A/N: Caution, blatant squeeing ahead:

My story "Open All Night" is currently nominated at the Fang Fetish
Awards. "Furlough" has been nominated in the latest round of the Spuffy
Awards. "Detour" garnered some recognition at the Lost in Spike Awards,
Vampkiss Awards (Round 13) and Love's Last Glimpse Awards (Round 9).

Thank you to the readers who nominated my stories, the judges who agreed
to tackle a tough job, and the hard working people who maintain the
sites themselves. I am deeply grateful for the opportunity these
nominations provide to introduce my work to readers who have not read my
stories. Again, many thanks.


Title: And A Blonde Shall Lead Them
Author: kindred <alp@magma.ca>
Disclaimer: The characters from BtVS and AtS are the property of Joss
Whedon.
Rating: PG-13
Feedback: All comments are welcome.
Spoilers/Summary: AtS S5 Post "Smile Time" and then I scamper away from
strict canon astride my valiant battle bunny. A mysterious entity shakes
things up at Wolfram and Hart, fashionable anarchy ensues. Oh, and don't
judge a hero by her choice in footwear.



2.

"OUT OF MY WAY!" Harmony yelled at top speed as she maneuvered the
crowded corridor on her way to Angel's office. The hallways weren't
normally this congested but it was no coincidence that everyone just
happened to take a break at the same time to step outside his or her
office for a breath of air conditioned air. No, mystical news travels
fast and the grapevine at Wolfram and Hart was as shameless as it was
swift. In no time the building bristled with the news and the hallways
soon filled with employees trying to catch a glimpse of their newly
reconstituted boss. Angel was solid flesh again instead of a surly bolt
of synthetic textiles.

Harmony pushed by Wesley, Fred and Gunn as they exited the office and
scooted inside. She took one look at her boss and correctly surmised his
mood, black and somber. In addition, his stooped yet restored
six-foot-and-change world weariness meant one thing: situation normal.
Harmony subdued the tiny squeak of excitement that bubbled from her
throat, but only just. Angel was back and wearing his cranky pants,
which from her vantage looked a lot like a pair of automotive coveralls
from the company garage. He also looked like he'd been held in the jaws
of some enormous demon, chewed up and spit out. His hair was matted and
he needed a shower, but he just stood and stared into the room. It
didn't matter. Angel was back. Harmony shifted into mother hen mode
immediately.

"Come on in and put your feet up," Harmony soothed and guided him toward
his chair. She knew how to handle the kaleidoscope of his moods. "I'll
get you some blood...maybe a lumbar pillow or some ointment? That
scratch looks nasty."

"Whiskey, Harmony, and a glass, and then get out." Angel eased his way
onto his leather chair, wincing with discomfort as some of his more
intimate scratches protested.

"Sure thing boss. Gosh, I wouldn't have thought a herd of ferrets
capable of this much damage. You're like totally trashed."

"They're demons, Harmony," Angel clarified with gruff urgency. "Never
underestimate the cunning of a demon." He paused before adopting a
confidential tone to his voice. A furtive sideways glance toward the
door cemented the aura of secrecy. "The specifics of the mission are
classified."

"Right. Top secret. Gotcha." Classified company activities were pretty
much sacrosanct and Harmony was determined to follow protocol. Besides,
the less paper work she had to wrestle, the better.

"Let me say then that you are looking totally hot and tall now that
you're you again. I think you might even have gained an inch or two."
Harmony paused with her hands on her hips as she poured out her
supportive secretarial vibe. Puppet Angel was a demanding a boss, but
chasing after him, stooped over with a crayon and papers to sign was
doing nothing good for Harmony's posture. Perhaps now that Angel was
more himself she could stop transcribing the craft corner segments from
the first four years of "Smile Time". Excessive keyboard action was hell
on her manicure.

"Harmony--"

"And let me set the record straight. I never thought Puppet-you was
creepy at all. Static cling issues aside, you were plain old adorable
and when you got your grrr on? Gosh, that was the cutest thing ever!"

"Oh, for crying out loud, it was a spell," Angel complained. "It's not
like I wanted that to happen. Who would want that to happen?" It had
been a trying day and showed no signs of letting up. "People really
thought I was creepy?" That was one piece of information Angel could
have done without.

At least his employees managed to keep their prejudices to themselves.
Well, mostly. As ever, Spike was the exception. Angel did take pride in
the fact that he had been able to maintain his dignity throughout his
unwanted ordeal. He had also been more than able to hold his own against
Spike despite the extreme size and weight differential between them. As
the unexpected underdog, Angel soon discovered that gnawing on the soft
expanse of a vulnerable calf equalized matters tidily.

"Well, you know those water cooler snakes," Harmony shrugged. "People
are cruel. Somebody should do something about that." She gathered up the
monster trucks coloring book and the "I Can Draw It By Myself" giant
doodle pad from Angel's desk and tucked them under her arm.

"You can leave now."

"Let me get your booze."

"Fine." Angel sighed in defeat. He didn't want to move or think or
interact in any manner approaching civilized. Harmony grabbed a bottle
of Irish whiskey and a heavy crystal glass and set them down in front of
him.

"You sit and be yourself, boss. Don't worry about a thing. I'll
reschedule all your appointments." Appointments. That's what Angel was
forgetting. There was a business to run; Ts to cross and Is to dot and
page after endless page of numbers to make sense of, not to mention the
stacks of projects to evaluate, approve and review. Every day was a
blizzard of blather to make sense of and keep in check. In his current
state he was in no condition to make any decisions about anything. He
needed several stiff drinks and then a shower.

"Is there anything pressing?"

"Nope, not a thing," Harmony casually picked up neon markers and crayons
from Angel's pen caddy. "The budget meeting can easily be put off until
tomorrow and trade negotiations with those hovering guys have been
postponed until their traditional whatsits emerges from his chrysalis,
so everything's good. You just kick back and relax."

"Unh," Angel grunted and poured himself a healing quantity of alcohol.

"You're done with my glue, right? Because I kinda need it back." Harmony
held up a slim container of razzle-dazzle glue she'd loaned Angel when
he had need of it for an arts and crafts project.

"Done." Angel closed his eyes and nodded. He looked more dejected than
normal.

"Care for a foot massage? I've got this new Shiatsu video. It's--"

"Get out, Harmony."

"All righty, then. You look set for some serious me time. I'll keep the
rabble from bursting through your--"

"NOW!"

Harmony finally got the message and trotted out of the office with a
smile on her face. Angel sat in silence for a good minute before he
heard the door open again.

"For crying out loud, Harmony--" Angel looked up to see Spike standing
in front of him. "What?" He sounded pissed off but his heart wasn't in
it.

"It's true, you're back." It was odd to see Angel once again overflowing
his chair with his feet planted firmly on the carpet. Spike genuinely
warmed up to the puppet persona and would miss him. When would he ever
get the chance to hang Angel up on a coat hook again?

"Crack observation skills there, Spike."

"So, everything's back to broody? Uh, have you checked all your parts,
Angel? Made sure they reconfigured in the right spots?" Instead of a
snappy retort, Angel growled and downed his glass of whiskey before
filling it again. He thought momentarily of throwing his "Viva Las
Vegas" paperweight at Spike's head but Angel really didn't want a Spike
shaped chip in one of his prized knick-knacks.

"What are you doing here?"

"Heard the buzz, thought I'd give you a look see." Spike glanced toward
the door and saw streams of people trying to peek through the glass
partitions. Harmony swept back and forth, herding the curious throng
back toward their offices. "Seemed like the thing to do." When he
received no verbal response, Spike leaned casually against the side of
Angel's desk and began spinning the glass paperweight between his
fingertips. It made a faint whirring sound against the polished desk
surface. Errant fingerprints on Angel's sparkly bits brought out the
compulsive in him. With a lightning reflex, Angel grabbed the besieged
object and held it protectively in his fist.

"You know, I think I prefer you as a puppet," Spike took in a deep
breath as he scanned for something else to play with. "Honestly, your
head was a far more pleasing shape." Angel snatched up his pen just as
Spike zeroed in on it.

"What do you want?" Angel didn't feel at all accommodating. Spike
usually had a reason for his visits and this one would be over as soon
as that reason was revealed. "I thought you were busy with your hero
thing. Trolling back alleys for co-eds who've taken a misstep? Putting
them back on the straight and narrow."

"That's right. I'm doing my thing. My hero thing."

"And the reason you're here pestering me is?"

"Need a spot of cash is all." There it was, the reason. Hell, that was
always the reason. "And maybe a car. I know you have an exclusive thing
with the Viper, so I was thinking about the Mustang?" Spike tried to
appear nonchalant, but he really needed a car and the money would come
in handy too. Deep down, Spike knew Angel enjoyed playing the role of
Big Daddy and as long as Spike milked that juicy vein, he'd be in smokes
and booze to his heart's content.

"What makes you think I'm going to give you money or a car?" Angel set
down the items, folded his arms and set a disapproving scowl on his
face. He would have been more intimidating if he hadn't been wearing ill
fitting mechanic's coveralls.

"Because I came in and bloody well asked nicely instead of nickin' 'em,
which was my first instinct and now that I think of it, I probably
should have done that instead."

"You don't need a fast car to do good deeds, Spike."

"I know that, but it looks good and it helps with the PR side of
things."

"PR?" Angel sputtered in disbelief.

"I was thinking about putting out a shingle and advertising and that got
me thinking of a name, but nothing too obvious."

"What are you talking about? A name? That went out with Robin Hood and
men in tights. Or was that what you were thinking?"

"No!" Spike grumbled. "Well, yeah. But no tights. And no silly hats or
band of merry men because I do better with a mysterious solo vibe, more
like the Shadow and not some kind of men's communion, drum banging squad
of nancies."

"Spike."

"What? I'm not knockin' your pep squad thing."

"I'll give you twenty dollars if you'll go away." Angel pulled his
wallet from a side drawer in the desk and opened it.

"Twenty? How can I begin to fight the good fight on twenty bucks?" Spike
craned his neck to see the amount of cash in Angel's wallet.

"Improvise!" Angel snapped. "That's what real heroes do!"  Evidently
Spike had gleaned nothing from the puppet scenario. Angel may have been
machine washable on the delicates cycle and barely three feet tall but
he still vanquished enemies and signed the paychecks. Angel held his
tongue. Why did he even try?

It wasn't like Spike would come up with a viable business plan. No, this
was another of Spike's ridiculous conceits. He wasn't going to make a go
of anything. He'd talk it up until he lost interest and then move along
to something else equally implausible. Imagine the nerve; Spike
advertising his services as a hero. He couldn't even come up with an
original idea. It made Angel's dead blood boil.

"I have stuff to do. You're leaving." Angel commanded, handing Spike a
few twenties.

"And the car?"

Angel flung a set of keys at Spike. "Bring it back with a full tank of
gas."

"You give hope to the anally retentive, you know that, Angel?"

"Get out."

"I'm going." Spike pushed through the office door only to be confronted
by an irate and flustered Harmony.

"How the hell did you get in there? Angel is not to be disturbed. You
better not have disturbed him. He's a very important vampire--"

"Who used to be a very important puppet," Spike interrupted smoothly.
"Say Harm, did you check out his eyebrows? They look off, somehow. Could
that have been a glitch in the mojo, you think?"

"What?" The sound of a ringing phone pulled Harmony back to her desk. As
Spike meandered down the hallway Harmony craned her neck to spy on Angel
through the glass partitions. His eyebrows looked perfectly fine but
something else suddenly struck her as a little askew.

"Wolfram and Hart. You've reached Angel's nose, Harmony speaking..."


tbc...