bmblbee (bmblbee) wrote in bloodclaim,

White Lightnin' 2/37

Title:White Lightnin' 2/37
Author: BmblBee
Rating Adult overall
Paring: S/X
Disclaimer: I own none of the characters in this story and make
no profit from them
Summary: Set in the early 1940's, Spike is a G-man sent on
a mission in the Applachian mountains to search for
and destroy illegal alcohol when he has an accident.
Xander is a moonshiner who takes him in.

The crossing was nightmare.
'Doesn't the fuckin' Yard know there are air flights that transport
over the pond now?'
Spike wrestled his overpacked grip up the gang plank and
proceeded to find his assigned state room
'Inside and lower level, of course'

Kicking the door open he swung his arm tossing the bag in ahead
of him. It hit the far wall.
Sighing, he stepped in to see that yes, the room really was that small.
"Oh great. A full week of living in a floating mop closet."

Feeling more exiled than privileged, William wondered if he wouldn't
have been better off taking his chances in London.
Surely he could have obtained employment in some related field.
He knew the truth.
Giles was right.
He had no options.

Dropping down onto the tiny bed, William put his head in his hands
and wept.
He felt as though he was the only man in the world that wanted
to be with another man.

He had been thrilled to think he had found someone in Andrew.
It had crushed him more than he was willing to admit when Andrew
betrayed him.

Now he had no home, no job, no country, and no love.
Maybe he should just go up on deck and throw himself over.
Curling up on his bunk, William let himself sleep.
He knew he wouldn't jump.
He was to much a coward.

The week was everything William had feared.
The days were nauseating with the ship rocking and William's
stomach rolling.
Nights were worse.

The dining room was loud and ruckus. Filled with fat, loud,
obnoxious American men who did little else but chew on cigars
and talk of war.

Like home, these were men he had nothing in common with, and
he had no interest in spending time trying to acclimate.

The women who flitted around the ship were impossible to avoid.
Their inane twittering and giggling over his accent, blond hair and
blue eyes made him cringe.

No, he did not wish to dance, and no, he would not care for a
walk on deck.
They were so bold and brazen he had taken to being just short
of rude to ward them off.

As soon as he ate his dinner each evening he hurried back to his room
as quickly as possible.
It only depressed him more to see the couples on deck, holding
hands, and kissing in the moonlight.

The days of isolation did, however, give him time to think.
He would never again allow himself to be put in a situation like that.
He would not be so open and vulnerable.

If Giles was right, and this was his last chance, he would make
sure it worked to his best advantage.
If he could succeed and exceed the time may come that he would
redeem himself.

He could be so successful that they would overlook all the gossip
and welcome him back home.
He could return to London.
He could return to Scotland Yard.
William felt somewhat encouraged.

He knew though that he would have to make some changes in
He would exude a more manly presence.

He would find a woman and force himself to have a relationship
with her.
He would joke with the other men and talk of vulgar things as they did.

In completing the transformation William made the decision.
From now on he would be called Spike.
It was a name and an attitude he hoped he could live up to.

Wednesday night saw the ship come alive.
It was the night before they were to dock in the harbor of
New York city, and the passengers seemed to celebrate without
sleep all night.

William was both irritated at the disgraceful disruption and sick
to his stomach from fear of facing the unknown, so he too got no
sleep that night.

When he saw the sunrise out his tiny porthole he scurried about
making himself and his belongings ready.
Dragging his bag up on deck he had to admit the excitement was
infectious. Hundreds of people standing at the edge watching
the city come up on them.

In awe he stood as they passed the Statue of Liberty.
It truly was magnificent. He felt buoyed.
Feeling better than he had in the last two weeks, William pulled
himself up straight and heaved his bag up beside him.

This was a new start, and he would make the most of it.
He was "Spike" now and although he wasn't sure who that
was exactly, he knew it was someone that would succeed.

Waiting till the worst of the throng of passengers disembarked,
Spike made his way off the ship.
It was a madhouse of people, cargo, cars, and movement.

It was so much like London, it was almost reassuring.
'A city is just a city. How different could it be?'
It was a question that would answer itself a thousand times
over in the coming months.

Not sure where he was to go to procure a vehicle, Spike stood
by himself looking for all the world like a lost child.
"Mr. Beemish?"

Startled, Spike turned to find a uniformed bobby smiling behind him.
"Yes?" Spike watched as the attractive young man easily picked
up the satchel and started with it to a waiting patrol car.

In answer to Spike's confused expression, he explained
"Recognized you right away from your description, sir. You want
to follow me?"
Rushing to catch up, Spike apparently had no choice.

"They sent a bobby to fetch me?"
Tossing the bag into the trunk of the patrol car, the driver
opened the passenger door for his charge
"No, sir. They sent a Jack. Jack Tucker at your disposal."

Extending his hand, Spike accepted and shook it feeling like
something in that conversation had not gone exactly right.
Jack's handshake was firm to almost painful.

"Wow, got some small hands there Mr. Beemish. Guess you high
up muckety mucks don't do much hard work, Huh?'
Only a few of those words made sense, but the young man's
smile still appeared sincere, so Spike assumed he was not being
insulted too badly and smiled in return.

"Yes, well, I have an address here...." Spike climbed into the
large black and white car and was barely settled when the
door was shut and the driver hustling to the other side.

"No sweat, boss. Know right where to take you."
And with that they whipped out into the chaotic mass of movement.
Clutching wildly at the dash board, Spike felt faint when he
realized no one had explained to him that cars drove on the
opposite side of the road.

"Yo, you o.k. there, Boss?" Jack hoped desperately that this
sissy looking man wasn't about to upchuck all over the inside
of his brand new patrol car.

He would end up spending the rest of the shift cleaning it up,
and even then it was a smell that never really went away.
"I am quite all right, thank you. Will we arrive soon?"

"Sure will, quicker than a rabbits hop. So, you gonna work for
the bureau. huh? Big guy's a real peach. You spend your time
pullin' yer weight and not yer pud and he won't bust yer chops."

Spike made no move to respond. He was given the impression
that people in the colonies spoke the same english as the British,
but nothing this young man was saying made sense.

He further found he was very uncomfortable with the familiarity
with which this bobby spoke to him.
It was something that would never be tolerated by the inspectors
at the Yard.

The underlings knew their place and treated their superiors with
due respect.
Resorting to the one thing that seemed to satisfy the officer,
Spike smiled and nodded.

Suddenly slamming on the brakes and cutting over two lanes of
highway, Spike cringed as horns blew and driver's yelled.
"Pay them no mind. Cop's privilege,"

Laughing at Spike's shocked face, Jack turned into the parking
lot of a huge twenty story building.
"We're here."

Pulling into a roped off section of spaces, Jack hopped out and
opened Spike's door.
"You good or you want I should take you up to his office?"
As there was no way he wanted to be abandoned in this alien
area, Spike stepped back as Jack heaved Spike's belongings
out of the trunk.
"I would be most grateful for an escort, Mr.Tucker."

"Sure thing. No sweat, Boss." Swinging the clutch effortlessly
over his shoulder, Jack took off at a brisk walk that Spike had
to hustle to keep up with.

Around the corner, out of sight, was a row of elevators. Spike
tried to memorize all the steps they were taking in hopes of being
able to find his way back, but knew it was hopeless.

Watching the arrow on the numbers, the elevator stopped on a
"ding" as the "12'' lit up on the top.
The door slid open to a world of activity.
People rushing by, typewriters clacking, phones ringing, and voices
all apparently trying to out shout the other.

Without pause, Jack stepped out and turned to the left, Spike
close behind.
Apparently Jack was well known as everyone he passed had
something to say, and he a snappy retort.

"Hey Jack, my man, what's shaking?"
"All eight inches after a leak, Bill"
"Morning, Jack. Looking good this morning."
"Back at'ch, Baby. How 'bout we swing to some platters some time?"
And on it went.
Spike wondered what it took to be that well liked.

Stopping so quickly Spike nearly ran into his back, Jack pointed
at an office door.

"This is it. Go on in. Secretary in the outer office will take care
of you. Real slick chick by the name of Buffy. Tell her who
you are and she will introduce you to the head honcho.
Good luck, Man."

And with a near painful smack on the back, Jack was gone,
presumably to establish a time and place that he and the overly painted
female could "swing to some platters".

Rapping twice on the door, Spike opened it and stepped in.

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