AUTHOR: Rabid/Raeann
RATING: NC-17 overall, this part PG
PAIRING: B/S, S/Wes, B/T friendship
SPOILERS: To As You Were, S6 and Angel S3 - Couplet
BETA BABES: Zyrya and Caia and AllyV(who gave me the Cheeto
suggestion).
DISCLAIMERS: So Buffy came to me (in a dream) and she was really upset about being half-baked. I told her not to worry. It wasn’t her fault. She was a victim of circumstance. The circumstance being I have nothing to say about how she is written on the show because I don’t own any of the BtVS characters. They belong to Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, Fox TV, the WB and UPN. So what I am saying is Buffy is like Jessica Rabbit (with tiny boobs and no slinky dress) she’s not bad she’s just drawn that way.
OUR STORY SO FAR: Spike is a woman and pregnant and
he (or she depending on your P.O.V.) left Sunnydale
vowing never to return. Riley you may
remember did a similar thing…but oddly enough is back. Even though nobody really
wants him around anymore. Buffy,
who in a fit of masculinity fathered Spike’s child, is trying to locate Spike
with
PART SIX
Wes forced a jeer of air through compressed lips. His gaze skidded derisively to one side and his wary expression faded to one of pitying disdain. He looked less than impressed by the news that he was entertaining one of the undead.
His reaction took Spike by surprise. “You don’t believe me?” he asked, taking a restrained half-step back.
“Of course I don’t believe you,” Wes said. His skeptical glance targeted Spike’s breastbone and he nodded once. “For one thing, you’re breathing.”
Spike pinched his eyes shut in a “Lord save me from the C. O. W. Bureau of Misinformation” grimace.
“Breathing is under a body’s conscious control, you git,” he said, speaking through tightly clenched teeth. The muscles at the curve of his jaw jumped when, as if in demonstration of his point, he sucked in a stabilizing breath. “Stop and hold yours for a minute. You can change the rhythm. You can hyperventilate. Ever seen a vampire smoke or sing or screw or bloody well chat you up? All about airflow, isn’t it? Lots of us breathe just out of habit.”
“I see,” Wes said, as if humoring a lunatic.
“Besides I have to breathe for the baby, don’t I? It needs oxygen.”
“So you believe your child is human?”
“Yeah, since his mother’s human.”
“So now you’re human?”
“What no…I’m…oh…yeah,” Spike shook his head. All of this role-playing was taking a toll on his sense of identity. He was having trouble focusing. The one thing he was sure of was he didn’t want to step out of the Birdcage just now. “Father I mean. The father is human.”
“But of course,” Wes said with a tight little smile. “So it's definitely not Angel. Now just to clarify you still think you are a vampire?”
“My skin is cool to you, right?” Spike said. Marshalling his logic, he completely missed the open invitation to vamp. “You mentioned that.”
“And as you pointed out, it’s a chilly night. As it happens, I noticed your temperature was higher than mine when we went to bed. I thought you were feverish.”
“I’d been in the bath. Steamy water. Steamy me.”
“Ah…”
“Oh! For the love of…and you a bleedin’ Watcher. Years of training with the cleverdicks. Should be able to recognize a ruddy vampire when he’s standing right in front of you.”
“Vampires can blend seamlessly into society,” Wes said with a touch of pedantic snobbery.
“Especially a society of berks,” Spike inserted.
“But they will always go for the easy kill,” Wes continued without acknowledging the slight. “Why didn’t you try to kill me in my sleep?”
“Well, if I’d had any idea how annoying you were…” Spike snarked before breaking off and puffing out the truth. “Because I’m not that kind of vampire.”
“You’re the friendly puppy type?”
“No, I’m the neutered type,” Spike growled in exasperation. “And why would I make up a story like this?”
“Perhaps you have some kind of fixation on the undead,” Wes suggested. “First you claim Angel is the father of your child…now you declare you are a vampire yourself. You don’t seem to understand that you would be the child’s mother. Maybe you simply need psychiatric help.”
“Maybe…psyche…,” Spike sputtered, affronted. The chains dangling from his wrists rattled as he tossed both hands into the air.
“The facts are irrefutable,” Wes stated. “You are breathing. And your body temperature is higher than the ambient one. And,” he continued calmly, pointing at Spike’s throat, “you have a pulse.”
“I DO NOT,” Spike declared vehemently. But his trembling fingers were at the spot, already confirming the horrible truth. There was a definite flutter in his aorta. How had he missed it? Was his hearing going or had he somehow blocked out the tell-tale beat? “It’s the baby,” he said in an awed whisper.
“You forget I have some expertise in this area,” Wes said. “Having a child doesn’t alter the physiology of the vampire parent.”
“Angel didn’t have these symptoms?”
“Angel? What would…?” Wes started to ask before taking himself in hand. He pinched the bridge of his nose and did a slow count to ten. When he spoke again he had obviously decided there was no point in quizzing the mentally handicapped. “I was speaking of Connor’s mother, Darla,” he said, giving the words weighted clarity. “She was…”
Spike cut him off with a bark of amazement. “DARLA!” The wonder of it carried him to the center of the room. He addressed the air rather than Wes. “Oh, that is rich. Angel got one in the oven with Darla? So he wasn’t on the worm, huh? And here I thought you and he had gone where no vamp has gone before…before me.”
“Angel and…me?” Wes mumbled, eyebrows on the rise.
“You talk in your sleep, pet,” Spike said casting a knowing wink over his shoulder.
Wes blushed, though he had no idea why he should feel embarrassed. He stared in confusion at the high alt of his guest. Still hobbled by ankle restraints, she was scuffling back and forth in an abbreviated pace and muttering.
“Angel and Darla…Angel and Darla…? Not only funny but a bit of good news. Leaves me clean out of the father and son loop, me being a single mum and all. Chalk and cheese, idin’t it? And I could do worse than sweet Wes for a Lamaze coach.”
“I beg your pardon?” Wes said.
Spike had nearly forgotten the boy was listening. He turned to face him and said, “You know…’push…breathe’….” Spike chuckled at the contentious word. “’Focus on the sound of my voice’.” His chuckle became a snorting guffaw. “That must have driven Darla straight ‘round the bend. Anyway, I don’t know nothin’ about birthin’ no babies, and since junior is well on her way to being some kind of miracle child.” He gave his belly an affectionate pat. “I figure you have a sacred duty to walk me through it.”
“You seriously expect…” Wes started to say.
Spike, having already settled the issue in his own mind, wasn’t attending. “Except really I should look up Darla while I’m at it. Get her take on things. And maybe I should have another peek at that two vampires/one child prophecy.”
Wes latched onto the incriminating sentence. “I thought you said the prophecy was a forgery?”
“Well, Angel and Darla actually having a son looks to throw a spanner in the machinery, doesn’t it? Shows there’s some fate at work here.”
“Fate?”
“It’s all connected, see?”
“No, I’m afraid I don’t.”
“Something’s not right with the line of Aurelius? We’re all related…Darla…Angel…and me.”
“Except you’re not a vampire,” Wes reminded him.
Spike cast caution to the wind and won the argument by morphing into his fangs.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
As soon as Buffy sounded the all clear, Riley and most of his soldiers swarmed into the basement. When the dust cleared, Tara and Clem were left to their own devices upstairs. They were apparently free to go, though they were under the watchful eyes of two armed men, so alike in dress, girth and coloring they might have been twins. Tara and Clem decided through silent consent to wait for Buffy before attempting to leave. They settled on the overstuffed chair, one to each arm, and spoke in low whispers.
There was a loud rumble and honk from outside the recently closed door of the crypt. One of the guards responded to the noise, opening the door to reveal the rear end of a large truck backing toward the entrance. The vehicle stopped a few inches from the doorway. As soon as it halted, six soldiers, including Mrs. Riley Finn, vaulted over the tailgate and spaced out across the crypt, forming a bucket brigade line from the truck to the hole in the floor.
Bulky plastic crates with blinking instrument panels on the front were passed man to man along the line before being dropped to the lower level. When the last crate was transferred, the newcomers broke formation and began assembly on a winch and net contraption next to the stairway. The moment the pulley was operational the remains of the Suvolte were hoisted from the depths, zipped into a body bag and bundled into the back of the truck.
Buffy, watching from the lower level, couldn’t help but be impressed by the precision of the operation. Riley had been first down the ladder, ducking his head to avoid the low beams for the initial few steps. Glancing at Buffy, he took immediate note of the long gash on her forearm and called for a medic before turning his attention to the disposition of the demon.
While her wound was being cleaned, stitched and bandaged, Buffy settled her hip against the edge of an overturned table near the ruin of Spike’s four-poster bed. She looked on in awe as the well-oiled machine of the American military swung into action. Orders were relayed. Equipment was delivered. The green-shirts seemed to have everything under control.
After the removal of the Suvolte carcass, small teams of men and women began working with exaggerated care on the demon’s incubating offspring. Sam Finn arrived hugging the first of many tiny cooler units to her chest. She sat it down and went back for another. Meanwhile, clinical looking soldiers were taking numerous measurements. There was a stir of frenzied activity when the room was declared too hot for safe management of the cargo.
“Spike screwed up,” Riley said to his wife. “The shells are already setting. Another few hours and we would have had hatchlings.”
Apparently, disaster had been narrowly averted. The Finns seemed encouraged by the successful transfer of the first few pulsating egg sacs to their white insulated containers. After a dozen or more, they left the specialists to their work. The process was painstaking. Each egg had to be peeled free of the floor and nested in foam before being placed in its own individual deep freeze. Buffy started to lose interest.
Feeling as superfluous as a hired assassin after the hit, she considered going upstairs to talk to Clem and Tara but a second front of activity tweaked her curiosity. While the rest of their company continued working on demon removal, Mr. & Mrs. Finn moved on to examine a battered desk in a dark corner of the room. They summoned a red-headed soldier of the nerdish variety to assist them with the foreshadowed computer. When the medic finished with her arm Buffy drifted over to eavesdrop.
“Looks like we can add digital piracy to the list of charges,” Riley was saying as she approached. He held up a coil of black cable. Buffy visually followed the line of the snaking wire until it dropped out of sight through a grate in the floor. Riley confirmed the evidence of her eyes. “This runs through the sewers to a company service box.”
“I was wondering how he managed to hook up to the Internet from the cemetery,” Sam said. “It’s not like he could request phone service for his crypt.”
“Spike’s not a dial-up kind of guy,” Riley said. “No patience.”
“Probably installed it so he could watch SoapNet,” Buffy muttered.
Just as she spoke, one of the egg-bandit soldiers fired up a compressor unit, so Riley didn’t hear her. He tossed the incriminating cable on the ground and wiped his hands on his outer thighs.
“How are we doing with downloading his files?” he yelled at the red-haired tech.
“There’s some kind of encryption lock in the DOS mode,” she answered. “I can’t seem to log in.” Her fingers tapped a few keys and Dexter from Dexter’s Laboratory trotted across the screen. The cartoon kid was holding up a rude sign.
“Hey, that’s
“Do you know how to get around the security?” Sam Finn asked, stepping close. Her motherly pat and pitying expression hit Buffy harder than an ‘I told you so.’
Keenly aware of her status as Spike’s fool, she looked away self-consciously as she answered, “No,” and then, her gaze sought Riley’s, “But Tara might.”
Riley grabbed a passing grunt. “Private, please ask Miss Maclay to join us,” he ordered.
Less than a minute later,
“We think this is
“The stolen one?”
Buffy blushed at her exclamation.
‘This is all my fault,’ she thought, ‘I let him
get away with this.’ In answer to
“If Spike hasn’t changed it,”
Sam Finn produced a tiny notebook and a pen from one of her
many pockets. She handed over the items
and stood aside so
“18, 248,” she said, handing the notebook page to the technician so there would be no mistake.
The soldier keyed in the numbers and Dexter started dancing
to Slim Shady by Eminem. The figure and song faded out and the
computer finished booting to the desktop. Buffy and
“I’m going to kill him,” Buffy snarled when the incriminating evidence surfaced. “If I ever find him, I’m going to stake him good and proper.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The splinter of broken coffee-table leg narrowly missed staking into Spike’s chest as he danced back. The hobbling chain connecting his ankles deprived the move of any grace.
“I don’t see what you’re so upset about,” he yelped, flailing his arms to avoid crashing to the ground.
“Really?” Wes said. His voice dripped with sarcasm as he lunged forward. Over balanced, Spike fell and Wes powered a kick at his rolling form.
Spike caught at the Watcher’s foot and twisted it up, toppling him to the floor as well. “Look, I’m a good vampire, like Angel.”
“You have a soul?”
“Gah, no,” Spike grimaced before thinking to say, “I mean…Yes, that’s it…I have a soul.”
“And why don’t I believe you?”
Spike scrambled to his feet and scampered down the hallway. “I don’t know. Maybe you have trust issues. I bet it goes back to your childhood. Was your father distant and cold?” Wesley didn’t deign to answer but his face took on such a grim set that Spike tried another tack. “I didn’t even try to bite you.”
“Because you had some use for me.”
“What use?”
“Accessing my bloody files,” Wes snarled, closing in for the kill.
Spike blocked the wild blow and scuttled to the side. He was trying to be gentle with the boy. Not from any natural inclination but because his head was still ringing from the one punch he’d thrown in self-defense. The cursed chip had fired immediately, nearly doubling him over. Spike knew if he fought back it would lay him low and Wes would send him on his merry way to Dustonia.
Instead of going on the offensive, Spike decided to take the road less traveled in the fight or flight equation. He would have to make a mad hopping dash for the bedroom. It galled him to turn his back on an enemy and, at journey’s end, he would have to bar the door like some maiden fair, but it beat the alternative. He was rapidly running out of scuttling room.
“Don’t know what you want of me,” Spike panted, as he pushed Wes to the side and bound away like a bunny. “I told you the truth.”
“After I invited you in.”
“But you promised not to kill me,” Spike said, falling backward into the bedroom door to close it.
“I lied!” Wes said as he shoulder-dived into the closing barrier, crashing it wide open.
Spike was thrust forward under the force of the assault. He jerked through a comical ballet trying to retain his feet but his hobble tripped him and his heel caught in the rag rug on the floor. He fell hard, landing on his back across the end of the bed. Wes was on him in a second.
“Buffy!” Spike squealed, holding up both hands, palms out to ward off the on-coming stake.
Wes jerked at the name and turned the point of his weapon aside in the nick of time. His fist bruised Spike’s chest. Panting, they glared at one another.
“What did you say?” Wes asked.
“Buffy…? Summers…the Slayer…I work with her. You can call her. She’ll tell you I…I’m…on a mission.”
“You expect me to believe…”
“No, no I don’t. Call her. Ask her.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
“And there it is,” Riley declared as account numbers and balances started scrolling up the computer screen in response to the technician’s busy key stroking. “$578,000.”
“Don’t forget the sixty-two cents,” Sam said, playfully punching her husband’s shoulder.
Buffy looked from one Finn to the other. “What sixty-two cents?”
“Oh,” Riley snorted out a laugh. “It’s a joke, the amount. Not only was it absurdly low.” He gestured at the neat transport crates holding Suvolte eggs. “Each one of these beauties is worth a quarter mill easy on the black market. But Spike was so specific in his asking price.”
“It’s what tipped us off to his operation,” Sam added. “The amount was easy to track. $578,728.62 to be exact.”
“That’s odd,”
Riley nodded. “And stupid. If he’d asked for $600,000 he would have had
a better chance of avoiding detection.”
Buffy was mouthing the unusual amount: $578,728.62. It seemed vaguely familiar. Her eyes strayed to the scrolling account numbers. A string of bright blue digits seemed to leap off the screen at her.
“Oh, my god,” she whispered. Without further preamble she thrust her way between Riley and Sam and used her hip to shove the technician aside, taking the hapless woman’s place at the computer.
“Buffy? What are you…?” Riley asked.
“Finding your money,” Buffy snapped, not waiting for him to finish the question.
“But I was almost there,” the technician protested as Sam Finn helped her to her feet.
“No,” Buffy said with a quick shake of her head. “I'm almost there.”
She typed in her mortgage company’s web address and, when the page loaded, logged in to the site. As soon as she entered her e-mail address the computer obligingly filled in her password. Buffy’s fingers paused above the keys. She’d been expecting it and yet she still stared in disbelief at the line of seven asterisks, standing in for the word ‘cupcake.’
It was the most un-Buffy-like word she knew and she never let programs remember it for her. Yet somehow, Spike had used her password on this machine. He’d spied on her or talked Dawn into spying. Damn him. Buffy shuddered. She had a sudden chill at the thought of Spike knowing her so intimately. Like most of the feelings she associated with him, it was as erotic as it was frightening.
“He’s channeling the money through my account with South Pacific Mutual.”
“The mortgage?”
Buffy looked up in surprise. “How do you know about…?”
“When you were…gone,”
“Oh,” Buffy felt a moment of shame over her suspicions.
Spike hadn’t spied on her.
‘Why,’ she wondered, ‘do I never take him seriously until it's too late?’
The computer speakers played a festive tune. A pop-up screen appeared congratulating Buffy A. Summers on paying off her mortgage 13.5 years early. Digital confetti wafted and balloons floated across the screen. Buffy cursed at the display. The rat bastard had paid off her loan with terrorist money. To make sure, she clicked on the access link and read the entire transaction record.
“He bought you a house?” Sam Finn exclaimed, reading over Buffy’s shoulder.
“For Valentine’s Day,”
“Yeah,” Buffy said her voice a silk-wrapped sword. “He’s a sweetheart.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
“The point is they’re in love,” Clem was saying as he rummaged in Spike’s fridge on the upper level. “Everybody knows it…except maybe them. It was the talk of the underworld a year ago, when Spike was moping about in the sewers. But now everyone is getting used to it. It’s a little unusual, her being a Slayer. I don’t know how to explain it…exactly…I could never do it myself. But Spike’s family is really liberal. His cousin is married to a Frovolox. Can you imagine what that’s like during purging season? And his Sire took up with one of those horny beasts…what are they called? The ones with the slime and the antlers and the big…?” He made a motion near his navel like he was screwing in a light bulb.
The two soldiers he was addressing stood at stiff attention, one on either side of the crypt door. The unwavering intensity of their forward facing stares showed they were listening with every spare brain cell. Clem noticed the one on the left shift slightly as if easing a sore foot, so that he could see the bellybutton gesture without appearing to show any interest. The small concession was grimly satisfying.
Clem flashed a toothy grin. “Anyway,” he said, turning back to the search for snack food so they wouldn’t sense his nearly paralyzing nervousness. “When Spike came out a lot of his so-called buddies dropped him like he was anointed in holy water. But I figured as long as he didn’t try to kill me, he was still my friend. Oh, sure sometimes it gives me the jumping shudders when she pads up behind me on her little Slayer feet. And I try not to think about them together. Because…urrugh! But I figure they can’t help how they’re wired, you know?”
He glanced over his shoulder at the stoic guards. They didn’t deign to respond.
“Spike’s sire was a little….” Clem circled one finger near his ear to indicate an unstable mind. “They say it’s in the blood…this sort of thing.” He went on with his examination of the contents of Spike’s veggie crisper. “And Buffy…she’s not so bad. Some days she’d kill you as soon as look at you…but my own mother was like that.”
Finding nothing of interest in the refrigerator and getting no further encouragement from his guards, Clem ambled over to a low cabinet. He opened the door and bent to peer into the cupboard. He spotted something near the back of a shelf. Grunting in satisfaction, he reached in to retrieve a blue and orange plastic bag. The top of the bag was rolled down. After unfurling it and sniffing the contents, Clem pointed the open end of the bag toward the nearest soldier.
“Cheeto?” he offered politely. The soldiers stared blankly ahead. Clem shrugged, popped a handful of the curly cheese treats in his mouth and chomped happily.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Activity was slowing in the basement. The last few egg crates were being positioned
in a net. They were about to be hoisted
to the ground level and then loaded onto a truck. Buffy gave up her chair at the computer,
returning it to the red-haired tech. The
woman started downloading data and Buffy and
‘Then what?’ Buffy thought. ‘Do I
head for
The rush of Slayer adrenaline had faded and she was starting to feel the burn from the gash in her arm and the deep bruising of her muscles. She tried to work the stiffness out of her shoulders. The Suvolte had pounded her good before succumbing to her blade. More than anything Buffy wanted to go home and have a long hot soak in an herbal bath. She shot a sidelong glance at the heap of cream-colored linen and broken wood that was all that remained of Spike’s bed.
‘Well, almost more than anything,’ she conceded, silently.
Spike might be unrepentant in his wickedness. She was willing to admit he’d lied to and played her. But he was also a miracle worker when it came to taking the edge off her kinks. Buffy took a minute to think back on the last time she’d taken a beating from some big nasty. She’d come to the crypt straight after and Spike had cooed over her like a nesting dove. He’d supplied ice for her neck, hot eucalyptus oil for her aches and pains, and kisses for every laceration. He had turned her misery into bliss.
Buffy frowned. “You think they’re going to keep them?”
“A weapon is a weapon,”
“Because it’s the right thing to do,” Buffy supposed half-heartedly.
“It wouldn’t be the first time the government did the wrong
thing,”
“This isn’t the Initiative,” Buffy hissed. “Riley said this was an Army operation.”
“Can we trust the Army?”
Buffy wasn’t sure they should. She could easily imagine a Suvolte dropped on an encampment of so-called enemies. She’d been envisioning it for the last few hours as she came to grips with Spike selling the eggs. Her eyes darted to Riley’s extra-tall figure. If those were his orders would he follow them? He’d been a part of the Initiative, a valued member of their hit squad. He wasn’t a predator like she was. He had the standard soldier’s excuse: I was just following orders. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d used that line. In the name of duty, he’d collected living specimens, evil things certainly. But was evil so clearly defined? Riley had stood by while all around him thinking beings were tortured and butchered in the name of super-weapon creation. Clem’s second cousin had died to produce a gram of neurotoxin.
Buffy studied Sam as she spoke to Riley and then walk away. Could marriage remake the man? Buffy didn’t think so. As Mrs. Finn moved off, a scrawny soldier in heavy boots handed Riley a clipboard. After giving the report on it a cursory glance, he signed off on the top two sheets.
“No,” Buffy murmured, coming to a conclusion. “I don’t think we can trust anyone with these eggs.”
“So what do we do?”
Buffy chewed on her lower lip for minute, considering and
rejecting options. The eggs were already
loaded on a truck and it would be hard to get past the guards and guns. She should have realized the danger sooner. Now it might be too late. She looked toward
the ladder-like stairs as she leaned closer to
“Can you go up and mark the truck somehow?” she asked her voice a bare whisper. “So we can trace it?”
“Buffy?” he repeated. “Hold on!”
As she approached the huddle of soldiers they looked up and rapidly assessed the situation. Confusion was apparent on their faces but they gathered into a wall of camouflage green and dark rifles, blocking her escape. Buffy had no delusions about being faster than a speeding bullet, but she wasn’t about to be contained by a handful of men. Tensing for a charge, she was brought up short by Riley’s firm grip on her elbow. He swung her around, his free hand heading toward her. She blocked it instinctively.
Riley flinched away. “Hey! Watch it, tiger. This is a government issue phone,” he said brandishing the cell he held in his right hand. “I don’t think it can take too much punishment.”
His words registered a millisecond before Buffy threw a punch at his head.
“What?”
Releasing her elbow, Riley offered her the phone again as he said, “I gave Dawn my number.”
Buffy blinked stupidly for a moment before taking the cell with an unsteady hand and speaking into it. “Dawn?” she said shakily.
“Ah, no,” a crisp British voice said on the other end of the line. “This is Wes, Buffy. Wesley Wyndam-Pryce?”
“Wesley? What did you…? How…?”
“I rang your house and your sister gave me this number. I do hope I haven’t disturbed you.”
“Not disturbed much,” Buffy muttered. “Not since you bedded my boyfriend.”
“Not since…what? I’m afraid we have a very bad connection on this end. And I just have one quick question.”
“Yes?”
“Do you…? That is…Did you send a vampire here?”
Buffy sent her gaze on a slow sweep around the room. It was on the tip of her tongue to deny it. She could go home and never think about Spike again. Let him make a new life with Wesley if that’s what he wanted to do.
“Buffy? Did you hear me?”
“Yes.”
“Yes, you heard me or…yes, you did send a vampire here?”
“BUFFY! HE’S GOT A STAKE!” A familiar feminine voice yelped somewhere in the distance behind Wes.
“Don’t kill him,” Buffy said quickly. Then she grimaced and corrected herself. “I mean…her. Don’t stake her.”
“So you did send her?”
Buffy heard Spike say something that sounded like a smug “I told you so” and her temper flared. Fury blinded her to her previous concerns for his safety. “Put the little woman on the phone,” she ordered.
“Yes, well, I have her chained up at the moment.”
“Good. Keep her like that. And let me talk to her.”
From the sound of things Wes had placed a hand over the mouthpiece. Buffy could barely make out his words as he addressed Spike. “She wants to talk to you.” There was some slight scuffling and then a silvery alto sent shivers down her spine.
“Thanks for the save, luv. Now, if you’ll just tell the nice Watcher to let me out of these manacles, we can all be about our business.”
“You aren’t going anywhere,” Buffy hissed.
“What?” Spike yelped incredulously. “Look you can’t just lord it over me anymore, Missy. I told you we’re through.”
“Yeah, and the independence is really working for you,” Buffy jabbed.
Spike’s string of shouted obscenities came through loud and clear before Wes, once again, muffled the reception. He came back on to ask Buffy to hold for a moment. Behind him Spike’s rant continued. There was a heated garble of raised voices on the other end of the line, including a reference to Buffy’s sexual proclivities that made her blush beet red. She held the phone away from her ear and frowned at it.
“Something wrong?” Riley asked from a few feet away.
Buffy shot a furtive glance in his direction and shook her
head in a quick negative before tucking the cell under her chin again. She didn’t trust Riley and couldn’t risk
letting him know Spike was in
Wes’ voice spoke with clear calm into her ear. “Sorry about that. Buffy? Are you there?”
“I’m here. But I’m on my way. Don’t let her out of those chains.”
“You’re coming to…?”
“Yes…on my way to see you,” she clarified for Wes while aiming for the cryptic with Riley and company. “Can you meet me at…at the office?”
“Yes, of course. But Miss Spivey is being very uncooperative at the moment. Wouldn’t it be easier if I gave you my address? I’m at…”
“This isn’t a secure line,” Buffy said.
“I see,” Wes said, sounding as if he didn’t see at all.
Buffy’s hasty bark had caused Riley to look up from his conversation with a subordinate. She lowered her voice as she tried to sooth Wes. “I’ll explain everything when I arrive. Just don’t let that…woman…out of your sight.” With a touch of gleeful malice, she added, “Maybe you could gag her.”
“She seems to have settled down. Do you want to talk to her again?”
“No!”
“But if she is working for you…”
“Wesley,” Buffy interrupted. “This is way too complicated for the phone. Let’s do it face to face. Take her to the office, okay? I’ll clear this all up when I see you.” And without another word, she snapped the cell phone closed and handed it back to Riley.
“What was that all about?” he asked as he slipped the phone into his vest pocket.
“My former Watcher,” Buffy said, waving a dismissive hand.
“And he was going to stake someone?”
“An informant,” Buffy lied without a qualm. “Except she’s not so informy just now. Why so interested?” A bitter note crept into her tone. “You want an introduction? Maybe if the missus stops giving you the emotional support…”
“My relationship with my wife,” Riley stressed his face darkening with anger, “is none of your concern.”
“Right,” Buffy said firmly. “It’s good that we’re all goose and gandery.” She shot a glare at the men blocking her exit. “You want to move them or shall I?”
Riley gestured with a hand and the camouflage-green sea parted for Buffy to pass. As soon as she disappeared though the hole in the ceiling, Riley walked over to the technician at the computer and asked, “Did you get the trace?”
“Yes, sir. It was
“Angel,” Riley said softly. Then he spoke with authority. “Get the address of one Wesley Wyndam-Pryce. I want someone watching his building. If he leaves or anyone arrives I want to know.” He turned on his heel and headed for the stairs but paused at the foot of them. “Oh, and fax them the photos of IH-17.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The abruptly cut line buzzed in Wes’ ear for a second or two before he registered the white noise. When he finally moved it was with studied deliberation. He placed the phone back into its cradle on the bar. Then, leaning on stiff arms propped against he counter, he took a couple deep breaths. Three creases furrowed his brow as he turned back to his prisoner.
There was something about all of this that he wasn’t processing. He tilted his head to consider the gorgeous and deadly creature kneeling in the center of his living room. She was chained hand and foot with cold iron. But that didn’t stop Wes from keeping his crossbow loaded and close at hand. He was taking no chances.
“She’s coming to collect you,” he said, picking up the weapon.
“Bloody hell,” Spike huffed, a pout marring his perfect features. He turned pleading eyes on Wes. “I can’t go back there. You have to let me out of these chains.”
“Now why would I dream of doing such a thing?”
“Good times? Spicy shrimp? Naked tonsil hockey on the sofa?” Spike’s cold iron bracelets clinked when he pointed at the couch.
“I should release you because you deceived me?”
“Oh, come on, mate! What was I supposed to say?” He slipped into a gutter wench dialect. “’Ello, Luvie…care to ‘elp a vampire lady in distress?’” He smirked as he dropped the act with a snort. “Told you I was a vampire and look how well you took it.”
“I was talking about seducing me so you could pillage my files,” Wes admonished. A thought struck him and he muttered. “Is Buffy looking for information on Connor?” His piercing blue gaze targeted Spike. “Was that your mission?”
Spike sighed mightily, letting his head drop back so he was staring at the ceiling. “There is no soddin’ mission. Buffy doesn’t even know about this Connor nipper.”
“Are you sure? She might not discuss it with you.”
“What? If she knew Angel’d been shagging Darla? News like that would have earned me a week’s worth of rug burn on my arse.”
Wes pulled a face. “What?”
“Never you mind,” Spike admonished, remembering too late that he wasn’t going to mention the Obreo weevils. “Just take it from me…Buffy and I have our own concerns and you and Angel and your little love child from Hell aren’t any part of them. Now, if you’ll just unlock these chains…I’ll be on my merry way.”
“Buffy wants me to take you to the Hyperion.”
“I don’t care if Buffy wants a pony and a new pair of lace knickers. I don’t want to see her…she’s not even supposed to know where I am.”
“Why did you ask me to call her, then?”
Spike gave the man a pitying look. “You were going to stake me. Had to say something to stop you. And I knew Buffy would back me up. But I can’t stay here if she’s coming. I can’t let her back into my afterlife.”
“Back into…” He let the sentence trail off, too weary of the roundabout argument to even satisfy his curiosity.
Wes had a burgeoning awareness of a dull ache behind his eyes. The last few hours, indeed the last few weeks, were catching up to him. It felt like he’d been running in front of a train for days on end. First, there was Connor’s birth and the threat he was under. Wes had no idea if Angel was going to kill his own son. Now this strange vampire with the beautiful face and stunning figure had arrived to complicate matters. Years of training with the Council of Watchers were proving next to useless in the face of real world responsibilities. Wes almost wished his father were there just so he could laugh at the old man.
Instead, he lowered the crossbow and slouched to the sofa. Dropping into the seat, he settled back against the cushions with a sigh and stared at his captive, a thoughtful look on his face. After a longish pause he addressed her. “What is going on?” He asked with studied casualness.
“I told you…I’m pregnant. I need answers.”
“Alright,” Wes said. “Let’s say I accept that. You aren’t on a mission. But you did work with Buffy. Only now you don’t. And even though she doesn’t want you killed…she wants you bound and gagged. And you don’t want to wait around for her to arrive.”
“Right,” Spike nodded. “And you can’t keep me locked up like this.”
“Considering that’s cold iron, I’d say I can. You’re a vampire involved with a Slayer and a Watcher. You’re getting off lightly as long as you’re still in one piece.”
“Try seeing it from my end of the dysfunction. She means to kill my baby.”
A frisson of fear raced along Wes’ skin. He scooted forward to the edge of his seat and his face took on a waxy pallor as his mind went immediately to the defenseless Connor. “K-kill it? Why?”
Spike smelled the tang of paranoia in the air and saw his window of opportunity. “Well, I’m a vampire, see? And any child of mine is bound to be evil, right? Buffy thinks this is one of the seven signs. So she’s going with the preemptive strike.”
END THIS PART