AUTHOR: Kelso
FEEDBACK: [email protected]
SPOILERS: "Smile Time"
RATING: Part 1 is PG. Rating could change in later parts.
SUMMARY: I loved the Angel-puppet in "Smile Time," and I got to thinking what would happen if Spike was turned into a puppet. I decided he would go to visit Buffy, thinking she would never realize it was actually him, and plan to sneak away before she could figure out the truth. Spike's plans usually don't work out quite like he expects....
WEBSITE: see my author profile for the link. I have B/A(us), B/S, and miscellaneous stories there.
DISCLAIMER: "Buffy" and "Angel" characters belong to Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, etc.
*****
SpikePuppet 1/?
What was a bored, purposeless, ensouled vampire to do with his time? Spike couldn't come up with a whole lot of options.
He'd taken to hanging out at Wolfram & Hart at all hours, hoping at least to irritate Angel and make his existence count for something. Besides, he knew the gang had all sorts of fascinating secret items hidden away that they didn't want him to set eyes on. For instance, equipment relating to the whole Angel!Puppet incident.
He'd caught sight of Wesley and Gunn shoving boxes related to that fiasco into a storage room when they'd thought no one was paying attention. Considering that he really had nothing better to do, early one morning before sunrise was even a whisper in the sky, Spike jimmied the lock on that same room's door and went snooping.
At first glance, the contents of the room didn't seem very interesting. A jumble of boxes lay heaped in the near corner; Spike spotted a puppet arm sticking out of one. Another box contained a set of alphabet blocks, a carton of crayons, an Etch-a-Sketch, and various other toys. Surely this junk wasn't important enough to hide away, but Spike figured that just meant he hadn't yet hit the motherlode.
He continued to dig around, and then he saw it: a trunk in the back of the room, obscured by a dark cloth draped over the top. The good stuff must be hidden inside it. Spike darted across the room, flipped back the blanket, and raised the lid of the trunk.
It happened very quickly. A stunning white light seared his eyes, and the force of it sent him stumbling backward until he lost his balance and fell.
For a few moments Spike lay on his back, feeling surprisingly weak. Then, as he regained his strength, he braced his right hand on the floor and began to sit up. He froze. Something was seriously wrong. He looked down at his hand. His felt hand. His felt hand that now had only three fingers and a thumb.
It looked like Puppet!Angel's hand.
Cautiously, Spike reached up to touch his face. He still had a nose, but it was soft and squishy and, yes, detachable. He had two detachable eyebrows as well (the left one even felt like it had the telltale scar scored through it). All of his parts, in fact, were there--except for the mysteriously absent fingers, but judging from Puppet!Angel's appearance, that lack was normal.
Spike had to face the truth--like Angel, he had been turned into a puppet.
As it turned out, he found himself more curious than concerned. He would doubtless be himself again before too long. After all, Angel had changed back to normal after being stuck as a puppet for three days. Spike had hoped the condition might prove permanent, but no such luck, since Wesley and Fred had apparently discovered a cure. If Angel could be fixed, so could Spike.
Though being a puppet did appear to have some advantages, he mused. For instance, Puppet!Angel had been able to go out into the sunlight with no ill effects, and he'd had a reflection.
Curiosity burned more brilliantly inside Spike. He wondered what, exactly, he looked like in his new form. The more he wondered, the more he had to know. He made another effort to stand up and test his legs. This time, he succeeded. His center of gravity significantly altered, he swayed for a moment before adjusting. Then, with steps that started out tentative but became bolder, he walked out of the room.
A bathroom lay 20 feet down the hall. Spike clumped over to it, shoved open the door, and faced the mirror--only to find that at approximately three feet tall, he was too short to see into it. Undaunted, he grabbed the edge of the sink and pulled himself up to precariously balance on the rim, right in front of the mirror.
He was pleased to see that his puppety appearance was far more appealing than Angel's. He thought he looked both sinister and dashing, from his mop of platinum hair to his bright blue eyes to his trademark duster.
After a suitable interval of mirror-gazing, Spike turned his thoughts to another subject. He might make an attractive puppet, but he couldn't stay that way forever. He'd have to go to Angel and ask to be changed back.
No. Scratch that thought. He'd approach Fred instead. She wouldn't laugh as hard.
Spike jumped down from the sink, intent on camping out in Fred's office until she showed up for work. Then he stopped in his tracks as his mind worked furiously. There might be even more advantages to being a puppet than he had initially thought. He wasn't ready for Buffy to know he was "alive" again, but hadn't he just been handed a golden opportunity to see her up close, without her knowledge? If he visited her while in puppet form, she would be none the wiser. She couldn't possibly connect the sight of an inanimate object with the fact that Spike had been resurrected. All he had to do was be careful not to move around her during his brief drop-by. He could manage that much.
Having come up with this brilliant idea, Spike was determined to implement it immediately. Obviously, first he had to get to Buffy. Cautiously, he popped his head out of the bathroom and scanned the hallway. Still empty. Perfect. If he hurried, he could make all the arrangements before employees started filtering in. The Wolfram & Hart security system would record his movements but he'd be gone before anyone knew what he was scheming. That was all the break he needed.
Well, he needed Buffy's address too. Because of Andrew, he knew she was in Rome, but that information alone wasn't enough. He needed an exact address. Luckily, he was pretty damn sure that Angel had ferreted it out and was keeping it safe.
Stumping along on his short little legs, Spike arrived outside Angel's office only to remember that of course it was locked at night. He found a way around that little problem by lifting the keyring Harmony had left at her work station. After some fumbling and several false tries, he found the key that fit Angel's door, sidled inside, flicked on the lights, and set to work.
Clumsy rooting through the desk eventually resulted in success. Spike snatched up the precious address and retreated, careful to lock up after himself and replace the keys. Next stop: the mailroom.
This place, too, was still devoid of workers. Spike searched until he found a puppet-sized "emergency rush delivery" box, denoting highest priority. The magical delivery system utilized by W&H would get him to Rome in mere seconds. He toted his box to what he thought was the head of the line and painstakingly labeled, "Buffy Summers, Via Speranza 212, Rome, Italy 00161." Then he clambered inside the carton, pulled the flaps down over himself, and settled down to wait.
He had drifted off to sleep before the first employees began arriving for work. Hearing them move around, Spike crouched lower in the box.
"Dammit, why do those lazy bastards always leave this crap for me to do?" an irritated voice whined from somewhere above him.
Spike's box shook, and he felt the man firmly taping it shut. Then it was lifted into the air and he was jounced around while the employee carried the box across the room and set it down.
"Rush on this one," the voice said. "Get it out of the way now."
"Right," another man replied, and Spike felt himself being moved again. The box began to vibrate, slowly at first but building up to rapid movement before it abruptly stopped.
Spike heard muffled voices again, only they were speaking Italian. He had obvously arrived in W&H's Rome center. He continued to lie still as the box was picked up and shifted to be placed aboard what he thought must be a truck. After a ride of about 10 minutes, the vehicle stopped and the box was tugged out and dropped down upon a hard surface. Nearby, a doorbell rang. Several seconds later, a door opened.
A man's voice said something in Italian. Spike raised his head, straining to catch the words, and nearly jumped out of his puppet skin when a familiar voice said, "Grazie." Thank you. The voice was Dawn's.
The deliveryman's footsteps faded away into the distance. Next, Spike felt someone (Dawn, almost certainly) tugging the box forward before she slammed the door behind them.
"Buffy!" Dawn yelled. "You have a delivery!"
Every muscle in Spike's little felt body tensed. He was finally about to see Buffy again.
TBC