Paper Pusher :: Chapter Nine.
Title: Paper Pusher
Author: fenderlove
Pairing: Spike/Fred
Warnings: This chapter is rated PG-13 for language as well as some gore.
Summary: This is a new ongoing series for sockmonkeyhere's Fantasy Island request on nekid_spike. The events of this story include plot points from Angel: After the Fall. Spike is working at a medical examiner's office to earn extra cash after being brought back from Hell. Gunn arrives with a proposition that Spike can't refuse.



Paper Pusher
Chapter Nine

Normally, after finishing his delivery run in the early hours of Sunday morning, Spike would use the rest of the day to try to finish casework, check in with Connor, or to just catch his metaphorical breath. This Sunday Spike was pounding the pavement via the interconnected public works tunnels in the sewers, searching out a certain blue-tinted ex-god in some of her usual haunts. Just because he wanted nothing to do with her didn't mean that he didn't keep tabs. The Blue Meanie, however, proved ever-illusive, and Spike was forced to return to his apartment without any answers or his fears being abated.

After changing clothes and microwaving a pint of A-Neg, Spike was planning his next course of action when his phone rang. On the other end of the receiver was a desperate-sounding Dr. Dominick.

"Will?" the Doc's voice was raised, obviously trying to talk over the cacophony of noise in the background.

"It's my day off, Doc," Spike slumped onto the couch, downing a large gulp of blood from his mug.

"I'm really sorry but-" He could hear her shout at someone while trying to cover up the receiver and then continue, "-we could really use a hand here at the morgue."

Sighing heavily, Spike muttered, "Kinda defeats the purpose of having a day off. Plus, it's still daylight out."

"I understand you have a condition, but we're really short-handed. Consider it a personal favor? I'll make you a batch of those butterscotch cupcakes you like so much."

"Fine," he groused and hung up the phone.

It wasn't as though Spike couldn't use a little extra dosh on his paycheck, but he had actual hero'ing to do. Well, maybe he did. He was not sure if Illyria was actually in need of help, but if she did, he needed to find her as soon as possible. Still, it couldn't hurt to pop by the morgue to see what assistance he could offer.

Spike felt particularly lucky to have access to a service tunnel beneath his apartment building that led through North Hollywood to the M.E.'s office to avoid the chances of getting a fatally unfortunate sunburn. Pushing through a grate, the blonde vampire emerged in the morgue's parking garage, and it seemed fitting that after searching for hours for Illyria in the places he most expected to find her that she would turn up in the least likely.

"You've been hunting me," the ex-GodKing spoke with all the hauteur of a Regent still enthroned. She stood near the entrance to the security cage.

Nodding, Spike replied, "Got some questions that need answering, Blue."

Illyria's chin snapped up, and she glared at him, "You do not make demands upon me."

"Let's not have any of this unholier-than-thou bugaboo and get down to business. Have you spoken to Gunn?"

Narrowing her ice blue eyes, she responded, "He is going to rid me of this unwanted form."

Spike titled his head, "Did he tell you exactly how he is going to do that?"

"He said that he would be consulting with practitioners of dark magicks," Illyria did not cease her stare-down at the vampire, "those who might be able to undo the unnatural meddling that was done to my essence."

Undeterred, Spike ventured, "And what about Fred?"

"It is always about her," Illyria showed her agitation with all the grace of a striking cobra, "You shall have your precious one back, and I will greet the moment when I am rid of her influence all-too-soon."

"Sounds like you've already found your new digs. I hope he or she has a pleasant view," Spike hooked his thumbs in his belt-loops, leaning his shoulders back in an attempt to appear casual.

Illyria stood up straighter, juxtaposing Spike's relaxed pose with a more rigid one, "I have, and you should feel a great deal of shame that you are not a suitable host. You are not worthy enough to even be my Qwa Ha Xahn."

Not to be prodded by her attempts to insult him, Spike softened his tone a little, "And this is what you want- a new 'home,' to be free of everything that binds you to anyone else."

"You're concerned," Illyria stated, finally understanding his demeanor, "I believed you would want the Burkle back above all else."

Spike ran a hand through his hair, "I do want her back, but I don't want you getting hurt. I made a promise-"

"To Wesley?"

"To myself." Spike paused and continued, "I spoke to someone who seemed to think that maybe this isn't really what you wanted."

"Who would presume to have such knowledge?" Illyria's cold, unblinking eyes widened and, for a split second, Spike was sure she was trying to swallow her own tongue by her expression. She reached out with speed still afforded to her by her diminished powers and grabbed hold of Spike's jacket, dragging him close to her. Delving into the pocket of his duster, she pulled out the gold cross that Eligor had left like a creepy calling card in Spike's delivery van. Illyria shoved Spike back roughly, "I should have recognized this stench before now."

Taking the cross away from her thanks to whatever enchantment or magic allowed his skin to not be burned and slipping it into his jeans pocket, Spike licked his lips trying to process her reaction, "I guess this means that there were no demon god slumber parties after all."

"We battled as a single entity to conquer our enemies and then battled one another to see who would claim the victory," Illyria's fists clenched, and she appeared to be having a pleasant reminiscence.

"You and Eligor?"

"And Lohesh, Phaimon, and Beelzebub, Eligor's brother."

"Sibling to the Prince of Darkness," Spike smirked, "Sounds like a hell of a party."

Illyria did not appear amused, "I am at a loss as to why Eligor would show concern in my affairs."

Shrugging, Spike offered an explanation, "Creepy pseudo-sorority pride?"

"It's quite surprising that Eligor has remained on this plane. I did not realize that a world in which the mortals oozed out pitifully would hold any interest..."

Illyria's musings were interrupted by two lab-coated individuals exiting the security cage in a furious huff, carrying boxes of what looked to be office supplies and knickknacks. Spike watched them pass by curiously and thought he recognized them as techs from the DNA lab.

"You surround yourself with the kills of others and the ravages of sickness," Illyria indignantly spoke, "You will stay away from me until Fred returns. What I choose to do for my benefit is none of your concern."

Spike barked out a laugh, "It damn well is if you and Gunn have a plan to do something gravely stupid. Have you considered the consequences, Smurfette? What if you're worse off or if you hurt someone? You're going to be taking someone's life to get a new body."

Illyria studied Spike's face for a long moment, "My future host is more than willing. No one will mourn a decision made of sound mind. Would you accept the alternative if I chose to keep Fred's body for myself, that she could never return?"

Spike felt trapped under her gaze, and he wasn't sure how to respond. He wanted Fred to have her life back, to get the second chance that he had been given though he was far less deserving than she with her kindness and goodwill. However, a part of him was inclined to care about Illyria's well-being and feared for her safety.

"Though you would be a terrible Qwa Ha Xahn, I would welcome you still as my pet," Illyria felt that this was a benevolent offer on her part.

Shaking his head, Spike pulled out his laminated I.D. from his jacket and clipped it onto his shirt, "Thanks for the offer, but I already have a job."

Leaving Illyria to her own devices, Spike went through the security cage, alone in his thoughts for a few minutes. He had been worried for nothing. Illyria knew what she was getting into, and he had to accept the lack of information he had been given about Gunn's plan. If Illyria was happy and Fred returned to life, then that was all that mattered. His quick mental note-taking was stopped suddenly by a commotion coming from the Forensic Pathology Wing. Passing through the double swing-doors, Spike could see Dr. Dominick standing outside of one of the labs as a clipboard went sailing over her head and clattered to the floor.

"Calm down, Tinsel!" Salafia pleaded as another clipboard was sent flying in her direction.

"I am going to quit this time! My notice is going in!" Dr. Tinsel Sribiju roared in her tiny way, knocking over a metal stool as she paced about the Toxicology Lab.

Tinsel spoke in a clipped manner that masked a slight British accent. Her twin sister, Dr. Dimple Sribiju, head of the Serology Department, followed close behind her, picking up any items that Tinsel toppled to the floor. Dimple was sniffling softly, her face tear-streaked.

"What the hell is going on?" Spike asked, placing a hand on Salafia's shoulder.

Dr. Dominick looked up at him and explained, "LaBianca has been on the warpath. She's fired half the staff."

"Including my sister," Tinsel fumed, "who has international accreditations in her field!"

Dimple proceeded to burst into fresh spate of tears.

"Oh shit," Spike took a breath, "I see a pink slip in my future."

"Maybe you shouldn't have locked her in cold storage that time," Dr. Dominick raised an eyebrow.

"That was completely and totally an accident-"

"Don't be daft," Tinsel kicked one of the filing cabinets, "She can't fire him. She's the Chief M.E.; she can fire us, but she can't get rid of the non-medical staff."

It was just then that Dr. LaBianca waltzed down the hallway, appearing abundantly happy, followed by a rather harrowed-looking bald man who Spike remembered to be Dr. Palaneck, director of the M.E.'s Office.

"Blanche, you are going to have everyone from city hall to S.I.D. coming down on your head," Dr. Palaneck warned her. "For God's sake, you've fired half the Histology Department, and the other half stormed out in protest! How do you expect us to function without any employees?"

Dr. LaBianca took an envelope from her lab-coat pocket and spoke as though she was talking to herself, "I've got one last thing to do." She handed it to Palaneck and continued, "This is my resignation. I got a much better offer." She turned to Spike and paused, "Oh, you're here? Good. Billy Idol, you're fired."

Salafia tried to calm the situation down, "Blanche, you don't have that authority-"

Barely being held back by her twin from scraping with LaBianca, Tinsel spat, "Come tomorrow everyone will have their jobs back once the Board of Supervisors sees how incompetent you've been, you stupid-."

Spike was stunned to see the normally calm and reserved staff behaving so hotheadedly. Dr. LaBianca had an expression of maniacal glee that a part of him envied. Middle-managament chaos was still doable with a soul, and Spike idly wondered if morgue janitor was his glass ceiling. Dr. LaBianca didn't appear to have a care in the world as brushed off the insults being thrown at her, and she thrust her resignation letter into Dr. Palaneck's hands as she practically danced down the corridor and out of the Pathology Wing, leaving everyone else in stunned silence.

"This is not good," Dr. Palaneck sighed, his hands shaking as he looked down at the envelope. "It could compromise a lot of cases if people think that the Chief Medical Examiner has lost her fucking mind... I've got to make some phone calls. A lot of phone calls."

Dr. Dominick nudged Spike with her shoulder as Palaneck jogged down the hall towards the administrative offices, "Come on, Will. I need your help in the morgue."

Throwing his duster over a chair and putting scrubs on over his clothing as well as donning a pair of safety glasses, Spike did his best to assist the diminutive Dr. Dominick, "I can see what you meant about being short-handed."

In the morgue, there were three bodies laid out and prepped for autopsy, one of which already had a Y-incision in it. The Doc explained that LaBianca had fired the other two pathologists and the exam assistants in the middle of their procedures, and she really needed Spike's help to continue her work on schedule. Salafia snapped on a pair of gloves, went over to the already cut cadaver, and instructed Spike to grab one of the morgue cameras and turn on the overhead dictation recorders. Spike had never been in the room in the middle of an autopsy before, but had to admit that he had been curious.

Retracting the skin and muscle over the breastplate, Dr. Dominick spoke clearly and authoritatively, "Dr. Salafia Dominick here. Assisting me is Will Pratt, a diener for L.A. county-"

"A diener?" Spike looked confused.

Salafia smiled, "It's a fancy way of saying you clean up the ooky stuff left by dead people... Technically, dieners do stuff you don't do, like prep the bodies, but for now it's a lot nicer and sounds more professional than calling you the janitor." She continued, "Once again noting subject is Edwinna Martin, 38 year old caucasian female. Shoulder-length blonde hair. Brown eyes. No tattoos or obvious outward physical characteristics. Found at a home, no external signs of trauma..."

With all the efficiency her years of experience afforded her, Dr. Dominick made quick work of separating the breastplate from the rest of the ribs and removing the organs for weighing and examination. Spike, taking a few photos as directed, watched carefully as Salafia emptied the stomach contents into a container for further testing.

"They can tell if there's a poison or something that killed her by testing that glop, right?" Spike inquired.

"Yeah, we can send this off along with blood and other tissue samples to Tox'," Salafia paused, "Well, what's left of Tox'."

"Can't believe the old bat actually snapped and sacked so many people," he replied, handing the Doc a Sharpie marker to make a few notes on the container of stomach fluid.

Salafia remarked with a shudder, "Honestly, I thought one day she'd just go after us all with a Stryker saw and stuff our heads into the breakroom freezer."

"You've put too much thought into that possibility," Spike turned his head momentarily, though he would never admit as much, as Salafia collected a sample of vitreous fluid from the ex-Ms. Martin's eyeball. Not much could make the century old vampire cringe, but poking an eye with a needle is never a pleasant scene.

"You would too if you had to work with her everyday," the Doc arranged the body block under the cadaver's neck. "I guess her "golden opportunity" is one for me too. Maybe the higher-ups will promote me at last..."

"So what exactly would be so golden to make her act like a right nutter?" he snapped a few photos of Salafia deep in the midst of cutting and folding back the body's scalp. She looked a lot older when she was working though it could have been just because of the face mask getting splattered with bits of bone as she turned on the electric saw to remove the skullcap of the deceased.

Dr. Dominick shrugged as she prepared to remove the corpse's brain, "I have no idea. She just kept talking about "moving up in the world" and getting the recognition she deserves. She's been acting weird for weeks ever since she's been hanging out with that blue-haired goth girl on her smoke breaks out in the parking lot."

Spike nearly dropped the camera as his head shot up. No.

"I've gotta go," Spike was already ripping off his scrubs and tossing them in the trash before Salafia could react.

"Whoa there, Peter Parker," the Doc looked stricken, hands full of brain and watching her only assistant leaving her, grabbing his leather jacket as he went. "Where are you going?!"

Halfway down the hall, Spike stopped and began to throw on his duster when he realized that the Doc was trying to follow him. She was struggling to shove her gloves and shoe-covers into the biohazard bin as she rushed after him.

"Look, I don't have time to explain, but let's just say that LaBianca is the kind of power-hungry person who might, hypothetically, be presented with having her body hollowed out to be used as a vessel by a demon god and misinterpret that for turning into a goddess herself and ruling over us all-" Spike realized that it was no coincidence that Illyria showed up when she did. She had been picking up her new shell, a shell that probably didn't fully understand what was going to happen to her.

"That is Gary Busey logic!" Salafia's voice was very high-pitched and frustrated as she followed him out into the parking garage.

Spike sucked in a breath in irritation as he saw that LaBianca's car was still in its assigned spot, "I told you I can't explain, but trust me... and let me borrow your hideous car."

"Hell no! I've left a body on the slab half-done, and you're not making any sense!"

Grabbing hold of Salafia's shoulders, Spike gave her a slight shake and said firmly, "Dr. LaBianca is going to die if you don't let me have your car so I can go find her before it's too late."

The Doc's eyes were wide beneath her cat's eye glasses, and she pulled out her car keys from her pocket, the little billiard ball keychain dangling between her fingers, "You can drive, but I'm coming with you."

Not having time to argue, Spike dragged her over to the disgustingly adorable pink VW Beetle. Mentally noting that normally he would rather let the Doc take a fluid sample from his eye than be caught driving her car, Spike grabbed the Doc's keys and got in.

"They've already got a head-start, and add that to the fact that we don't where they are going... We're so screwed," Spike revved the VW's engine in a not-very-intimidating way.

Driving with the gas pedal to the floorboard just to get the car many years past its prime over the speed limit, Spike tried to figure out where he was going while Dr. Dominick recounted how she had seen the mysterious blue-haired leather-clad woman hanging around the morgue for weeks. He thought he had Illyria pegged to the places he was sure she was lurking, but now he knew that she had, in all likelihood, been following him all the times he thought he'd been tailing her. All those worries that Spike had held that Illyria, in the search for a new host, would pick someone who was the exact opposite of Fred, finding a person without her consummate kindness to curb Illyria's desires with pesky things like empathy and love returned, and yet it made sense perhaps that in finding the Medical Examiner's Office, Illyria had found a comforting familiarity in the lab-coated physicians and technicians milling around. Ironically still, the only person that Illyria seemingly managed to snare with her siren song of infinite cosmic power appeared to be Dr. LaBianca, who was very far removed from the type of person Fred had been.

"So you're saying that a god killed your friend, took over her body, and nearly destroyed the world?" Salafia asked as Spike gave her a CliffNotes version of how Illyria came to be and the reason for his concern, gripping her seatbelt tightly as Spike took corners so fast that she feared the VW was going to list all the way over.

"Well, she didn't kill Fred specifically on purpose, but pretty much, yeah," Spike gritted his teeth as smoke rolled off the skin on his face as he drove through an area where sunlight shone directly between the buildings they went past.

Acting quickly, Salafia grabbed a large knapsack from her backseat and pulled out a set of spare clothing she kept in case of any blood seepage incidents during autopsies. She took an oversized t-shirt emblazoned with the phrase "Frankie Says Relax" and leaned over to shove it into the window as much as she could.

"Thanks, pet," Spike let out a shaky breath, "I'm beginning to think that my reputation as a tactician is going to take yet another blow... I don't know where I'm going."

"Is there anyone who might know where she would take Dr. LaBianca?" the Doc was looking rather freaked out. Salafia might have had some idea that there were otherworldly beings and hadn't repressed the time she and the rest of L.A. had been trapped in hell, but even with cleaning up the messes of what demons could do to a human body, she looked as though she would rather repress what was going on.

Spike snorted, "Anyone I could trust at this moment? No, not really."

"Well, then, Mr. Optimism, is there anyone who you might not trust but might still give you a straight up answer? Better pull out all the stops before you sizzle to death on my upholstery," Salafia's eyes squinched shut as Spike blew through two red lights, zipping down tight side streets like a bright pink comet.

Thinking it over for a moment, Spike smirked, "I'm going to apologize for sounding like a creeper, but could you reach into my right trouser pocket and grab out what's in there." The Doc gave him a rather incredulous look, and he tried to quell her suspicions, "Don't worry, I dress to the left, love. Just help me out here."

Dr. Dominick tentatively put her hand into Spike's pocket and fished out the small golden cross, "Not exactly what I was expecting."

"Turn it upside down and be prepared for some major weirdness," Spike instructed.

Inverting the cross, Salafia winced in fear of what might happen, "Is St. Peter going to show up?"

"Not even close," Spike whipped the VW Beetle into a precarious parking space, halfway on the sidewalk in front of a small Ethiopian restaurant. He called out, "Eligor! Get your armored ass down here!"

After only a split-second of baited breath, a slimy, glistening horse-hoof came smashing through the roof of car. The Doc screamed, pressing against the passenger side door, grasping for the door handle and trying to undo her safety belt at the same time.

"Snerd doesn't like to be out in the daylight. He's very sensitive to the sun," Eligor appeared suddenly in the backseat.

"I know the feeling," Spike frowned, turning around to face her. "Look, do you know where Illyria is going?"

"Yes," Eligor nodded her head, her lilac-colored hair brushing over her armored shoulders, "to Vahla Ha'nesh."

"That's where her palace is, right?" Spike's brow furrowed, "She had to open a portal to get there last time."

"And you'll be needing to open a portal to get there as well. Power far beyond a half-breed such as yourself," Eligor's large owlish eyes held a great deal of smugness as she said that.

"Thank goodness you've come then," Spike replied, not holding back any sarcasm.

Eligor smiled a fangy smile, "Me?"

Spike responded, "Yes, you. You approached me about Illyria, showed concern for what she was up to, and now you're going to help me find her and not be cryptic about it."

"As you wish," and Eligor vanished from the backseat only to reappear astride her great skeletal horse in front of the pink VW, "Northward!"

Following the ancient demon's lead, Spike drove close behind, ignoring the wild glances and honking horns as the passersby got a good look at the most ridiculous mouse-chases-cat race in the history of the world. He glanced over to Dr. Dominick, who had somehow slipped into the floorboard.

"Are you all right, Doc?" Spike asked.

Salafia looked up, her glasses askew, "She didn't have a nose..."

"You're absolutely right about that," Spike had the fear that he had driven the poor M.E. loopy.

"And her horse was made of bones..."

Spike good-naturedly offered, "Technically all horses are made of bones."

"I think my brain is broken."

"If you're aware enough to think that, then I think that you're okay."

Pulling herself back into the seat and refastening her seatbelt, Dr. Dominick said, "This is why I should have stayed on the East Coast."

Spike couldn't help but grin about that, "You're from back east? Eligor's from New Jersey."

Salafia made a strange noise and hunkered down in the passenger seat.

Soon, they were speeding down the Golden State Freeway, and not a single squad car moved to stop them with a skinless horse leading the pack. Spike figured that the cops chasing a demonic horse beats a white Ford Bronco in ratings on the local news stations but was liable to cause more panic than help. After about ten minutes, they had reached the Glendale area. From several car lengths ahead, Eligor motioned another turn as they neared a run-down strip of shops and office buildings. Spike had to admit, for being a demon god, Eligor really had a mastery of traffic hand signals.

Spike didn't have time to stop the car before Eligor opened a portal to Illyria's primordial kingdom of Vahla Ha'nesh in front of a dilapidated movie theatre. In a single wave of her hand with no incantation or preparation, the air visibly quivered, and into another space in time ventured a demon god on her ghastly horse and a vampire and a coroner inside of a Pepto-Bismol pink Volkswagon.

To be continued...