bmblbee (bmblbee) wrote in bloodclaim,

Period Of Adjustment

Author: BmblBee
Paring: What else? S/X of course.
Rating: Adult for language and M/M activity.
Disclaimer: None of the characters in this story belong to the Bee.
and she makes no money off them, or anything else. The Bee is broke.
Summary: The Rosebud Murders took an emotional toll on
everyone involved. Is love enough for a happily ever after or does
it take a hell of a lot of work and compromise to build a life together?
Spike and Xander struggle to find out.

Thanks to Petxnd for the lovely banner

Spike fought back his urgent need to call Xander, to share his ideas
of the case with him and to get his opinion. He knew he had
some serious fence mending to do with the psychic before they
could easily slip back into their comfortable relationship again.
If it wasn't too late.

Spike also knew before he could get right with Xander he had
to get right with himself, both professionally and personally and
he was now ready to do exactly that.

Marching into the station house through the front door, head held
high, Spike passed the dispatch desk and the officer perched there.
Taylor's face had the look of sneering disgust that always seemed to
overwhelm him when Spike passed by.

"Cough cough, ho, cough, mo,"

Spike checked his grin at the door. He had all but made it past and
just as he was beginning to think he was going to be disappointed,
Taylor did not let him down. Immediately spinning around on his heels
Spike returned to the stunned man who was leaping out of his chair
and starting to scramble back away.

"Don't you touch me! I'll tell! If you..........AKKK!!"

Spike had slammed the man up against the wall, Taylor's neck tie twisted
tightly between the detective's fingers and squeezing harder with every

He pinned his smaller body up against the dispatch officer and despite
being a good two inches shorter, stared him in the eye.

With their noses brushing, Spike spoke clearly and without any hint
of lisp or stutter.
"If you say one more disrespectful word to me I will rip your head off
your shoulders and shove it so far up your arse you will be able to smell
your lunch an hour before it turns to shit. Now, is there anything you
want to tell me?"

Tim Taylor clutched at the steel band arms that still kept the flow
of oxygen to his lungs in tight check.. His eyes bulged and he frantically
shook his head "No."

Finally, Spike released his hold, noting with pleased satisfaction, that
the wrinkled shirt and tie appeared to be permanently creased and
would serve as a constant reminder that perhaps the old saying of
"if you can't say something nice, shut the fuck up" may have been
good advice after all.

Calmly, Spike collected his things from the counter where he has
dropped them and he turned to leave, casually tossing back over
his shoulder,
"By the way, when you file the complaint, be sure and spell my
name right."

Spike then checked the mental box that read "set the fuckhead straight"
and moved on down his list to "end this charade"

He bypassed the elevator and leaped the stairs two at a time.
He then entered the outer office politely declining the offer of a hard
metal chair. The elderly receptionist informed him that Dr. Hiney
was on an important personal call and would be delayed a few
minutes. Spike smiled warmly and replied that he preferred to stand
as he waited.

"Detective Pratt! You comen zee office. I talk vis you now."
Doctor Hiney stood in the doorway tugging down his sweater vest
and pulling his suit coat around the portly belly that prevented it's

Spike looked into the face of the stern psychologist and found he wasn't
the least bit intimidated. Just the opposite. This was one session he
intended to enjoy immensely.

Dr. Hiney stepped aside and allowed the detective to enter.
"Ve vill only speak for the very short time. I have an important appointment
I must keep and I do not be late."

Spike grinned and flopped down in to the worn chair that sat across from the
gruff German.
"Well, actually, that works out very well Doctor because what I have to say
won't take long at all then we can both go about our business and not have to
see each other again."

The short, stocky psychiatrist's unibrow rose as his chin dropped.
"Vat? Vat is it you say to me?"

Spike calmly crossed his legs and clasped his fingers.
"What I am saying is that this will be our last appointment. We will no
longer discuss my Mother, whom I loved dearly or my father, whom I
still respect. I will not justify or apologize for being stabbed. That was
Elvin Master's crime, not mine. And last but not least I will not be
interrogated or made to feel ashamed for the fact that I am gay.
I'm gay, Doctor. I very much like da penis. I like men. I like the
way they look I like the way the smell I like the way they feel and I
especially like the way they taste. To be exact, there is one in particular
I like very much. In fact, I love him. That's the way it is and it is none
of your business. As for my job, I admit the stabbing had me rattled,
but not any more. Dangerous situations are a big part of a lot of
people's jobs, but this is still the job I was meant to do. Now all I
need for you to do is sign that damn release form so I can get back
to work and you can make your appointment, and life goes on for all
of us. You good with that?"

Dr. Heinrick Hiney stood frozen with a blank look on his face for such
a long time Spike was beginning to wonder if he had had a stroke half
way through his little speech and Spike would now have the man's death
on his record along with all the other disciplinary notations.

Suddenly his round piggy looking face burst into a smile and he plopped
down in his large leather chair.
"Vell! Dat vas quite an interesting statement. I am very surprised.
Pleased and surprised. I did not tink you vould come around so
quickly. Dat is good. Dat is good. I vill sign your papers, Villiam
and you vill return to da job you do so good. I cure you fast, Yes?"

Spike laughed and shook his head.
"Yeah, Doc. You cured me fast. I don't know how I will ever thank you."

Spike stood by patiently as the doctor signed off on the four copy form.
He tore off the pink, back copy and handed it to the greatly relieved
detective and dropped the other three in the out box to be shipped to
their various locations within the building.

Spike felt like a 16 year old boy who had just passed his divers exam.
He was free. Free to fly off into the great unknown and explore the
world of crime and adventure. His heart soared with joy.
There was only one thing that kept this from being perfect.
He had no Xander to share it with.

He would have waved the paper in the air and swam in the glow of
pride and love the psychic's eyes always had for him. He would take
the boy out to a special dinner, an all you can eat buffet, then take
him home and roll over on his stomach while Xander issued the
policeman a commendation his arse would accept with pleasure.

"Go. Go."

Spike hadn't realized he was daydreaming till the doctor, who now had
him by the shoulders, was inhospitably shoving Spike out the door.
Spike stood by the hard metal hallway chair as Dr. Hiney quickly
shuffled away toward the elevators.

Spike straightened his shoulders, tipped his head high and said
"All right then. Rupert Giles, you're next."
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