Couple: B/S
Rating: Mostly PG-13 – R
Feedback: Rabid1st@yahoo.com
Spoilers: Set just prior to BtVS
S6 eppy As You Were and just after AtS eppy Couplet.
Betas: Mary from the Crypt Door, Gwen, Caia, Kes and Green from BoB.
Summary: Answers the question: "What really happens when you mix one dippy vampire, two Obreo Weevils and a Slayer with Wacky Magically Reconstituted DNA?" OH, Coooome oonnn, you knew it could happen, right? Right? This is a sequel of sorts to my Fem-Slashy Fic The Sweet Spot and contains loads more F/F slashy stuff but it is still essentially a B/S fic…I just decided to have some fun with the concept of a female Spike. For purposes of clarity Spike will remain a "HIM/HE" personal pronoun-wise except when someone clueless, say Wes is thinking about him.
Disclaimer: Well, I think this fic settles the question once and for all…Joss won't claim me…so this is not a sanctioned concept and all rights to these characters belong to Mutant Enemy and Fox and UPN. I am being a bad, bad, Rabid.
PART THREE
"I beg your pardon?"
The front legs of Wesley’s office chair groaned slightly as he came to stiff attention.
"Angel," Spike repeated. “He’s about six foot two?”
He gave an experimental bat of his eyelashes and reached up with one hand as if measuring someone’s height. Wes noted what appeared to be a tribal tattoo on the extended wrist. The dark brown band was featureless and of a uniform depth. It made a sharp contrast against Spike’s nearly translucent skin. An associated memory tickled at the back of the ex-watcher’s mind but before he could focus on it Spike lowered his arm and went on speaking.
“A beefy thirteen stone? Dark hair? Vacuous expression? Not much personality but the gods gave him a man-sized compensation for that, if you catch my drift.”
“I’m afraid I don’t,” Wes began.
Spike raised a questioning eyebrow and prompted again. “Come on, mate, I know it’s a big hotel but you can’t miss him. Broods a lot?"
“Yes, all right,” Wes said with a grimace. “I will concede that does sound like my—I mean our Angel. But this is astounding. Your claim…is…it’s completely out of character, even if we overlook the concept of vampires conceiving. And sliding by you knowing or rather, I should say, BELIEVING he is a vampire, I am still left with one inescapable truth: Angel is hardly a womanizer. He has a, for lack of a better term, condition that precludes that sort of behavior. And, judging by the…er—” He paused to peer over the desk at Spike’s svelte stomach. “Lack of visible evidence, this relationship was a recent one?”
“Couple weeks ago,” Spike assured boldly.
“Then, pardon me for asking but why is it, do you suppose, that we have never met?”
Spike snorted. The unintentionally demur sound caught the vampire by surprise. He frowned down his petite nose and made the noise again before giving up and answering the question.
“Because, it wasn’t THAT kind of relationship, was it?”
“Again, please excuse my confusion, but it wasn’t WHAT kind of relationship, exactly?”
“The kind you tell your friends about,” Spike returned, meeting the other man’s eye squarely. A shadow of genuine pain marred his finely drawn features and, despite the necessity of the questions, Wes felt like a cad for pressing the point.
“I see.”
“Look, I’m not proud of it but there it is. We weren’t lovers. I took what I could get and it wasn’t all hearts and flowers. It was musty and wild. See...I’m not the girl he takes home to Mother.” Spike’s chin tilted down. A single tear traced along his cheek and splashed onto the chair arm. “I imagine he’s forgotten me already.” He swore under his breath, damming up another tear with an impatient knuckle. “Found someone else to use. What we had? It was back alley stuff. All about need and convenience.”
“Convenience?”
The word had such a bitter ring to it. It caught Wes by surprise. He took a moment to study the delicate woman where she sat tightly huddled in the office chair. She was watching her hands. Her fingers nervously weaved in and out, twisting together in her lap. Almost it looked as if she was expecting a blow. Wes was torn between his duty as a gentlemen and his need for answers.
“Miss Spivey?”
Spike’s throaty alto was a heartrending whisper. “I understand there’s some kind of curse keeping him from the woman he loves?”
“Yes, well,” Wes said with a shrug. “That and Groo.”
Spike shot a look at the man but Wes didn’t notice. He was thinking hard, staring in blank distraction at his desktop. His eyes were unfocused as if seeing nothing of his scattered paperwork. He was trying to picture the Angel he knew going out in the night to seek quick meaningless sexual gratification from this fragile woman. Had he used her and cast her aside? It seemed so out of character and yet….
There was Darla. Connor had been conceived in this way…could there be others?
“What’s a groo?”
Wes pulled out of his reverie. He blinked at Spike in confusion. “Sorry?”
“You said a ‘groo’ was keeping…”
“Oh…did I? Never mind. It’s not important.” Wes waved off the need for further explanation.
Though curious, Spike decided not to pursue the matter. He sat quietly, watching with growing amusement, as Wes struggled to process the concept of Lothario Angel. Predictably, it was a stretch. The erstwhile Watcher chewed on his bottom lip for a time while Spike practiced looking waiflike.
Ill used, pet, that’s
what I am…right, shame, too.
The silence stretched on. After a minute or two, Wes started to fidget. He brought one hand up to his brow, pushed his glasses aside and pinched the bridge of his nose. Then, taking in a deep stabilizing breath, he refocused.
“Miss Spivey,” he said in a calm voice. “Surely you can see this is an extraordinary story. Angel is indeed a vampire, undead. He can not reproduce. In addition, he is practically…asexual. Yet, if I understand you correctly, you’re saying he approached you for sexual gratification. You, for whatever reason, complied. And from that union and here I assume there was only one, you were impregnated?”
Spike felt his hackles rise in response to the other man’s tone.
“No need to take that attitude, mate. It wasn’t like I was whoring. I felt something. Maybe it didn’t mean anything to him but it meant a lot to me. These things happen you know? Two people working closely together, feelings develop—”
“You had a working relationship?”
“Yeah, tha’s right. Angel came to me on business. I did some research for him.”
“Research?”
Wesley’s astonishment was apparent. He opened his mouth to demand clarification but Spike, narrowing his eyes, stated firmly. “CONFIDENTIAL research. That’s my specialty. And one thing led to another, see? We were just a couple lonely people…in the dark of night…in the archive rooms of the City Central Library…”
“You had sex—conceived a child, in the public library?”
Spike’s eyes sparkled with mischief. “What can I say? Original Sanskrit gets me hot.”
To the vampire’s surprise Wes’ mouth twisted ruefully and his equally glittering gaze slid quickly away from Spike’s. Musky warmth radiated off the former Watcher as he dipped his head in acknowledgment of just how sexy obscure manuscripts could be. Spike flashed a genuine smile and they shared a heated moment, nerd to nerd.
“And,” Wes prompted softly, “You found yourself with child?”
"Now you're gettin' it.”
“No, I am afraid I am not. Quite naturally, I have a number of questions.”
“I’ll tell you anything you want to know. Time of day, position of planets, position of Angel.” Spike smirked knowingly. “As you might imagine, he’s not a big fan of ‘woman on top.’”
All of Wesley’s good humor vanished. Hard-eyed again, he pushed away from the desk and stood. The move was telegraphed but Spike remembered to startle like a human woman. Staying in character, he watched pensively as the darker man paced off the tiny office space. After completing the circuit twice, Wes paused. Slowly, he let his appraising gaze drop to the dainty blonde curled up in his wing-backed visitor’s chair. She looked chaste and breakable but quite obviously appearances were deceiving. Dragging one hand through his hair, Wes released a put-upon sigh.
Keeping his head lowered, Spike waited for further developments as he studied the room and his host. Wesley Wyndam-Price was plainly agitated. His movements were jerky and anxious. His blue checked flannel shirt fanned out and then fluttered back against his black tee as he paced the office floor. Spike felt a grudging appreciation for the other man’s effortless grace. The soft flow of cloth echoing Wes’s actions, gave him an almost feminine allure at odds with his hard body and stubbly beard.
He stalked briskly to the door. Bracing against the doorframe, he leaned out into the lobby and scanned the area thoroughly. Spike thought he must be checking for eavesdroppers but didn’t want to ask. Instead, he found himself admiring the curve of the Englishman’s ass. It was a nice ass to have. And the legs were trim. He might even manage high heels, something Spike himself was still mastering. After listening for a moment longer, Wes closed the door with a decisive snap and turned to glare at his beautiful guest.
"Young lady this is hardly a joking matter," he said sternly. His hands were behind his back. Spike noted he was leaning against the door as if he expected it to be kicked in any second.
“You realize how preposterous this sounds?” Wes said. He tried for a light laugh but couldn’t quite manage one. The sound he made was more like a dyspeptic croak.
"Yeah, it’s a shocker,” Spike returned in a semi-bored tone. “But I've got one in the oven and this Angel bloke was the only one in a position to…” Wes frowned again and Spike switched off the double entendre. Tha’s right, I’m a lady and in need of your manly protection. “The dates add up. So, he's the father, see?” He leaned over to tap one of the dusty reference books. “It’s just like the ruddy prophecy foretells."
"Prophecy?" Wes squeaked. He flushed crimson, losing any semblance of detachment. His eyes darted to his notes. “What do you know about the prophecies?”
"You know,” Spike encouraged, one well-read Brit to another, “the Shanshu? Live, dead, living again? The seed of Aurelius having extra oomph in the life giving department?"
"You're familiar with the Shanshu?"
Only in the sense of having studied every line under threat of immediate disembowelment, when your poofy boss went all noble on Darla…gave up five years of my unlife to researching how to re-vampify the bugger when he got that soddin’ soul. You know sometimes it doesn’t pay to be literate…
“Somewhat,” he said out loud.
Wes experienced a rush of paranoia at the thought of Angel consulting someone else about Connor and the Shanshu. Going outside the office was a dangerous practice. And it showed a lack of confidence in him as well. He couldn’t help wondering why Angel hadn’t told him about this girl. His pride was stinging but he was even more concerned about the ramifications. He wondered what other secrets Angel might be keeping. Were there other women? Were more prophetic children on the way?
With a puff of impotent anger, Wes scuttled around to the far side of his desk again and slammed one of the open books closed.
"Where did you—?" He began resentfully and then caught himself short. "No never mind. This can't be a coincidence. You being here. And at this time. Who are sent you? What do you want?"
"Answers," Spike responded. "And no one sent me. I’m just a girl in a load of trouble and I need to know how it happened. Can you help me?”
“Help you how exactly?”
“Share the wisdom. Let me take a peek at your books.”
"Which books?"
"Anything you have on vampires having babies and the seed of Aurelius.”
“But if you already know—?”
“I don’t know enough. What makes the line of Aurelius so special…besides their exceptional good looks and intellect? How can dead sperm be modified? What would it take for a vampire to conceive? Magical sex toys? Mystical atmosphere? Favorable positions of the soddin’ stars? Resurrection Mojo? Does it specifically say the vampire must have a soul? Could the Slayer be involved?"
"The Slayer?"
"Angel had a relationship with her once, right?"
"Well…yes, but,” Wes stuttered. He shook his head to clear it of white noise. “Look how do you know that?
“I told you he had me…”
“Yes, of course, the research,” Wes sighed. His carefully modulated tone didn’t commit him to belief. He nibbled on the edge of one thumbnail as he studied his guest. Her long legs were crossed at the knee and she was swinging one sandal-clad foot. “Still, I don't see how Angel’s relationship with Buffy could possibly be relevant."
“Maybe it isn't but I don’t want to exclude anything. I want to see everything you have on the father of my child and his Shanshu-ing line. Anything on vampire’s having babies. Has it ever happened before?"
“You seem very well informed, already. One might even say…too informed.”
“You can never know too much or be too rich,” Spike said with a quick grin.
“I beg to differ,” Wes returned icily.
“Alright, don’t get your back up. I know a fair bit about the line of Aurelius, yeah. Studied the lot. You might say I’m their family historian. That’s how I know Angel.”
"Then you’ve read the Nyazanin?"
"'The child shall be brought forth from the dead womb…blah, blah, dither…the father will kill the son?'" Spike nodded. "Yeah, but that's no help."
"Because it speaks of the child of TWO vampires?"
“No,” Spike disagreed with a sharp shake of his lovely head, “because I figure it's a load of rubbish."
"Rubbish?"
"Bit dodgy, innit? Turning up like it did. If you ask me, it was planted after the fact."
"Planted after—a fake?" Wes frowned, easing forward. He rested both elbows on the desk and let his fingers steeple. Tapping the tips against his chin, he thought out the ramifications of a suspect Nyazinin. Of course, as with every work of scholarship, there were one or two sources that challenged the authenticity of the scrolls but nothing placing them completely within the apocrypha. Wes shook his head. "Nonsense, Chevret's Compendium clearly notes the existence of the Nyazanin Scrolls in 1458 A.D."
"Oh, someone went to a bit of trouble,” Spike agreed
with a slight nod. “I'll grant you that.
But there's no external, contemporary documentation. Surely, the
“The Watcher’s Council?
“Yeah! I could be misinformed but I understand there’s no mention in the diaries of the time."
"The Basque people are notoriously insular but the blind Monks of Seville are…"
"Celibate wankers," Spike interjected under his breath.
“I beg your pardon?”
"Do you have any idea how many false prophecies have been given the seal of approval by the Blind Monks of Seville? They got half the Randolfo inscription wrong. Like a vampire restoration potion would call for anointing in oil of garlic!" He noted sarcastically.
"Be that as it may,” Wes said with barely concealed impatience. “I have researched this subject quite extensively and several recognized authorities support the validity of the Nyaza…"
"The Brendroxi Grimoire makes no mention of it," Spike interrupted, one elegant hand slicing through the air in punctuation.
"It could be an omission."
"In Brendroxi? Not bloody likely. It's nothing if not comprehensive."
"Unwieldy you mean," Wes grimaced. He stood and strode to the bookcase. After a brief search, he pulled out a heavy tome bound in deep red leather. Balancing the book, he returned to the desk to confront Spike. "Referenced and cross-referenced. I imagine it would be easy for the translators to miss several key passages, in a text this annotated. But,” he challenged, letting the unwieldy volume thud onto the desktop. “Just because no one has located a reference doesn’t mean there isn’t one.”
Spike sighed, unimpressed. “That’s the abridged version."
“Of course,” Wes admitted. He blinked, glancing down at the ornately carved leather binding of his copy. A small frown puckered his brow at the implication that his research was less than thorough. “The Brendroxi source is 320 volumes of temporally shifting passages."
"Two-hundred and seventy-eight," Spike corrected, “In the original text."
"In the—?" Wes stared, uncomprehending. “Are you saying you've read the original Brendroxi? But that would take…years."
"Decades," Spike said immodestly. Then he remembered he was supposed to be human and hastily covered for his slip. "If you don’t already know the language. Fortunately, I’m fluent. I learned at my Daddy’s knee. Still it took me over six years the first time through. Not a bad read, boring at the start. All of those lines of descent. Picks up a bit around volume two hundred and nine, though. Nice coverage of the Slayer Wars."
"Slayer Wars?"
"2157," Spike said, waving a dismissive hand. “Not our problem.” He shifted in his chair, allowing his partially buttoned blouse to fall open. The flash of milk white skin captured Wesley’s undivided attention. "And it isn't so much temporal as pan-dimensional. Here’s a tidbit. I worked out second time through that the soddin’ thing is reader exclusive."
"Excuse me?"
"Reader exclusive," Spike repeated. "So you can’t suss out your own destiny. All the relevant passages are deleted.”
“Fascinating,” Wes breathed.
Despite his misgivings, the hypnotic Miss Spivey was drawing Wes into her puzzle. He found himself eagerly engaging the exquisite young woman as they riffled through the pages of the Grimoire. He still considered her information highly suspect. But he admired her quick mind even more than he admired her trim, graceful figure.
They fell into an easy give and take as they discussed the more arcane aspects of magical research. Spike started to relax. He was rarely in his intellectual element. Being female let him down play the tough guy attitude. Easing to the edge of his chair, he reached across the desk for one of Wesley’s books. Their hands touched briefly. Wes moved a few papers aside so his guest was able to access the tome. Spike smiled at the deferential gesture. For the first time, genuine warmth touched his ice blue eyes.
Sweet…smart…slightly
sexy. Makes for a nice change from
“Look, might Angel know something you don’t?”
Wes shook his head. “Angel is as perplexed by this as anyone.”
“Hang on a minute,” Spike scowled. “How’d he even find out? Last I heard this was all news to you.”
Too late, Wes realized Miss Spivey wasn’t aware of the scope of the problem. She seemed to have no idea about Connor.
“I misspoke. Obviously, I meant Angel won’t know what to do.”
“Yeah, I don’t buy him as mastermind either,” Spike admitted. “But are you sure he doesn’t know anything useful? Maybe if we talked it out…” Though a confrontation with is grand sire was the last thing he wanted, he started to get out of his chair.
Wes held up a placating hand. “I’m not sure talking to Angel, at this juncture, is going to help your case.”
“Maybe not,” Spike conceded, sinking back into his seat. As if begrudging the point, he sighed heavily. “So, it’s you and I, then? We need to work this out one-on-one. Tell ya’ what,” he said, brightly, nodding at the paper covered desk. “I can do some of this translating for you if you like.”
Wes instinctively covered up his notes.
"Who are you?" he asked again.
"The woman carrying Angel, Jr.," Spike replied. He pressed the point home by patting his nearly concave belly.
Wes glanced nervously at the closed office door as he considered his options. Someone who could read the original Brendroxi would be invaluable to his research. Weeks of cross-referencing could be reduced to days, if he could trust her, which obviously he could not.
However, if Miss Spivey did indeed contradict the Nyazanin prophecy, if she could prove what she was saying, then they might be able to keep Connor safe. He may not even be in danger. There could be more than one prophecy child. Maybe Angel wasn’t really a danger to Connor at all. Maybe the Nyazanin was a fake or misinterpreted. There might well be another miracle baby on the way.
Good Lord! This could change the landscape of anecrobiology forever.
But even as he had the thought, Wes realized it was too convenient. The most likely explanation was also the simplest. This woman was a spy. She was probably on the payroll of Holtz or Lilah and trying to insinuate herself into the office of Angel Investigations. The best course of action, Wesley reasoned as he watched Spike from beneath half-shuttered eyelids, would be to distance her from Connor and Angel until he could figure out her game.
The decision energized him and he stood up hastily.
"Hang on,” Spike said in alarm. “Are you going to help me figure out how this happened?"
"Yes, of course," Wes said. Scraping together a few papers and books, he jammed the lot haphazardly into a leather satchel. "But, I’m afraid, you can't stay here. Angel is upstairs. And I am sure you do understand before we go any further, before I let you speak to Angel about any of this, I must verify your,” he drew out the pronoun as he gestured with an open hand at Spike’s midsection, “condition?”
“You think I would make something like this up?”
“Things being what they are in the world, I prefer to have outside confirmation. Now, I know of a doctor who specializes in supernatural illnesses.”
“A doctor?”
Spike tried to control the quaver in his voice. He had only the vaguest idea what transpired
during a gynecology exam. His life and
afterlife circumnavigated the need.
Drusilla gave him his first lessons in female anatomy. And said lessons usually involved viscera and
screaming. The scope of his experience
among the living consisted of what he’d gleaned last summer when
“He’s not an obstetrician, but he can certainly determine if you are indeed pregnant. Let me take you back to your hotel and…”
“I don’t have a hotel.”
“Where have you been staying?”
Spike thought this was a valid question. Unfortunately, he didn’t have an acceptable answer.
“I-I c-can’t go back there. I was hoping I could stay here.”
“Obviously, that is quite out of the question.” Wes puzzled over the problem for a moment and then sighed. “Very well, I think the simplest solution is for you to come back to my apartment for the night. In the morning, I will take you to see Dr. Hoptus. Once he verifies your claim…"
"Back to your apartment?"
An invite? Just like
that? And him a former Watcher, even! No
wonder Darla stayed well fed.
"We can spend the time working on your problem. I have more resources there. The original text of the Brindoxi on CD ROM for example and….”
Wes was already moving as he spoke. At the office door, it hit him how odd his request might seem if, indeed, Miss Spivey was telling him the truth. He paused and turned back to favor the still seated woman with a gentle smile.
“I assure you. You will be perfectly safe."
“Oh, I don’t doubt it, mate,” Spike purred. He stood, stretching like a cat before following the other man into the lobby. “I was just taking a moment to savor your kind invitation.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
“…and a Doublemeat Deluxe with a rancho fresco salad, a six piece nugget platter, three curly fries with extra dipping sauce and…” The static-broken voice faded to meaningless white noise, a relentless buzzing in Buffy’s ears. She let it carry her back to the previous night.
“I told you he doesn’t
want to see me. Spike isn’t user
friendly, right now.”
“He wasn’t even
there. I’ve been talking to Clem.”
“Spike out getting
drunk? That would be so like him…all that 'save the baby' indignation and
then…”
“N-n-no, at least…Clem
didn’t say he was drunk! But you’re right about how mad he was. Clem said he was furious, ranting and
raving...not making much sense and…well… there’s no easy way to tell you: He’s
gone. Spike packed a bag and left
town. He mentioned heading back to
“What?”
The speaker was blaring at the Slayer as she blinked back into awareness. She leaned over and pressed the intercom button. “Wha-What? Could you repeat that last part, please?”
“I said ‘Can I use the two for one value coupons with that’?”
“Sure, every day but Thursday.”
“But—today is Thursday.”
“Oh? No coupons on Thursday. Please try one of our two new dipping sauces free with any Doublemeat Platter. Can I take your order, please?”
“I just gave you my order.”
Tears were blurring her eyes again. Her nose felt stuffy. Buffy wondered if she might be coming down with a cold…or pinkeye…or maybe a serious case of heartache.
“…he packed…and
left…mentioned heading back to
“
“I’m sorry.”
“
“Alright, thank you. Please pay at the second window.”
“Pay? Pay what? You didn’t tell me the total. Did you even get my order? Hey! HEY?”
A medley of horns beeped outside the building. The proximity sensor over Buffy’s cash register dinged and the red light flashed next to her speaker. She responded mechanically to the signal, pressing the intercom button.
“Welcome to the
“I want to talk to your manager.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Wes crossed the Hyperion lobby with studied stealth. A move Spike found endearingly naïve. Angel would know they were leaving. He was asleep on the second floor but he would register the slight change in air pressure when they exited the building.
“Have you eaten?” Wes whispered, turning slightly to address Spike as they climbed the short flight of steps from the lobby floor to the double glass doors leading outside.
“This morning,” Spike said without thinking. It would be a few days before he needed blood again.
“Not since then?”
Wes held the door like a gentleman as Spike’s mind raced.
“Oh, uh, no…well…” Bugger! Human female. Human and pregnant. Which means three squares a day. Even if I don’t need blood, still got to eat for the nipper. “See…I was…I mean…am…having trouble…keeping things down…”
“Ah, morning sickness, of course,” Wes nodded sagely. “Still you should try to eat something. Keep your strength up. I was thinking of picking up a bite for myself on the way home. You can join me if you like my treat. Does anything appeal?”
Spike eyed Wesley’s jugular and smiled.
Right shame about this
chip, my lamb. I could show you what I
really like.
“Might go for something spicy.”
Wes’ eyebrows went up.
Here was a girl after his own heart. He glanced at his wristwatch. It was a little after
“I might know of a place. Do you mind loud music?”
Is this a date? Be still my h…well it already is, isn’t I?
“Safe to say, I’m well up
for loud music.”
“Right, then,” Wes said,
nodding. “There is a local hangout near the pier, Cajun Eddie’s. How does Creole Shrimp sound? A live band and the best Mississippi Mud Pie
you have ever tasted?”
“Like my kind of evening,”
Spike said, favoring the man with a truly dazzling smile. He slipped his hand into the crook of Wes’
arm and sidled closer.
The former Watcher patted
his companion’s hand. The gesture seemed
to freeze Wes in his tracks. He gripped
Spike’s fingers tighter. There was a
tense indecisive moment as their eyes met.
Then Wes disengaged and took a half-step back.
“You seem…chilled,” he
said. Fear and ready suspicion radiated
off him in waves.
Spike almost forgot to
breath. He cultivated an air of earnest
innocence. Locking his gaze on the other
man, he assayed a delicate shiver. “I know. I just can’t seem to stay warm,
this last week. Must be my hormones going
wonky.”
Neither of them moved for
several long seconds. Finally, Wes shook
his head in a self-reproachful manner and relaxed. His training kicked in. He reminded himself that a vampire would have
no interest in a dinner invitation. They
were little more than cold-blooded animals.
Apex predators, as the Crocodile Hunter liked to say but hardly able to
control their baser appetites. Miss
Spivey could have killed him at anytime in the last hour. Unless…
He thought of Darla once
more. Connor’s soul had influenced her
from the womb, making her almost tractable.
He stole another look at
Miss Spivey. Her story was improbable at
best. She was, most likely, a lost and
lonely young woman, acting out some Gothic fantasy. Surely, that was the best explanation. Even if she was pregnant, it was unlikely
Angel would prove to be the father.
Somehow she had fixated on him; perhaps she was working for Holtz. But two children sired by a vampire would be
enough of a stretch without adding another undead mother to the mix.
But what if that is how it works? What if it is part of Angel’s curse…a side effect?
Spike was just about to
break and run for it when Wes shrugged out of his flannel shirt. Stepping close, he draped the garment around
the vampire’s pale shoulders.
“There, is that better?”
“Mmmm,” Spike
acknowledged, snuggling into the warm cotton.
“Much.”
“You stay here. I’ll go bring the car around.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
As Spike and Wes were
pulling into the parking lot at Cajun Eddie’s Bar and Grill, Buffy stormed out
of the
She was still wearing her
polyester uniform. Let them dock her
pay. She didn’t care. After her abbreviated interview with the
manager, she hadn’t even stopped in the staff room to retrieve her street
clothes or jacket. The chilled night air
bit at her skin but Buffy barely noticed the discomfort. Anger burned in her belly. It kept her warm all the way to the cemetery.
“’Your services are no
longer required,’” she groused under her breath as she stalked between the neat
rows of headstones. “’
Buffy paused breathing
heavily. She turned to look back in the
direction she had come and yelled. “Yeah?
Well…BUSY! Got a few things on my
mind. Saving the world for example. Keeping
your slack-jawed employees out of the penis lady’s extendable stomach.”
“Hey,” A sleepy male voice
said. “You want to keep it down?”
Whipping around, and
mentally cursing her lack of stake, Buffy focused briefly on a scruffy vampire
as he sauntered out from behind the nearest crypt. He was hefty and beetle-browed. The thin, black t-shirt he wore bore the logo
of a fringe metal band. The white skull
image was flakey with age. His green
fatigue jacket had a peace sign on the shoulder, probably original issue. His baggy jeans made a more up-to-the-minute
fashion statement.
“Think I won’t call the
National Enquirer to report those meat-free patties?” Buffy asked him, apropos
of nothing.
“Uhm,” Mr. Scruffy managed
as he blinked at her blurrily.
Buffy rolled her eyes
heavenward. This was all she
needed. Licensed to slay, opportunity
lounging in her path and no pointy implements.
It was the tassle on the capping off of her week from hell. First a new personal low in kinky sex lets her knock up her undead boyfriend. Then, she gets fired from her job and now...this: Possible Death By Loser. Somebody in the twist of fate department hated her with a passion.
“Go back to bed,” Buffy
advised. Free-floating anxiety overwhelmed her, blanking out her mind.
She started to move
on, already distracted by her other problems. Instead of taking her advice,
slacker vamp stepped in front of her, blocking the way.
“You lost little girl?” He
drawled, scratching his privates as he leered at her.
“Just you wait until
another body part turns up in the meat grinder.”
Mr. Scruffy’s smile melted
away like an ice cube on a hot sidewalk.
He might have a brain the size of a walnut but he understood prey
behavior. This wasn’t it.
“They’ll be wishing they
had the Slayer on the payroll then.”
“Slayer?”
The slacker vamp did a double take. Buffy gave him a tiny parade wave, keeping her arm close to her body. He started backing away taking large exaggerated steps.
After snorting up a snoot-full of night air to verify her claim, Mr. Scruffy gagged. “Geez, no wonder I didn’t recognize you.” He rubbed at his nose with one hand. “You reek.”
“Excuse me?”
“Objectively speaking. No offense.”
“No offense? How could that possibly offend me? Dead guy calls me stinky!”
Having captured Buffy’s attention, at last, Mr. Scruffy
found himself wishing she would start rambling again. Instead, she was stalking him with all the
playful intensity of a
Buffy closed in. He sensed her coming and stumbled to his feet. But before he could escape, the rolled cuff of his oversized jeans caught on a sprinkler head. Distracted, he tripped forward. The momentum pulled his trousers to his knees, revealing a pair of black boxers adorned with yellow Tweety birds. Buffy snickered. She watched the vampire kick and flail in an effort to overcome his fashionable hobble.
“Look, sorry to break it to you,” he babbled, as she reached for him. “But you smell like…like…a deep fried vegetarian. And…well…it doesn’t appeal.”
Buffy lifted him to his feet by the scruff of the neck and he tottered, pants at half-mast.
“It’s not like you have to breathe,” she reminded him.
“Okay…yeah, but…I know what you want…and you might as well kill me. Because I just can’t do it. I mean it. I’d gag or something. I have a very delicate stomach. You’ll just have to find someone else to take Spike’s place as your vampire love slave, okay?”
Buffy sputtered. “You…WHAT? Ewwwww!”
“Everyone knows he finally wised up and dumped you.”
“Everyone knows? How—?”
There was a soft note of confusion in Buffy’s voice. A dagger of pain cut deep and her vision misted over. She imagined Spike stopping in Willie’s on the way out of town. Her guard dropped. She stumbled back, struggling to regain her composure.
Oh, no…not now with
the crying…
Noting the Slayer’s distress, slacker vamp took a moment to pull up his pants. Then he hit her hard. A right cross to the jaw that sent her flying into the edge of the crypt. Buffy’s temple cracked against cold marble and she slid to the ground. Mr. Scruffy circled her, beginning to enjoy the evening once again. Overhearing Fishface ranting about Spike skipping town was going to pay big dividends, his first Slayer kill. He would be famous.
“I know,” he purred with false sympathy. “We were all shocked. Figured you two were a love match,”
On her knees, Buffy took a blind swing. He blocked it easily, pushing her to the ground again.
“Buffy and Spike. Spike and Buffy. Seemed like forever.” He snapped his fingers, chortling. “Hey, maybe that was the problem. I mean Spike always was a sick bastard. Doing a Slayer? But even he wouldn’t be able to ignore that smell forever. And let’s face it; you can’t even keep a human male. Ever ask yourself why Spike never tried to sire you. Bet he never took so much as a nibble.”
Buffy flinched. The biting, or lack there of, was an issue. Not, she reminded herself, that she wanted Spike to go for her throat. She would slap him down hard if he tried. But the fact is, he didn’t try.
Mr. Scruffy stepped in menacingly and Buffy rolled away from a kick aimed at her already spinning head. She came up in the middle of Mrs. Alice Stanhope Melville’s decorative rose bush. Thorns tore at her skin and tangled in her hair.
“Now I’ve stood downwind of you, I can see why. Can’t blame him for running off rather than take one more minute of the stench. Even he must have some standards. And the way you reek…”
A slim piece of green wood protruded from the vampire’s chest. He looked at it vacantly for a second, noting the half-open rosebuds along its length, before popping apart into dust motes.
“I don’t reek,” Buffy said to the cloud of ashes. “That isn’t why he left.”
Tentatively, she sniffed under one arm. Her stomach roiled in complaint.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
“What is that wonderful smell?”
“Rosemary,” Spike said before stuffing a forkful of potato into his mouth. Chewing vigorously, he reached across the table to grab a bottle of hot sauce from the condiment holder.
“Rosemary?” Wes said, as if allowing for the notion. “Yes, yes, it could very well be.”
With a thoughtful expression on his face, he took another small bite of his shrimp dish. He rolled the savory morsel around in his mouth, in an effort to identify the assorted flavors. There was definitely a hint of lime. Wes swallowed, washing down the food with a sip of wine before holding out a fresh bite for Spike. “Are you sure I can’t interest you in a nibble of my scampi?”
Spike controlled his urge to respond suggestively and simply shook his head. He could smell the garlic in the dish. It warred with the rosemary and sage. He wanted no part of it. To avoid any accidental reaction, he had asked for plain olive oil instead of garlic butter as a dip for his steamed crab legs. When Wes remarked on the bland choice, Spike claimed a suddenly upset stomach. Now, he shrugged off the man’s quizzical look. It was, after all, a woman’s prerogative to change her mind. Spike was beginning to appreciate how handy pregnancy could be to a girl.
Uncapping his captured bottle of hot sauce, he shook a generous amount onto his plate. The green paste smelled of nothing but salt, vinegar and hot peppers. Spike used his fork to skate a lump of crabmeat through the spicy stuff before popping it into his mouth.
He gave a contented murmur.
The sauce burned blissfully on his tongue.
Like my sweet Buffy’s kisses.
The reflection caused an immediate return of the ache in his chest as the memory of holding her inside this new body, flooded back. He was never going to hold her again. It was over. Black depression threatened to swallow him and he looked toward the bar. He needed a drink. But he couldn’t risk it. The baby, their baby, was depending on him. Part of Buffy was inside him, growing. Spike had no intention of ever letting go.
Turning his eyes away from the glittering bottles with their metallic spouts, he focused on Wes. “So?” he mumbled, as he cracked open another crab leg with his teeth. “Why were you studying the Nyazanin Prophecies?”
“I’d prefer not to discuss it until after we’ve verified your claim,” Wes said coolly.
Hello, don’t get your
knickers in a twist, mate. Not like I
care. Just making conversation to keep my mind off a certain heartless bint.
Spike glared for a second and then lifted and dropped one shoulder in a careless manner and went on eating.
Wes mentally kicked himself for being rude and insensitive.
Neither of them spoke for the next ten minutes. Wes watched in fascination as his companion sucked the marrow of meat from several crab legs. Miss Spivey had a singular method for shelling crab, she distained the usual pick and nutcracker. After biting down on the legs to open them, she caught the orange and white shaft of succulent flesh in her teeth and used her tongue to position and probe. Juice, hot sauce and olive oil slicked the skin around her delicately formed mouth.
Such a visceral display would generally have put Wes off his own food. But, to his surprise, he wasn’t repelled in the least by his date’s messy table manners. On the contrary, it was strangely compelling, even erotic. He found himself imaging other uses for that tongue…those teeth…those slippery fingers…that full slick mouth. Wes was hardly a virgin but, being upper class British; he had never been with a woman who really…enjoyed…sex. He couldn’t help wondering if Francis Spivey threw herself into every experience so wholeheartedly.
Noticing the increased musk in the air, Spike raised questioning eyes to capture the other man’s gaze. They stared at one another across the fat, glass and plastic netting enrobed candle, burning in the middle of the table. Wes squirmed uneasily as Spike once again tongued a sliver of crab into his mouth. The vampire drank in the heady scent of aroused male. Carefully, he placed the most recently hollowed out crab leg down on the edge of his plate. Then, smiling slightly, he started licking his greasy fingers clean.
“Yummy,” he remarked, his saucy stare never leaving Wes’ face.
“It appears to be…quite,” Wes drew out the word, holding it in his mouth until it became breathy and suggestive, “luscious.”
Spike ducked his head, feigning sudden shyness. But he let the top of his sandaled foot graze lightly along Wes’ calf. He was rewarded by a tiny gasp.
About to start barking
for it, aren’t you, pet? I tell you, I had
no idea it was so much fun being fem.
This all it takes to put you at your ease, Mr. Wesley Wyndam-Price, a
hint of doe-eyed innocence? You really
ought to know better.
Spike’s foot found a gap between trouser cuff and sock. He wiggled his toes. Wesley’s heart rate skipped into the three digit range. There was a heated rush of blood to his groin. His mind raced.
She’s touching my
leg. And smiling. That can’t be accidental…that thing with her
toes and…good lord, I think she’s coming on to me…
“Care for a bite,” Spike asked. He was offering a hunk of sauce-slicked crab. Gripping the oily meat between two equally glistening fingers, he held it out enticingly.
Moving like a man in a dream, Wes leaned across the table,
closing the distance between them. His
eyes fluttered shut as he opened his mouth to the morsel. Spike placed it on the center of his tongue
and watched with a certain level of satisfaction as he chewed and swallowed.
Yeah, I might just give
you a go if it got too close to closing time…OH…oh…and wouldn’t that set off
little Miss High and Mighty? If I had her ex-Watcher eating out of
my…well…let’s just say…HAND…for now?
A tiny shiver raced down Spike’s spine. He wanted to do it. He wanted the Slayer to suffer for every harsh word, every careless cut. But beyond that he wanted the joy of new experience. For the first time, he considered extending his charade beyond what was needed for the prudent gathering of information. He could find out how the other half really lived. What a woman felt. Buffy didn’t count. It was probably much different with a real man. It almost had to be easier with someone who knew what he was doing. And Buffy would be angry, maybe even hurt, when she found out.
Too bad you’re such a
gentleman, luv. Not likely to get the
message unless I start humping your leg and I can’t having you drawing the
wrong conclusions about my delicate condition.
Now let’s see…nice girl…no alcohol…best mate’s baby…got to be a way to
get physical…
The band sent a blast of static through the speakers as they tooled up for another set. Chairs scraped and couples started taking positions. Spike shot a longing glance toward the dance floor. It worked like a charm. As the first wild chords of “Bad to the Bone” shook the fake seafood in the nets overhead, Wes followed his gaze and took the hint.
“Would you like to dance?”
“Love to,” Spike mouthed back. They slid out of the booth hand-in-hand. Despite the fast pace of the song, Spike stepped close and nuzzled into Wes’ ear. “I thought you’d never ask.”
The Watcher’s fingers shook slightly as he settled a hand at his companion’s lithe waist and pulled her into his body.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
“I’m home,” Buffy called.
The house was quiet and, except for a lone lamp shining in the living
room, dark. “Dawn?
There was no answer to her summons. The cold weight of loneliness settled in Buffy’s stomach as she tossed her house keys into a china red bowl on the foyer table. The clank they made seemed to echo up the stairs. Buffy shivered. The house felt enormous and vaguely oppressive. She wanted to change and shower but she shuffled into the kitchen to check the phone messages. A flash of yellow caught her eye when she flipped on the overhead light. There a legal pad in the center of the freestanding island. As she approached, Buffy could see her name scrawled at the top of the pad. She read the short note underneath.
Buffy:
With a put upon sigh, Buffy tossed the legal pad back onto the counter. She glanced at the clock over the sink. It was after two. Detention for everybody, the Slayer thought as she went to the refrigerator and yanked opened the door.
She wondered if her mother had ever felt this way. How many nights had she rattled around the house all alone while Buffy was out saving the world? Too many. It took a different kind of courage to wait by the phone, to not know where your loved ones were, if they were even alive, until the call came. If only her mother were here. They could console one another.
Mom? Can you hear me?
I messed up. I, well, I got my boyfriend
pregnant. PREGNANT! Welcome to the
Hellmouth. No, it’s not Riley, though that would be funny. Riley, is still
gone…not a word…not a peep. But, HEY! At
least he’s not pregnant like Spike.
Yeah, Spike! I guess he really is
my boyfriend now…or my ex…or my girlfriend, maybe. I know, I know, ANOTHER vampire. But you kind of liked Spike didn’t you? You
made him cocoa once, remember? And you never made cocoa for Angel. So, anyway, I’m going to be
a…mother…father…parent! What’s it like?
Joyce Summers didn’t answer.
Buffy’s eyes strayed to the legal pad, again. She would have to write to Giles. He might know about the weevils and he might help her find Spike. She would have to explain what happened. Convincing her former Watcher to cooperate wasn’t going to be easy. Standing in the soft light of the open refrigerator door, Buffy let her mind go blank. She didn’t want to think about telling anyone the news. She felt numb, shell shocked by everything wrong in her life.
When the telephone rang it jerked her out of her reverie. She glanced at the clock. Nearly fifteen minutes had passed since she came into the kitchen. The phone rang again. Buffy shut the refrigerator door and went to answer it.
“Hello?”
“Hello, Buffy?”
“Hi,
“I called you at work, sweetie, and they told me you were fired.”
“I quit.”
“Oh…of course. It wasn’t a very good job. I’m sure you can find something a whole lot bet….”
Buffy interrupted her well meaning consolation. “Did you find him?”
“No,”
“No! No
“Of course, I promise,” Tara said. “Willow has to stay off the incense. But, Buffy you can’t keep something like this a secret. If you bring Spike back to Sunnydale people are going to find out.”
“I will worry about that when I have to," Buffy said. First we need to find him. Isn’t there anything else you can try?”
“Ma-maybe a different kind of spell? But I might need your help.”
“My help?”
“I would need something you associated with him? A personal object? Clothing or his lighter or…?”
“Will the duster work?”
“That’s perfect. Do you want me to come over?”
Buffy glanced around the room. “No, I’ll bring it to your place. See you in a half-hour?”
“Okay, I’ll leave a light in the window,”
After hanging up the phone, the Slayer added a post script
to Dawn’s note, telling her she had gone to
Buffy sucked every trace of sauce from her fingers and wiped them on the pocket of her uniform before lifting the jacket out. Bringing the smoke-scented leather to her nose, she inhaled her lover’s lingering aroma.
Oh, god, he smells so
good, like sin, straight from the bottle. It always makes my knees weak.
And now he was carrying her child. He was pregnant and alone…somewhere. Buffy’s tears spilled and splashed off the collar of the duster onto the soft inner lining. She clasped the coat in both arms, hugging it close as she conjured up an image of Spike, angry and hurt, driven from his home by her repeated rejection.
I’m so sorry. Please let him…them…both be alright. Why does it always have to be this way between us?
Shaking off her grim mood, Buffy gently draped the duster
across the foot of her bed. She changed
into clean clothes but didn’t shower.
As she clumped down the stairs, duster catching on each step, Buffy couldn’t help wondering where her lover could be and what he might be doing at that very moment.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Don’t think about
Fred.
Wes thought as he exited the elevator. Miss Spivey, abandoning all restraint one floor down, had wrapped her gorgeous legs around his waist. She sucked lustily at the curve of his throat as he navigated the hallway. Wes couldn’t help noticing, the young woman’s fashion-model-trim thighs were incredibly strong. And her tongue, when she transferred the attention of her mouth to his, was incredibly agile. It snaked over Wes’ own until he deepened the already profound kiss.
The most beautiful woman in the world squirmed and clawed like an alley cat in his arms. Slamming her into the wall, Wes fumbled blindly with the lock on his front door for what seemed like forever. Desperate to get to the bed or the couch or even the floor inside, he shifted his grip on Miss Spivey’s taut ass, turning with her until the doorknob was on their right. She tugged at the short hairs on the nape of his neck as her hips shimmied and bucked against his.
After what seemed like a further eternity, the stubborn key clicked over and Wesley Wyndam-Price and his extraordinary conquest half-stumbled, half-slithered into the living room. Keys clattered to the floor. The door crashed closed behind them.
Spike’s fingers danced down Wes’ chest. His hands found the hem of the other man’s t-shirt and slid under to caress bare skin. The same refrain kept repeating in the vampire’s head: Don’t think about Buffy. Wes’ hands were also skilled and busy. As soon as they were safely inside the apartment, he tugged Spike’s shirt off. The silken garment wafted to the carpet.
Wes seemed to disassociate for a second as he studied the perfectly formed breasts in front of him.
Good Lord, this really
isn’t like me. I hardly know this woman.
Is this what happened to Angel? No! Don’t think about Angel. They aren’t really a couple. Don’t think about anything but this divine
creature. I mean…just look at her.
Imagine the pleasure you can give her.
But…can this really be happening?
What if she’s a succubus or some other species of…Oh, shit…SHIT…just
like that…
“Like that…YehhhssSSS!!”
END THIS PART