Chapter 3: Small Victories
“You can’t still be serious about this,” ADA Robin Wood pleaded as he and his former assistant entered the courtroom for the bail hearing. As usual, this courtroom was like a zoo, uniformed officers funneling handcuffed prisoners in the direction of their attorneys while the overworked judge listened with a rapidly growing headache to lawyers squabbling over bail amounts. “Think of your career.”
Elizabeth gave him a pointed look and began ticking off the points on her fingers. “One: The Trick case is on continuance until this trial is resolved. Two: I have two months’ overtime saved up. Three: I’ve taken pro bono cases before without consequence. Four: Even if you do threaten to fire me, I’m still not giving this one up.” She scanned the bustle of the room and spotted the head of a tall bailiff leading a familiar peroxide head.
Wood let out a weary sigh. “You’re not fired,” he assured her. “But.we’ve got this guy!” he insisted for the umpteenth time.
Elizabeth raised a skeptical eyebrow. “And, according to your theory of the crime scene.what? William shot Worth wearing gloves – since he didn’t have gun powder marks on his hands, ran back outside to put the gun in his car, removed his gloves so that he could put his fingerprints on the murder weapon, disposed of the gloves in some way so that the police’s ten block canvas of the area couldn’t find them, then ran back upstairs to hover over the body and wait to get caught?” A sarcastic snort followed this assessment, and she waved to the bailiff to bring Spike over.
“That’s not our theory, and you know it,” Wood retorted.
“That’s the way the physical evidence works,” Elizabeth pointed out reasonably. “Now, unless you need me for anything, I’ve got a client to tend do.”
Wood merely shook his head, and Elizabeth dashed off, pushing her way through the onlookers to get to Spike.
He looked relieved to see her, and they managed to get two seats in the back of the room while they waited for their docket to come up.
“How are you doing?” Elizabeth asked softly, taking in the dark circles under his eyes.
He managed a wry laugh. “A word to the wise, luv. Stay outta prison. ‘S like livin’ in hell.”
Elizabeth’s hand squeezed his knee reassuringly. “I’ll just get you out on bail, and then we can get these ridiculous charges dropped,” she decided. “Then you won’t ever have to go back.”
He managed a wry chuckle. “Ever the optimist, eh?”
She smiled at him. “Always,” she agreed.
“Docket Number 415,” a nasal voice announced over the bustle of the courtroom.
“That’s us,” Elizabeth rose to her feet, Spike following only a few seconds later. They approached the defense table just as a pair of teenagers accused of armed robbery were led away.
“Docket Number 415, the People versus William Albrook. Charge of murder in the second degree.”
“How does the defendant plead?” Judge Baker inquired, peering over the wire rims of his glasses.
“Not guilty,” Spike insisted vehemently.
Judge Baker sighed. “Right. Bail? Tell me all about it, counselors.”
“The People request the defendant be remanded without bail,” Wood said firmly.
“Your Honor!” Elizabeth protested vehemently. “The prosecution themselves can’t even decide what my client did. They’ve listed every lesser charge they could get – man one, man two-“
“I need a bail amount for manslaughter,” Judge Baker agreed with Elizabeth.
“We believe this client is a flight risk,” Wood insisted. “He has joint US citizenship-“
“With Great Britain,” Elizabeth interjected. “My client’s perfectly willing to surrender his passport. And I’d like to point out this is the first charge that’s ever been raised against him. My client’s from a well-respected family – that includes two of your fellow judges back in England. He runs a private business and has strong ties to the community.”
“Doesn’t sound like much of a flight risk to me, either,” Judge Baker agreed, eyeing Spike speculatively. “Although we’ll be taking that passport. Now, will the People please suggest an amount so that we can move on?”
“One million.”
“For a possible manslaughter case?!” Elizabeth screeched, outraged.
“Already ahead of you on that, Ms. Summers,” Judge Baker assured her. “Since the prosecution isn’t providing any reasonable suggestions in the matter, I’m setting bail at one hundred thousand, cash or bond. Next?”
Elizabeth and Spike both breathed audible sighs of relief. “You can handle that?” she inquired softly.
“‘ll have to put up the agency,” he agreed, “but yeah.”
Elizabeth nodded before they stepped aside to let the wheels of justice continue turning. “Good thing Walter’s so reasonable,” she gestured to Judge Baker as they approached one of the clerks to begin making arrangements.
“I forgot,” Spike teased lightly, the elation that he actually got to go home tonight brightening the somber mood he’d been in ever since he’d been arrested, “all you lawyer types know each other.”
Elizabeth grimaced. “He plays tennis with my dad. You’re lucky he didn’t order you skinned alive.”
Spike laughed at that and sorted through the papers Elizabeth had brought to arrange his bail. “Still after my hide, is he?”
“Especially when he found out I was defending you,” Elizabeth agreed, catching sight of Wood leaving down the hallway out of the corner of her eye. “Can you handle this by yourself? I’ve got to go see what the hell my partner in crime-fighting thinks he’s doing.”
He nodded her off, and Elizabeth managed to jostle her way through the crowd, finally catching up with Wood right as he was leaving the building.
“You wanna tell me what that was about?” she demanded pointedly.
Wood sighed. “Look,” he began apologetically, “your ex is the only lead we’ve got on the Trick case now that our witness is dead.”
“I guess that would explain why you’ve slapped this case together in only two weeks. Except you’ve got the slight problem that William wasn’t the one who killed your witness,” Elizabeth pointed out. “You got the same police report I did. That gun’s been involved in half a dozen homicides over the last decade. You’re looking for a mob hitman here.”
“And Spike’s not.” Wood trailed off pointedly.
“I can personally provide him with an airtight alibi for the ’97 shooting,” she informed him with a roll of her eyes. “William’s not your guy.”
“And you remember all this from seven years ago?” Wood said skeptically.
“It was a very memorable night,” Elizabeth insisted with a hint of a blush.
Wood looked away at that. “That doesn’t mean you know him now,” he pointed out gently.
“I know him,” Elizabeth insisted softly. “I know him better than anyone else ever will.”
“Well, either you’re completely wrong or all the evidence is,” Wood countered. He hailed a cab, and it pulled to the curb beside him. He cast one look up at the cloudy sky and pulled up his jacket collar. “Looks like rain.”
Elizabeth merely nodded. “I’ve got a case to get back to,” she informed him.
“And I would wish you luck, but.” He shrugged. “It’s easier on the DA’s office if your William just takes the fall.” With a parting wave, he hopped in that cab and drove off.
Elizabeth stood on the curb for a second and took a deep breath to calm herself, pulling her jacket more tightly around her shoulders against the crisp October air, before she returned to the courthouse.
A softly smiling Spike met her in the main hallway.
“Enjoying your freedom?” she asked lightly as they walked together back outside.
“Too much,” he agreed. “Better keep me this way, pet. ‘m all spoiled to it now.”
She laughed. “Don’t worry. I’ve bought myself all the time I need to work on the defense.”
“Boss actually gave you your vacation, huh?” he commented, holding the door for her.
“He’s not half as nasty in real life as he is in the courtroom,” Elizabeth agreed.
Spike held his tongue and his rage. He may not have stuck with the lawyer gig, but he still had enough ins in the community that he’d heard all the rumors about the steamy affair that prick was supposedly having with his girl. “Right,” he grumbled, shoving his fisted hands into the leather pockets of his duster.
Elizabeth turned and eyed him critically. “Trial date’s already set for later this month,” she pointed out. “Which means we’re going to need to prepare fast.”
“Can lend my personal investigative services,” he agreed.
Elizabeth frowned. “You bloody well will not,” she scolded, unknowingly using his own terminology. “Your face is going to be all over the news. We don’t need-“
He let out an exasperated sigh. “Right, right,” he cut her off. “But my partner called, and he’s not gonna be left outta this.”
“Fine,” Elizabeth conceded. “Let him try to track down the gun. But we’ve,” she looked at Spike askance and shook her head, “got to get you fit for trial. And I hate to break it to you, but if you don’t want the jury to hang you on sight, the Billy Idol look’s gotta go.”
“Oi!” He exclaimed in outrage, clutching at the coat lovingly.
“Not in the courtroom,” she insisted. “And we’ll hafta dye your hair back. I’m sure you remember all those lectures on how important professional appearance is to a jury.”
“Shoulda known you were after my hair,” he retorted, sulking at the logic of her point. “Always were tryin’ to give me makeovers.”
* * *
William yawned and shifted uncomfortably in the hard library chair before shaking his head and returning to the task before him.
Buffy glanced up at his movements and smiled. She’d come to learn through working with him that he was surprisingly impatient – never able to sit still and work on something for more than five minutes before getting up and pacing. He claimed it facilitated thought. Buffy was convinced he just got bored easily. But, with Willow and Cordelia researching in the library with them, he obviously didn’t want to start stamping around the room. In fact, at first he’d been hesitant to do so even when it was just the two of them.
William watched as Buffy yawned as well, and a slight flush lit up his cheeks at the memory of just why she was so tired today. Last night. Well, their ‘date’ had been unlike anything he’d ever experienced before. Nightclubs weren’t really his thing, but when Buffy had so excitedly insisted they go to one, he hadn’t been able to refuse that radiant smile of hers.
They’d just settled down to eat when Buffy’s friends had shown up – the two studying with them right now, along with their significant others. It had fast turned into some sort of triple date, although the loser Cordelia had brought in – Was Derek his name? Or Devon maybe? – had been a complete non-entity, obviously there for Cordelia’s often overstated pleasure. Willow’s girlfriend Tara had been sweet, though – a shy student working on her Ph.D. in Literature – and she and William had spent most of the night debating whether all American poetry should be flushed down the toilet.
But the thing that struck him most about the evening was his companion. Buffy treated him like no one else ever had – like he was fun to be with and funny and attractive, a far cry from the complete loser he’d been most of his life. And the way she looked when she laughed and when she danced. Absolutely beautiful.
With a wistful sigh and a shake of his head, William returned to the incredibly boring transcripts before him.
Buffy looked up at the sound and sighed at the sight of the absolutely delicious young man, long bangs tumbled over his forehead and glasses in danger of falling off as he read the documents before him. She imagined brushing his hair back gently, caressing his face, before she planted a soft kiss on his brow, and.
“Buffy!” Cordelia’s voice sounded louder the second time.
“Huh?” Buffy started abruptly, rudely shaken from her wonderful fantasy.
“I asked if you wanted me to get you anything from the vending machines,” Cordelia repeated with a roll of her eyes. It was all too clear where her friend’s mind had been. What she couldn’t comprehend was why someone as popular and attractive as Buffy would even give William the time of day, let alone drool over him like he was the saltiest piece of goodness she’d ever seen.
“Oh, um, no thanks,” Buffy stuttered, blushing at being caught in the act. William was giving her the most curious look, like he was wondering why she was so flustered at the simple question. “I’m good.” She flashed Cordy a bright smile.
Cordelia just nodding slowly, the lengthy “riiiiight” clearly indicated in her expression. “Wills?”
“Get me whatever salty cheese snack they’ve got,” Willow’s voice emerged from the piles of books surrounding her. “Oh, and can you fill up my water bottle?” A hand rose over the rim of the literary mountain, waving the aforementioned object.
Cordy took it from her and then rolled her eyes at the last member of their little research group. “What about the stump? Does he want anything?” she demanded in a bored manner.
Buffy’s anger flared and her jaw dropped at her friend’s rudeness. She half rose, a gasp escaping her lips, fully prepared to chew out this bitch that dared insult William to his face.
However, William beat her to it, his large hand grasping her elbow and silencing her. “Don’t bother, pet. Can’t blame the Prom Queen for thinking men’re nothing but blocks of wood. You saw her date last night.”
Cordelia’s cheeks flamed in response, and she began an indignant sputter.
“Besides, the wood’s the only part you’re interested in, am I right?” William added with an evil little smile.
Cordelia, flustered beyond belief, managed to sputter out a “Jerk!” before making a strategic retreat to the vending machines.
William, meanwhile, froze for a second before realizing that, oh shit, he really had just said those thoughts aloud. His cheeks flamed a bright red when he noticed the way Buffy and Willow were both staring at him, jaws dropped.
“Er, that is I.I’m sorry, I didn’t mean.” he began apologetically, stuttering horribly and not daring to look at either of them. He hastily scrambled for his books. “I-I’ll just go, and-“
A giggle cut him off.
He looked up in surprise to see Buffy, right hand covering her mouth and desperately trying to contain her mirth. He frowned for a second, baffled, before she finally let out her laughter.
“You out-snarked the Bitch Queen!” Buffy announced in delight, still letting out delighted peals of laughter. “Too, too funny!”
Willow was giggling as well by now. “Did you see the look on her face? I haven’t seen anyone get her that good since college.”
It took William a second to absorb the fact that they were actually laughing. At something he’d said. “I-I really didn’t mean.” he let out one final protest.
“Don’t worry about it,” Buffy assured him with a soft smile that sent all the blood in his body rushing south at dangerous speeds. “Cordy needs someone to knock her down a peg or two every so often.”
“I.” He was left completely speechless. Acceptance was not something he was used to. “I really should go. I’ve finished the 8-14 transcripts and.”
Buffy caught that he was feeling a bit flustered and nodded in agreement. “My brain was going numb from sitting in this place all afternoon, anyway,” she announced, rising with him. She looked at the gray cement interior of the study room they’d procured in the library basement and shuddered. “Why don’t I help you get the rest of those files, and we can maybe catch lunch?” she asked hopefully.
“Uh, sure.” An equally hopeful look lit up his eyes. “Only I really should apologize to Cordelia.” he added hesitantly.
Willow waved him away. “She’ll have forgotten about it by the time she comes back,” she assured him. “Some other disaster will have struck her by then. But I’ll tell her for you if you want me to.”
“Please,” William agreed before heading nervously from the study room.
Buffy moved to follow him, but Willow held her back for a second.
“You’re right,” the redhead said with a wink. “He is cute.”
Buffy merely blushed and smiled before running after her partner.
Cordelia didn’t even cast the departing pair a look when she returned to the table, resplendent with salty treat, in a panic. “Willow, help!” she gasped out breathlessly. “One of those physics nerds has the same purse I do!”
Willow merely nodded and returned to her studying. Cordelia’s latest crisis was right on schedule.
* * *
“So,” Buffy sat down on the park bench and rested her briefcase on the ground beside her. “Do you want November or December?”
“I thought we were returning to the library,” William commented curiously, stopping before her and accepting one of the folders they’d retrieved from his spacious brownstone apartment.
Buffy plopped her own work down in her lap and snatched up a pen. “C’mon, I know you’re sick to death of that library,” she retorted with a knowing smile. “Besides, it’s beautiful out here.” She gestured to the little arbor that surrounded them.
He shrugged and sat beside her, focusing intently on the cover of the manila file folder.
“What’s with the moody?” Buffy asked curiously, nibbling on the tip of her pen. “You’re not still freaked about the Cordy thing?”
He sighed. “Just try not to lose my temper like that usually,” he confessed.
Buffy smiled at him. “Yeah, well, you’ve just got to let those things out every now and again,” she assured him. “Especially when you’ve got comebacks like that one.” She underlined a portion of text. “Knew you had a sense of humor in you.”
The edges of his own lips twitched upwards slightly at that as well. “Someone had to tell the bint off sooner or later,” he shrugged.
Buffy snickered. “Watch yourself. You sooo don’t want to get into a war of words with Cordy.”
“I can take her,” he insisted with a little grin.
“Oh, really?” Buffy gave him a skeptical look and sat the file down beside her. She’d never seen the playful side of William before, but she was liking it. And somewhere deep inside, she’d instinctively known that they’d hit it right off as soon as he let himself open up to her.
“Just stare at her hair like there’s something mildly distasteful about it, and watch her run off to the bathroom to check it,” he responded with a sly grin.
“Oh my god, you are so evil,” Buffy laughed.
A soft chuckle escaped his lips as well, and he slouched back against the bench comfortably. The brief thought struck him at how odd it was that he felt so at ease with a woman this attractive, but he quickly pushed it to the side. “Not if I can help it,” he assured her.
“Then why are you in law school?” she teased.
He groaned. “God, you sound like my dad.”
“Really? ‘Cause I thought I sounded exactly like my dad.”
“Lawyer?” he inquired.
“Of course,” she agreed with a roll of her eyes.
“You get the lectures about how you have to be cutthroat, too?”
“While getting yelled at all the time for arguing back,” she added.
He sighed. “A grand life, isn’t it?”
“But at least we all turn into socially dysfunctional adults who perpetuate the birth of new little lawyers,” Buffy agreed. And then blushed. The sudden image of creating little lawyers with the man beside her had popped into mind, and certain of the intervening steps had been rather appealing.
He snickered at that. “That why you’re here, then?” he asked curiously. “The family business and all that rot?”
“Actually I’m here to save the world,” she countered coyly.
“Oh?” A well-sculpted eyebrow rose at that. “Do tell?”
“Well, it’s just.I want to help people, help keep them safe. And since I’m a bit short to take up the police of things,” she shrugged, “I’ll settle for locking the bad guys away.”
“Ah, an idealist lawyer then,” he teased.
“You’re not an idealist?” she countered.
He shrugged. “No room to be anything with dad breathing down my neck all the time.”
She bit her lip apologetically. “I know what you mean. I’ve had to scream to be heard myself.”
“I settled a bit more for staying quiet and out of the way,” he admitted hesitantly.
“Yeah, well,” Buffy countered with an affectionate smile, “you’re brilliant at the whole lawyer thing, so joke’s on him, right?” On the bench beside him, her hand cautiously reached over to brush his knee.
He didn’t pull back from the warm caress. “Guess so,” he agreed with a little gulp. The way she was looking at him was doing the strangest things to him. Suddenly, he felt strong, powerful, desirable. Thoughts of catching her up in his arms weren’t being counteracted by the usual embarrassment and insecurity. He leaned forward, and.
A drop of rain hit him right on the tip of the nose.
And then another fell and another, and soon the pair of them were squealing and scrambling to bury their folders safely in the protection of their briefcases. The park suddenly became the worst place to be as the sudden cloudburst drenched them.
William grabbed an abandoned newspaper from the bench across from them, and they both held it over their heads in a poor imitation of an umbrella as they ran for the nearest shelter. The first thing they came across was a wooden gazebo, and they gratefully escaped the rain in the small structure. It was the sort where the white planks left wide gaps in the roof, but vines had been planted around it, providing a limited cover of greenery. Still, it wasn’t entirely dry.
“Please tell me we saved everything in time,” Buffy requested, sitting on the hexagonal wooden bench that rested at the center of the structure and then inching over towards William a bit when she found that one of the many drips in their partial roof was landing right on her shoulder.
“I’ve got copies if anything got wet,” he assured her, peeling off his tweed jacket and grimacing. “Would offer you my jacket for the cold, but.” He flung the wet garment down onto the bench and sat beside her. The entire world appeared to be in a haze until he realized that his glasses had just steamed up. “The weather hates me,” he concluded, removing the spectacles and placing them in his jacket pocket. One hand pushed the damp hair off his forehead, slicking it back.
Buffy’s mouth suddenly went dry. The incredibly handsome man she’d only seen hints of was suddenly before her in all his glory. The glasses had drawn attention away from the razor’s edges of his cheekbones, and the lenses had obscured the brilliant blue of his eyes. The somewhat silly mop of hair was minimized by the rain. And the body. The white button-up shirt he’d worn beneath the tweed was equally wet and clung to a leanly muscled physique beyond any of her wildest fantasies. She gulped as he plucked at the thin wet fabric that was stuck to an absolutely scrumptious looking pectoral and longingly followed the trail of one droplet of rain as it ran under his collar to caress the skin beneath.
William saw her shiver again and promptly misinterpreted the reason behind it, venturing to reach over and rub one of her arms for warmth. His own eyes were desperately avoiding where her own wet clothing was clinging to her slight form, and he had to consciously keep himself from moaning whenever he saw her wet flesh.
“W-Warmer?” he asked hesitantly, venturing to look her in the eyes.
She nodded dumbly, still staring at him with wonder. “You should wear your hair like that,” she decided with a gulp. “M-Maybe cut it a bit, too.”
William had, at that moment, been debating the pros and cons of kissing her. As a result, her comment seemed like the most ridiculous non sequitur he’d ever heard. “Bloody hell, Buffy,” he exclaimed. “You’re giving me a makeover?!”
A smile twitched at the edges of her lips at that. She was sort of starting to like snarky William. His eyes darted down to her mouth in response, but he didn’t move in further. C’mon, Buff, her inner voice cheered her on. He’s all shy and stuff. This is sooo your move.
She leaned forward slowly so that her body now brushed the strong length of his and oh-so-gently brushed her lips up against his. Her eyelids fluttered closed as she held the kiss for a few seconds before she moved to pull back.
William’s eyes had widened, shocked beyond imagining when she’d kissed him, but now he belatedly realized that she was stopping. He quickly leaned back into her, reasserting their lips’ contact and slipping his arms around her to deepen their kiss.
Buffy whimpered against him, and her hands came up to twine in his damp hair, holding him to her more tightly, her tongue teasing his lips now and begging entry.
His mouth opened against hers, and their tongues quickly met and danced. Buffy’s guided at first, the more experienced of the two, but William’s was a fast learner, and soon they were equals in their passionate struggle.
So absorbed were they both that neither noticed when the rain stopped and the sky cleared above them, nor would they notice for another hour. At that moment, the world encompassed only the two of them.
* * *
And William walked into the law library the next day, brown hair cropped into short, stylish curls that he’d slicked back, wearing black jeans and a white button-up with rolled up sleeves that bared his powerful forearms and the top two buttons unfastened to show off a bit of the hard muscle beneath, and glasses nowhere in sight.
Buffy couldn’t help but snicker when Cordelia’s jaw dropped and the other woman began drooling uncontrollably at the salty goodness that had been hiding in a nerd’s disguise. “Do you need a towel?” she teased her friend lightly before getting up to brush a soft kiss across William’s cheek.
* * *
“Always after the hair,” Spike grumbled.
“Actually,” Elizabeth informed him with a sly smile, “I kind of like the platinum look.”
He raised one skeptical eyebrow at that. “Weren’t so thrilled when I first dyed it,” he reminded her.
“Yeah, but it’s grown on me since then. I think it’s kinda sexy,” she admitted, cheeks reddening slightly before she turned serious once more. “But it still has to go.”
He groaned. “Not brown,” he insisted vehemently.
“Fine. Pick whatever color you want. Just make sure it looks natural.”
“Black?” he ventured.
“Where, oh where, did your black fetish come from?” she teased lightly before eyeing him critically. “Black will work,” she concluded.
He breathed a sigh of relief before a leer curved the edges of his lips. “Think the platinum’s sexy, do you?” he practically purred.
Elizabeth felt her body respond to his tone but forced the reaction down. “Okay, Mister I Just Spent the Last Two Days In Jail And Need Sleep, here’s your cab.” She placed a hand on the center of his back and guided him toward the open car door.
“Prison’s lackin’ some other.comforts, as well,” he replied, his voice dripping innuendo as he looked her up and down.
Elizabeth sighed, and the first drops from the storm-head above fell to the pavement around them. For a second, they created the strange illusion that she was back in law school and those succulent lips had still to be tasted. She shook the notion off.
“Good-bye, William,” she said, turning professional once more. “We’ll meet Tuesday to discuss our plan of attack.”
With a shrug he climbed into the cab, slamming the door behind him. Elizabeth watched the car until it rounded a corner and escaped her view before quickly hailing another. The rain had picked up a bit of the chill in the October air, and suddenly she was left feeling cold and very alone.