Title:  The Brat Pack

Rated: PG-13

Summary: William "Spike" Barrett is a successful singer who lives the typical rock star's life.  Then his estranged sister dies, and he suddenly has not one, not two, but three young children to take care of.   His life is thrown for even more of a loop when he hires an inexperienced, aspiring actress, who he recently got fired, named Buffy.  Kids vs. adults.  Boss vs. employee.  Spike vs….everyone.  Yeah, this should be fun.

Disclaimer:  I own nothing; Joss, UPN, and WB own everything.  I'm just playing with the characters for my own twisted amusement.  Please don't sue me.

Special Thanks: To my beta, Kris. 

AN: Just a stupid idea I've had for awhile, inspired by 'The Nanny' (of course) and a movie called 'Jack and Sarah.'  Hopefully someone will enjoy.

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Chapter One

Los Angeles.  Some call it the city of dreams.  Some call it a cesspool of moral bankruptcy.  Maybe it was both.  Maybe it was neither.  But there was one thing that everyone could agree about the City of Angels: it was never boring.  There was always a party going on somewhere, one just had to know where to look for it.  And usually one only had to travel as far as Beverly Hills to find one.

Giles sighed as he stood in front of the large home.  The front door was left wide open, a blatant invitation for anyone who had wished to come in and join the fun the night before.  The disgusting smell of alcohol, vomit, and a third scent that Giles would rather pretend was not there, floated out into the Californian morning air and caused the older British man to gag.

A couple stumbled down the front steps, the trashy woman giggling ridiculously as her shoe slipped and nearly caused her to fall.  Her counterpart tightened his grip around her waist, laughing along with her as they disappeared down the driveway that was crammed full of vehicles.

Slowly, Giles made his way inside.  He had to step over several partygoers who had finally passed out, either from to much booze or other things, as he moved into the large living room.  It mimicked the foyer, only on a grander scale, with people strung about the place like fleshy cockroaches in a cheap apartment.  Furniture was broken, glass vases and mirrors were shattered, and there was an abundance of new stains settling into the fine rugs and carpets. 

Debauchery. That was what this was.  A pure and utter debauchery against any sense of breeding or class.  He was better than this, Giles knew that for a fact, considering he had basically raised the boy.  But then, this was William, so should he even try to expect anything more?

Giles recognized a large, brutish form that was resting comfortably in a chair with a slutty blonde in his lap.  She looked like a cat in heat as she rubbed against him, whispering things in his ear as she grinned wicked.

Lord, he had only been gone for two days and the place turns into a regular Sodom and Gomorrah!

"Angel."

The woman stopped giggling and straightened when she realized her man was being addressed by the irritated Brit.  It took a moment longer for it to register with Angel, who only turned around in the chair because he wanted to see what she was staring at.

"Giles!  You're back early."  His words were slurred and the smell of beer radiating off the drummer was enough to make anyone sick.

"It's eight a.m. on Monday, Angel.  I am not early.  I am right on time."

The younger man's face fell at the information.

"Party's over then, huh?"

Giles narrowed his eyes slightly.  "Yes, the party is over.  Now, get these people out of here while I go speak to William."

Giles turned on his heels to head up the stairs, not giving the man any choice but to do as he said.  As he stepped onto the second floor, the Brit glanced up and down the hall, surveying for any damage.  It was far less extensive here, and would only cost them a few thousand dollars to repair. 

Lord, at this rate, William was going to party his way right into the poor house before he hit thirty.

Stalking down the hall to the master bedroom, Giles forcefully threw open the doors.  It was no surprise to find that William was not alone; that once again some blonde groupie had found her way into his bed.

The older man walked heatedly across the room and jerked opened the curtains, letting the morning sun bathe the room in light.  Twin groans arose from the large bed as Giles headed for the other pair of windows.

"Get up, William," he said, throwing the curtains back.

"Bloody hell," the bleach blond groaned, slowly waking.  "What time is it?"

"Eight a.m.  Time to get up." Giles headed into the large closet to retrieve some decent attire for the young man.

"Sod that.  Wake me again in 'bout twelve hours."

"Spikie?" a drowsily voice asked from beside him.

"Go back to sleep, ah..." Carol?  Melody?  God, it was something to do with music. "Harmony.  Giles is just bein' a tight ass 'bout his schedule again."

"That butler guy?"

"I am not a butler nor am I being a tight ass about my schedule," the older Brit said, coming out of the closet and dropping a suit onto the young man in bed.  "You, William, and the others have a meeting with the Wasteland executives in less than two hours, not mention lunch with Anya to discuss the new tour schedule, and the band has an interview tonight with that RTV fellow, Cameron."

Giles paused in his reciting of the things that the young man was to do today as he thought of the last thing.

"And the executer of your sister's estate will be by this afternoon to drop off whatever it is that she left you."

Poor Drusilla.  It had been a good fifteen years since Giles had laid eyes on her.  It was hard to believe that she was gone now, and William truly was all that was left of that old life.

"Yeah, can't wait to go through sis's junk," Spike said, finally making an attempt to get out of bed.  "So, what do think she left me?  Her collection of unicorns or her dolls?  Or maybe she sent me a list of the guys she shagged to prove she got more than me.  Course, she had a head start on that, didn't she?"

"For God's sake, William.  She was your sister!  How can you speak like that?"

Spike glared at the old man momentarily as he pulled on his jeans, completely ignoring the suit Giles had thrown at him.

"'Cause she was my sister," bleached blond said coolly.

He headed into the adjoining bathroom and Giles sighed.  Fifteen years and he still hated her for leaving.  Now she was gone, and there was no way the two would ever makeup about what happened.  It was sad, really.  He felt just as sorry for William as he did Dru.

With a shake of his head, Giles headed back in the disaster area and left Spike and Harmony to their own devices.

**********

This had so not been her day.  First, her alarm clock had not gone off, which made her late for her audition.  She had flubbed her lines through the whole scene, branding herself as the 'worst actress' they had seen all day.  Then, when she didn't think things could get much worse, she had tripped on some cable on her way out, slammed into the table the casting people had been sitting at, and caused the pitcher of water to spill all over the headshots and résumés.  Needless to say, she didn't think they'd be calling her anytime soon.

"You're late, Buffy," Cordy said, as the blonde came into the kitchen and headed into the back to change into her uniform.

"I know.  I know.  It's just been one of those days," the petite blonde sighed, hurrying to button up the white, long sleeve shirt. 

Once finished, she pulled her hair out of the collar, then proceeded to twist it into a bun on the top of her head while she held several bobby pens in her mouth.  She had done this for so long, that the process took less than five minutes, even with all the hair she had.  Loose strains fell along her neck, insuring that she didn't look like an old time school teacher, but was still compliant to the Californian health code.

The blonde took off into the kitchen once more to get to work, and ran right into Willow who was carrying a large tray of bussed dishes.

"Geez, sorry," Buffy said, grabbing for the edges of the tray to keep her friend from dropping them all over the floor.

"It's okay, I've got it," Willow assured her, steadying the tray.  When she was sure it would fall, the redhead took in a deep breath and let it out slowly.  "But you've got a table…with Anya."

"Oh, no." 

The young woman shuttered at the name.  Everyone who worked here knew Anya.  She was some music agent who always ended up bringing her clients here whenever she wanted to chew them out or discuss business.  All the girls knew her by first name, though the woman had never once bothered to learn theirs.  And the people she brought in were always so…rock star-ish.  If any of them ever showed the least bit of courtesy, Buffy was pretty sure that would be a definite sign of an upcoming apocalypse. 

"Who's she dragged in here this time?"

"Looks like the guys from Cellar Dwellers."

"Who?"

"The Cellar Dwellers." Buffy continued to look at her friend blankly, not able to put the name to anyone.  "You know.  Tormented by Glory?  Wolf Cry?  Two Sided Soul?"

"They're the ones that sing that?  God, I hate that music.  It's so…eeww.  Like something only stoned teenagers would listen to."

"Well, Wolf Cry isn't that bad." Glancing over her shoulder towards the swinging doors that lead into the restaurant, Willow added, "And the bass player is, um, kind of cute."

Buffy watched with a grin as her friend's face began to turn red.  She opened her mouth to make a comment, when Cordy brushed by them with a tray full of food and an irritated look.

"Guys, hungry people.  They're not going to serve themselves."

"Right," Buffy said as she and Willow parted ways.

**********

Spike leaned back in his chair, his dark glasses pushed up high on his face as he stared out of the window. 

Anya, that damn bitch.  She chose this section with all its light on purpose because she knew he and Peaches had hangovers.  Teach them a lesson for partying the night before a big meeting with the execs.  God, if she wasn't a vengeance demon sent straight from hell, he would start wearing lifts, over gelling his hair, and change his name to Little Angel.

Speaking of the poof, he didn't look any better than him.  Well, actually, Spike did look better considering that he did get some sleep last night.  And his sunglasses didn't look like he stole them off Audrey Hepburn.

Oz sat off to the side, appearing to read the menu.  In actuality, he was watching Xander fold a piece of paper he had stolen from Wasteland Record into a perfect triangle to play 'football' like teenagers do in study hall.  He was sitting directly across from the green-haired bass player, and, once he had finished his project, held up the projectile triumphantly.  Xander looked towards Oz, silently asking him to play the game, but the stoic man just turned his attention back to menu much to the brown-haired guitar player's disappointment.

"You two look terrible," Anya said for the hundredth time that afternoon, addressing the two men at the other end of the table.

"Feel terrible too, ducks, if that makes you feel any better."

"It doesn't."

"Well, Anh, look on the bright side.  At least they actually showed up this time," Xander offered, trying to be helpful.

Angel belched slightly and his face was paler than usual, like he might be sick at any moment.

"I don't think that's a real selling point right now," Oz said dryly as he watched his fellow band member.

"No, it's not," Anya agreed, glaring at the two men.  "Those men we met with this morning decide how much money we will get to produce your next album and executives don't like giving money to people who they think will just blow it on beer and drugs.  I don't like not getting money.  So, at the next meeting, either show up sober, with some stuff to impress these men with, or don't show up at all.  Is that understood?"

"God, Anya, you're starting to sound like Giles," Spike complained, turning his attention back to the window.

"Good, then maybe you'll start listening to me."

"Not bloody-."

"Hi.  I'm Buffy and I'll be your waitress."

The bleach blond turned his head to chew out this Buffy woman for interrupting when he found himself staring at possibly one of the most attractive females he had ever laid eyes upon.  And he had laid eyes upon quiet a few in his time. 

He wasn't sure what it was about her that he found so appealing considering she wasn't really his type.  Generally, the woman he wanted were tall, with dark hair, and pale skin, excluding last nights little adventure.  This girl was the polar opposite to that: blonde with a healthy tan and a short stature.  A wisp of a girl really.  But still, he bet he could have fun with this one.

"What can I get for you?" she asked innocently. 

'Many a thing, love,' Spike thought, eyeing her up and down the best he could while running his tongue between his slightly parted teeth.

"Beer?" Angel asked hopefully, not really having looked at the woman who stood right behind him.

"It's eleven-thirty in the morning!" Xander exclaimed.

"Nothin' better for a hangover than to start drinkin' right away," Spike said from the far end of the table.  When Buffy glanced his way, a wolfish smile appeared on his face.  "Inn't that right, pet?"

"We'll have coffee," Anya declared, ignoring the two.  "And bring lots of cream."

"And sugar," Spike added.

"Alright.  I'll be right back to get your orders," she said smiling, before disappearing back from where she came.

The bleach blond enjoyed watching her go, since it gave him a nice view of her backside.  He smiled as he thought, 'Maybe today won't be as bad as I thought.'

**********

Buffy groaned as went back into the kitchen, ready for her tray to be weighted down with the next group's meal and drinks.  She hadn't stopped since getting Anya's group's order and things did not look as if they were going to let up anytime soon. 

The lunch crowd had always eaten her alive, considering that it was generally made of execs from the law firm down the street.  To them, time was money, and - though she only brought the food when it was ready - she was wasting theirs.  Well, she couldn't make Larry cook any faster, so they would just have to wait.  Unfortunately, their frustration was always taken out on the poor waiters and waitresses who they were dealing with.

"God, there awful today," Cordy groaned, following Buffy to the counter so they could fill their trays.  "I actually have this one guy who first decides the soup is to cold.  Then it's too hot.  Now, he doesn't want soup at all, just the crackers.  Ugh!  They should shoot people like that."

"Tell me about.  The lawyers in my section are working on some big case, so nothing I do is right.  I'm not fast enough.  I brought them the wrong kind of coffee.  It's something new every time I go out there." 

Buffy lifted the heavy tray and skillfully balanced it in her hand, proving she was much stronger than she appeared. 

"And at Anya's table, that bleached guy keeps checking me out and bugging me about bringing him more sugar for his coffee.  With the amount of Sweet 'n Low I've dumped on him already, I'm surprised he hasn't grown a tumor the size of a cantaloupe by now.  And he keeps watching my butt whenever I walk away and he's not even discreet about it!  And he has sunglasses on!"

Cordy made a face as she lifted her own tray.  "Ugh.  What a jerk."

"Tell me about it," the blonde said, pushing the swinging doors to the dining room open with her backside and heading back into the lions den.

Though they were rude and insulting, Buffy kept smiling as she distributed the food around the table.  If she was younger and not in need of this job so badly, she might have added her own special topping to their meals.  But she did need this job, no matter how much she hated it.

When she finished giving them their food, she began to walk away when one of the older men said, "Thanks, sweet cheeks."  He then proceeded to slap her on the butt.

Buffy's first instinct was to free the gentleman of the offensive appendage permanently, but instead she forced a smile and kept on walking.  More customers were waiting, and that guy was not worth getting fired over.  But just wait for when he asked for a refill.

As she headed towards a couple who looked particularly irritated, she heard a rough sounding British voice call for her.  "Miss."

Buffy paused.  Great, the Billy Idol wannabe wants more sugar.  God, she wished could take a sugar cane and shove it right up his-.

"Yes, sir," she said, turning around to face the bleached blond with a large, faux smile on her face.

Spike found himself amused by the look, the one that said 'ask me for sugar one more time and I'm going to shove this tray up your ass.'  Maybe if he wasn't such a prick he would leave her alone to do her job.  But he is a prick, so she'll just have to suffer.

"Could you bring us some more coffee and sugar, love?" he asked, trying to sound as sweet as he could.

Buffy held the faux smile the best she could. "Yes, sir.  I'll bring it to you in a minute."

She turned to head back to the table she had been originally traveling towards when he called, "I'd rather have it now."

Drawing a deep breath, Buffy let it out slowly.  This guy really was wearing her patience thin.  'Okay, be nice.  Remember, must keep the job.  The job is what is important.  And he'll be gone soon, so just hold out until then.'

"I understand, sir.  But I am very busy and will get to you when I can."

"Come on, Spike.  Leave her alone," Xander chimed in.

"Oh, no, Harris.  We're the customers.  She's the waitress.  She has to bring us what we want when we want it.  Inn't that right?"

"Yes, sir."  The look on her face was enough to make the others present, expect for Anya, want to dive under the table until the 'All Clear' siren went off.  However, it just made Spike grin all the more.

"Then go on off to the kitchen and fetch the coffee and sugar."

"I will," Buffy assured him once again, barely controlling her anger.  "Just as soon as I take care of my other customers."

"But I want my coffee now."

"And I will get it to as soon as I can.  But there are other people waiting."

"I said now."

She could feel her eyes narrowing as a single thought crossed her mind.  'That's it.'

"Look, bleach boy-."

"Bleach boy?" Spike exclaimed, getting to his feet to face off against the small girl.  He might have found the girl attractive, but no one was going to talk to him that way!

"Spike, sit down!" Anya ordered, but he had long ago given up on listening to her.

Buffy's shoulders were squared as he moved in and leered at her.  This was no longer about coffee; it had turned into an issue of respect and knowing one's place.  An issue that was going to be had out in front of a dining room full of lawyers.

"Do you know who I am?" the British man asked, his accent becoming much more polished in his anger. 

"You mean besides a colossal jerk that can't wait five minutes for me to do my job?"

His eyes narrowed even more, as if suddenly he would develop heat vision and destroy the annoying bint in front of him.  But she wasn't backing down or being intimidated and was determined to put this jerk in his place.

"Yes, Spike, I know who you are.  But do you know who I am?"

"An overpaid waitress that's a bitch?"

She snorted a laugh, then said sarcastically, "Yeah, I'm an overpaid waitress that's a bitch.  But guess what?  I'm also the one who has the coffee and the sugar."

If Xander had been drinking anything at the moment, Oz would have been drenched in soda and spit.  Even still, he moved his hand up to his face in a lame attempt to cover his amused smile, but didn't bother to try and hide it from his voice.

"Oh, man.  She told you."

Angel looked as if this was turning out to be the best moment of his life.  Spike being told off by a girl in the middle of a busy restaurant with everyone watching was a delightful daydream he had had for awhile.  Now all that was left was for that cute little waitress to push the annoying bleach blond out of the way, strip down to nothing but a naughty nighty, and let Angel have his way with her.

Even the ever stoic Oz had a ghost of a smile on his face.  Or, at least, what passed as a smile for him.

The only one not amused by this little display was Anya, but her venomous glare was directed at the band member, not the waitress.  Well, he had been the one to start it.

Spike could only stare at the little blonde before him, who was smirking.

"What is going on here?!" a voice suddenly bellowed. 

The whole room, who had been silently watching the exchange up until that point, turned in unison to the voice.  Standing there was a short little bald man with his own frown deeply etched on his face.  He was glaring at the young waitress, whose own smirk had fallen once she realized she had been caught.  Her shoulders dropped and she ducked her head as the man stalked over to them.  Any joy she had gotten out of telling the rocker off was now gone.

"Ms. Summers," the bald man said, making her name sound like some ancient curse.  "I should have known you would have something to do with that delightful little display."

"Mr. Snyder, it-."

"Quiet you," he hissed dangerously, causing the young woman to shrink back a little more. 

Spike almost felt sorry for her.

Almost.

The evil sneer on Snyder's face quickly shifted into an apologetic smile as he turned his attention to Anya.

"I am terribly sorry about this, Ms. Jenkins.  I do hope that Ms. Summers' crude behavior will not hinder you from continuing to visit our restaurant.  And don't worry.  The meal will not be charged to you because of this."

"But Spike was the one-OW!!" Xander shot Anya a dirty look for kicking him under the table, but the business woman kept her attention on Snyder.

"If you insist."

"Oh, I do.  I assure you that it will be coming out of Ms. Summers' paycheck."  He turned his deadly glare back to Buffy before adding, "Her final paycheck."

Squeezing her eyes shut, the little blonde fought the urge to franticly try and explain what had happened.  But Snyder had had it in for her ever since she had turned the little weasel down for a date, and there would be no changing his mind, no matter what she said.  Well, she might have won the fight with Spike, but it had cost her job.

God, it really hadn't been her day.

**********

The late afternoon light flooded into the living room, causing the furniture that Giles had spent the day replacing and cleaning to glow warmly.  Spike frowned at some of his choices; he himself would have never bought an apothecary table.  Hell, he didn't even know they still made those.  Still, maybe this one could hold more weight than the coffee table it had replaced.  One little group of college girls dances on top of it and it falls to pieces.  Really, what shoddy craftsmanship they have these days.

Glancing down at his watch, he sighed.  Where the bloody hell was that stupid lawyer?  He was supposed to be here an hour ago, and Spike had that blasted interview he had to be at in twenty minutes!  Anya was already sore enough at him about this morning and the thing at the restaurant; he didn't need to hear about being late for Cameron too. 

"William, Mr. Travers is here to see you," Giles said walking into the living room with a pudgy, old man following behind him.

"Sorry, I'm late," the British lawyer apologized, closing the gap between he and Spike.  "My name is Quentin Travers.  I'm the executer of your sister's estate."

"Estate?  Dru actually had an estate?"

"Well, yes.  She and her husband had accumulated quiet a bit of net worth over the years."

"Husband?"

Travers blinked as he looked at the young man, glanced over his shoulder to the older Englishman, then back to Spike.  "Er, yes.  Mr. David Griffin."

"If she had a husband, why'd she leave me anything?"

"He was killed in the same car accident as your sister, Mr. Barrett.  I'm afraid that you are the only living family member left."

"So, what?  You sayin' I get everything?"

"In a nutshell, yes."

"Great," Spike muttered. 

That was all he needed, a bigger headache dealing with liquidating his sister's and her husband's assets.  Well, that might give Giles something to do for awhile, and keep him out of Spike's hair at the same time.  And, if she really did have money and left it to him, that's always a plus. 

"I would like to sit down with you and go over everything before I have you sign the papers.  Especially concerning what I have to leave with you tonight.  It's imperative that you understand-."

"Look, Mr. Travers.  I would really love to talk about all this with you tonight, but I have an interview in fifteen minutes.  Just give me what it is that I have to sign, and leave whatever is so important of my sister's that you had to bring it tonight on the coffee table and be on your way."

"Mr. Barrett, I'm afraid you don't understand."

"Just give me the damn papers and I'll sign them, alright?"

"Mr. Barrett-."

Spike snatched the folder out of his hands, walked over to the desk, and flipped through it until he came across a document with his name on it.  He scanned over it, recognizing a few legal terms from his days at Law School, then scribbled his name at the bottom. 

"There, all nice and legal.  Now we can both get on with our lives."

He turned back to the old man, forcefully slapped the folder into his chest, then started for the staircase.

"Just leave it on the coffee table."

"Mr. Barrett!"

Jogging up the stairs, Spike called over his shoulder, "The coffee table!"

Spike heard the old man sigh as he disappeared into the upstairs hallway and headed for his room.  After digging through his dresser for several minutes, the bleach blond started back down the stairs buttoning a new, fresh shirt. 

"I'll be back in awhile, Giles," he called, heading for the door.

"William, I think you should come see this."

"Giles, I'm already late enough as if is.  Anya's going-."

"To have to wait," the older man finished for him.  "You really need to see this."

Spike groaned.  God, at this rate, he was never-.

He blinked at the sight before him. 

There, standing on the apothecary table, were three young children. 

The oldest didn't look as if she were over twelve.  She was glaring at him evenly, her arms crossed and a deep frown on her face that reminded him a little too much of Dru whenever she used to catch him reading her diary. 

Beside her stood a young boy.  He was ten, maybe eleven, with reddish blond hair.  Unlike the girl, he seemed to be scared out of his wits, trying to take in the new surroundings.

And finally was the littlest one.  She looked to be six at the most, and was clinging onto her brother.  When she saw Spike was staring at her, she buried her face into the boy's side, in a desperate attempt to hide.

"What the bloody hell is this?" the bleach blond demanded.

A familiar smirk grew on the oldest lips. 

"Well, Uncle William, can we get off the coffee table now?"

***********