BUREAUCRATIC SNAFU
by perletwo
Spike awakened to a rapid, frantic pounding at the crypt door. He sat up, pushing empty vodka and whisky bottles off his lap.
{{Hits're too weak to be the Slayer,}} he thought, starting toward the door. {{Not that she ever knocks, an' anyway, after...}}
He shoved that thought firmly aside and pulled the door open. Dawn exploded into the crypt the second it opened enough to give her clearance. Her eyes were wide, her hair wild like she'd been pulling at it, and she was breathing hard.
"Li'l Bit?" Spike watched her pace frantically and tried to will the pounding in his head to quell.
"SpikeI'msosorrytobustinonyoubutthoseawfulpeoplewereatthehouseandthey
alreadyknewabunchofstuffandIaccidentallytoldthemwheretheycouldfindherandI
don'tknowwhattodo -"
"Niblet!" He took hold of her by the arms and shook firmly once. "Take a breath! Who was at the house and what did you tell them that's so awful? Is it the Social Services people again?"
"No." She took a gulpy breath. "No. It's Tara's family, they've come to take her away from us!"
Spike snorted. "Second verse, same as the first. She's of legal age, sweetheart, they can't make 'er go anywhere an' they lost their leverage -" Dawn put up a hand and shook her head.
"Oh god. Oh god. Spike. You don't know." His scarred eyebrow arched, and she took a deep breath and collected herself. "Tara's de-dead. Warren shot her." Spike's jaw dropped.
"Why? Why the li'l witch? Wot's'e get outta killin' *her?*"
"Nothing." Dawn sighed and shook her head again. "He was shooting at Buffy, a shot went wild, and - "
"BUFFY?! Dawn, is she -"
"She's fine. Everybody's fine. Except Tara. All she was doing was standing with her back to the bedroom window, Spike. She never even knew what hit her..." Her chin trembled and tears threatened to spill, and Spike hastened to pull her into a hug.
When her sobs subsided to sniffles and more gulpy breaths, he put her a bit away from him. "Now then. What were the Awful McClays doin' at your house? Did Buffy call them?"
"No. No. Willow's gone after Warren, and Buffy and Xander've gone after Willow," she explained. "I guess the cops or somebody called them. I'd told Buffy I was good to stay by myself, and I had the weapons ready if any nasties showed up. But, but I wasn't expecting *them.*"
"Course not, sweetheart. You said they already knew some of it - that Tara was shot dead, I'm guessin'?" Dawn nodded. "An' you accidentally told them what hospital she was taken to?"
"Y'uh-huh. They didn't let on they already knew she was dead 'til after, I figured they just knew she'd been shot an' I thought if I sent 'em on a wild-goose-chase looking for her on the patient rolls it'd buy us some time..."
"But then they dropped their li'l bombshell on you an' went off to claim 'er body. That about right?" he asked, flexing his fingers into and out of fists.
"Yeah. An' they'll probably give her some awful Pentecostal holy-roller funeral she'd've hated, or the priest'll be carrying on about the wages of sin an' the price of lust like it's all her fault. An' nobody'll even do a Wiccan blessing, I bet." Dawn sniffled. "An' we'll never get to go visit her grave..."
Spike pulled her back into a hug and dropped a quick kiss on the top of her head. "Don' worry, sweetheart. I know this looks bad. But I'm gonna drop you back by the house, an' then I'm gonna go take care of this." He stepped back. "Trust me?"
Frowning, Dawn nodded.
"All righty then, Mr. McClay, let's just see what we've got here..." The morgue attendant flipped through a set of files in a standing rack on the desk.
"Anytime today, sonny," the old man snarled.
"Ah! Here we go - McClay, Tara. If you called ahead she should be all ready for - oh. Oh dear..." The attendant's chipper face fell abruptly.
"What? What's the problem? Is something wrong with my baby?" Mr. McClay leaned forward aggressively, and the attendant backed up a step.
"Oh. No! Nono, not wrong, exactly. Ermm...I, I really don't know how to explain this..." A blush started up the younger man's cheeks.
"What - have - you - DONE."
"Well, well, ahh, y'know, we get these real busy spells down here, y'know. Usually right around the full moon. And, and we're understaffed, and when it gets busy like that, well, sometimes..."
"Sometimes?" Mr. McClay prodded.
"Well...sometimes things get a little mixed up, if y'know what I mean. Like, like...paperwork, or - or, ahhh - burn tags?" he finished weakly.
All the air seemed to go out of Mr. McClay. "Are you - are you sayin' - y'all have already burned my baby up?! That - that there's not - she isn't - I cain't - there's no *body* left?"
"Umm, umm, nossir, not exactly," the attendant said, digging into a cabinet and producing a small wooden box. "There's *this.*"
Mr. McClay opened it and sifted a handful of sandy gray ashes through his fingers.
"Nice work there, mate," Spike said, pushing his way out of a stainless-steel drawer.
"Yeah, yeah. I held up my end, 'mate,' now how 'bout holdin' up yours?"
Spike pulled a wad of bills out of his shirt pocket and stuffed them into the attendant's hand. "Money well spent, I'd say."
"Willie's walk-in freezer holding it okay?"
"Yeah. She's fine. An' this concludes our business day, I think, mate."
Smiling, the attendant shook Spike's hand and called to the vampire as he started for the door. "So what're you gonna do with the body, anyway?"
He turned back at the door. "Give her a proper sendoff from 'er *real* family," he said softly. "She'd'a done it for any one'a us, I guarantee it."