really going on in the world.

This time had been no different. He'd busted up some secret meeting held by a ponce named Parker Abrams. Spike rubbed a hand over his jaw, which had been sore this morning from a well-aimed punch the night before. He smirked. Good old Parker was probably still hurting, the bloody moron.

He'd gotten his story and so now came the part that he looked forward to the most. Relaxation. He put the cigarette out and looked at the bed. When was the last time he had slept? He couldn't even remember.

That settled it. The shower and meal could wait. He was going to bed and sleeping for the next few hours. It was just his luck that the minute he closed his eyes some idiot decided it'd be a great time to start knocking on his door.

"Sod off." Spike groaned, burying his head under his pillow. Maybe they'd go away. There was more knocking. All right, so the person had a death wish. He could deal with that. He'd kill them and then he'd go to sleep. Spike tossed the pillow off his head and launched off the bed, storming towards the door. Cursing under his breath the entire time, he threw open the door. "What?" he demanded.

Buffy Summers froze, her fist raised to knock again, stopping centimeters from his bare chest. She watched him as a look of shock passed through his cerulean blue eyes and she almost panicked. Then the questioning look came and she allowed herself to relax. He didn't recognize her. After all, she looked different now. She wore her hair much shorter than she used to. Now it stopped above her shoulders and flipped out at the ends when it wasn't clipped up, as was the case at the moment. She also actually wore a little make-up now, and of course there was the business suit she had on. Her battered briefcase dangled from her hand.

She would've recognized him anywhere. He hadn't changed all that much since high school. He still bleached his hair so that it was a white blonde; his eyes were the same beautiful…um, nice…shade of blue. He still had the same sharp and prominent cheekbones. He was still tall and lean, but Lord, had he filled out. And he hadn't lost the British accent that had caused all of the girls to lust after him.

Damn, was he sexy.

Shut up Buffy! Bad thoughts! You will not think about Spike and how absolutely lickable he looks…STOP!

She straightened her shoulders as he cocked an eyebrow in an all too familiar expression.

"Well? Something I can help you with, luv?" he asked, smirking.

"Mr. Giles?" she asked, certain that he wouldn't realize who she was.

"Who's asking?"

"I am." she replied, pulling a small business card out of her pocket and handing it to him. He took the card, amused. Smart-ass little chit, wasn't she? Opening the door further, he allowed her to come in. He stared at her as she sat down on his couch. Spike glanced down at the business card in his hand.

E. A. Summers
Social Worker, Department of Social Services

"What's the 'E. A.' stand for?" he asked her, watching her while she responded.

"Easily Annoyed." she told him, without missing a beat. He smirked at her, while inside something had finally clicked with him.

He knew her. He didn't know how, but she was familiar. He stared a little harder at the tanned blonde sitting across from him.

Her blonde hair was up in one of those clips that women seemed to like, and her hazel eyes stared steadily back at him. The end of her nose tipped up a little, keeping it from being too straight or perfect. Her skirt stopped at her knees, but hell, he still liked what he saw.

She raised an eyebrow at his frank appraisal, mirroring his earlier expression.

"Do I know you?"

Something flashed across her face before the indifferent mask slid back into place.

"No, Mr. Giles, you don't know me." The lie fell easily from her lips, and he readily accepted it.

"Well, then, what's this all about, luv?" At the use of the endearment said so casually, her eyebrow rose. He merely smiled.

"Do you know Drusilla Evans?" Buffy asked him. She really hoped he made this easy on her.


She just barely restrained from rolling her eyes. No, of course he wouldn't make it easy on her. They were going to have to do this the hard way.

"Okay, what I should say is, do you remember Drusilla Evans? I believe you knew her in London." A thoughtful look passed over Spike's face as he started thinking back before he smiled again.

"Oh, you mean Dru! Yeah, cor', I remember Dru. How is she anyway?" Spike asked. Buffy bit her lip and Spike's eyes were drawn to them immediately. She noticed and stopped to take a deep breath before she gave him the news.

"She's dead."

Spike's eyes widened and he drew back quickly as if she had hit him. Only a few moments passed before he blinked.

"When? How? And also, not that I mean to sound insensitive, but why are you contacting me about it? I haven't seen Dru in almost fifteen years." Spike said.

"It happened last week. She was in a car accident. Drunk driver." Buffy told him softly. "And the reason that we're contacting you is because of Dawn."


"Dawn Giles. Your daughter."

This time Spike's eyes almost popped completely out of his head. Then before he could stop himself, he started laughing. Buffy frowned.

"I'm sorry…really, I am." Spike gasped, waving a hand at her. "But I could have sworn you just said, my daughter." Buffy allowed the sigh to escape this time.

"I did, Mr. Giles." Almost immediately, the laughter stopped.

"Well then, sorry, pet. But you've got the wrong man. I don't have a daughter."

"You are William Giles, aren't you?"

"Yeah, what of it?" Spike's blue eyes narrowed. "So what?" Buffy reached into her briefcase and pulled a folder out. She flipped it open, and then turned it around to show him the birth certificate inside. Giving her a dirty look that let her know exactly what Spike thought of all of this, he took it. His face changed completely when he read it.

"Dawn Giles. Mother, Drusilla Evans. Father, William Giles." Buffy said even as he absorbed the information. He glanced at the birth date and quickly did the math, realizing that the timing was right. This meant that he had a fourteen year-old daughter he never knew of because, while Dru may have been a little batty, she had never slept around.

"A daughter…I have a daughter." Spike repeated slowly, getting used to the idea.

"Congratulations, Mr. Giles. It's a girl." Buffy said dryly.