Chapter Text
Spike rustled through the paraphernalia at the Magic Cross. The dozy shopkeeper was off, finagling over details with the Slayer’s best pal. The more he sobered up, the more he rethought his instinct to torment Angel with a magic curse. He knew better than to mess with magic; while he wanted his luscious black beauty back, this wasn’t the way. He just had to find a mundane way to do it. Whatever it was would have to mess with the big oaf’s star-crossed romance and humiliate him. It’d serve Captain Forehead right, if he lost his great love the way Spike had lost Drusilla.
He stumbled out of the bookshelves and over to the nervous shopkeeper. “What do you do if someone’s making eyes at a girl way younger than him?” he inquired.
“Uh, well, I don’t think a curse would be best for-”
“Sod spells and curses and mumbo jumbo. I want to throw a wrench in his epic romance with a high schooler. He did the same thing to my lady, you know.”
Her eyes got big. “If you know he’s a predator, you should do something,” she stammered. “Go to the police. Go to her parents! Or Dateline!”
Spike’s thoughts were slower than they should be, but the more he turned it over in his head, the more he liked the idea of Dateline. Of course, he would need the ax-wheeling mom on his side- he’d seen enough episodes to know cameras would need to be set up in her house. Plus, if he knew Angel, Joyce likely didn’t know he was back in town and sniffing around the Slayer again.
***
Joyce’s face paled. “He’s what? Angel’s back?” She wrung her hands before pushing his cocoa toward him. “I don’t know where Buffy is. What if he goes after her? Oh, I hate this.” Her mouth firmed, her chin jutting out the way her daughter’s did. “I won’t stand for this.”
Spike cocked his head. “And just what will you do about it?”
Joyce stood up briskly. “For one thing, I’m going to call Mr. Giles and talk to him. We can both speak to Buffy. Maybe the both of us together will-”
“That’ll never work,” Spike said impatiently.
Joyce glared daggers at him. “If you have a better idea, speak up. I’m not wasting any time.”
Spike smirked and leaned back. He loved a fiery woman. “As a matter of fact, I do. But first, you got any of those little marshmallows?”
***
Spike was beside himself with drunken glee.
Joyce had called Dateline and been patched through immediately. Chris Hansen’s sting operation had been so popular that they were branching out to real-life stalkers of children and teenagers. According to Joyce, this was the kind of case Hansen had been waiting for to launch his new segment.
Joyce had left a note at the mansion for Angel to come by, then bullied the Watcher into detaining the Slayer at her little school. Spike couldn’t help but admire the sheer willpower.
He settled onto the tree branch that gave him the perfect view of the kitchen. This was better than any daytime show. He hadn’t gotten to see the setup of the cameras because of the ever-fatal sunshine, but at least he was guaranteed to see the result.
Spike pulled out another flask to keep up the celebration. His streak of plans being mucked up was over with, possibly due to the involvement of a Summers woman.
***
Angel arrived, looking more like a square than ever. He didn’t even bother knocking, just hovered on the outskirts of the lawn for a minute before he approached the kitchen door and attempted to walk in.
Spike snickered as Angel bounced off the door. Looks like someone hadn’t been invited in, unlike Spike.
He shifted in the tree to catch a glimpse of Joyce, who was sitting at the counter, drinking wine and eyeballing Angel.
She finally cleared her throat and addressed the giant blockhead in her doorway. “I see you’re back, Angel.”
Angel hesitated before stepping closer to the point of entry. “Hello, Joyce. I was expecting Buffy; she asked me to come by.”
“Did she, now?” Joyce asked loftily, getting to her feet and heading for the hallway. “You can come in, then.”
Hansen walked in as Joyce vanished around the corner. “Hello. Could you sit down, please?”
Angel’s back stiffened. “Who are you? What’s going on?”
“I’ll tell you in a moment. First, I have some questions I’d like you to answer.” Hansen gestured briskly at one of the kitchen stools. “Sit down.”
Angel sat, his caveman forehead wrinkling.
Hansen stared at Angel calmly. “What are you doing here tonight?”
“Uh, my friend asked me to come by.”
“What friend would that be?” Hansen asked pleasantly.
“Buffy. This is her house.”
“And how old is this Buffy?”
Angel shifted. “I’m not sure.”
“She’s seventeen years old,” Hansen responded. “I couldn’t find anything about you in the background check. Then again, I don’t have a last name for you. What’s your last name? How old are you?”
“I don’t have one,” Angel said stupidly. “I’m like Cher. You ran a background check on me? What for?”
Hansen ignored the question. “It says here that you think you’re a vampire. Is that true? Do you think you’re a vampire?”
Angel stared blankly at him. “Uh, I…….well, uh,...”
Hansen waited.
Angel finally managed to stammer out a response. “Of course I don’t think I’m a vampire. That’d-that’d be crazy.”
“How old are you, then?”
Angel shifted. “I’m in college, so 24?”
“Are you asking me or telling me?” Hansen questioned.
Angel’s shoulders hunched. “I’m 24.”
“You look a little older than 24,” Hansen observed. “Why are you spending time with a seventeen-year-old girl?”
“What is this?” Angel burst out.
“Answer the questions first. Why are you here, hanging out with an underage girl?”
“I help her out with…chores. She has a hard time, uh, balancing work and school.”
“What sort of chores do you help her with?”
Angel’s mouth opened and closed a few times. Hansen flipped a paper over.
“Do you know what the age of consent is in California?”
“I-I haven’t heard of the age of consent.”
Hansen leveled him with his gaze. “Of course you haven’t.” He checked his papers again. "The age of consent here in California is 18 years old. Were you aware you were breaking the law?”
“I haven’t done anything,” Angel muttered.
“But you’re here, meeting with an underage girl. How do you think this looks?”
Angel stared at him.
Hansen turned his attention to his clipboard again. “According to sources, you have been in contact with Ms. Summers for over a year. Can you tell me more about that?”
“Who told you that?” Angel asked mulishly.
Hansen paused and looked placidly at Angel. “How long have you been talking with an underage girl?”
“It’s not like that,” Angel protested. “She’s different.”
“You said she’s different. Does that mean it’s OK to date her when she’s a child?”
“She’s not a child, and we’re not dating!” Angel responded fiercely.
“She turned seventeen last year,” Hansen stated. “And according to this, that was around the first time you engaged in sexual contact.”
Angel started and studied Hansen. “Where did you hear that?”
“I have a number of statements here, from three different adults. There’s one here from a William Pratt, who was subjected to vulgar, detailed accounts of your previous sexual encounter with a child. Do you admit to this?”
Spike laughed silently as Angel shot to his feet with a look of murderous rage. “Spike,” he growled out. “This is all his doing.”
Hansen looked calmly at Angel, clearly used to dealing with anger. “You’re the one who came here tonight. Did anyone make you show up at a teenage girl’s house?”
“You don’t understand!”
“Explain it to me,” Hansen retorted.
“We were in love, and it-it was- we were in a bad situation, and I just thought….”
“So you admit to having prior sexual contact with Ms. Summers.”
Angel crossed his arms. “It wasn’t like that.”
“What was it like?”
“I’d like to leave now.”
“That’s not going to happen until we’re finished talking.”
“You can’t make me stay,” Angel blustered. “You’re not her father.”
“How do you know I’m not her father? He lives in L.A. and has only been here once.”
Angel deflated like a cartoon football. “Uh..”
Hansen’s eyebrows shot up. “Have you been in contact with Ms. Summers since before her move?”
“No,” Angel scoffed. “I wouldn’t, uh…That would be wrong.”
“So you know what right and wrong is?”
Angel straightened up like a prat. “Of course I do.”
“So what would you call this? A grown man, who has admitted to being in touch with an underage girl for the last two years, since she was fifteen, and followed her to another town? Is that right or wrong?”
“It’d be wrong, and I haven’t done that,” Angel said.
“But you’ve admitted to knowing what her father looks like, who lives in Los Angeles. How do you explain that?”
Angel’s jaw tensed.
Hansen switched to a new page. “Have you ever done this before?”
“Done what before?”
“Have you ever stalked and obsessed over a young girl before?”
“I’m not doing that now, and of course not.”
“I have you on record that you haven’t done this before. Who is Drusilla, then?”
Angel’s eyes bugged out. “That wasn’t…”
“Wasn’t what?”
Angel’s look of panic and horror made Spike cackle so hard he rolled out of the tree. The next thing he heard was the sound of breaking glass as Angel threw himself out the window to scuttle off into the night.