Spike breathed very carefully out of his nose. He didn't need to, of
course, but he found it helpful during those moments when he felt like
ripping vital bits off Xander, or less frequently Willow. The red-headed
witch was his target today, and she knew it. She clutched Tara's arm
protectively and ducked a little behind her lover's back as Spike took
another breath and enunciated, very carefully, "Why is Buffy five years
old?"
The subject of his question raised her golden head from the Magic Box's research table, where she had been happily drawing pictures in Anya's inventory book in red and black felt-tipped pens, but said nothing. Spike did a double-take again to reassure himself of what he was seeing, but it was unmistakeably a five-year-old Buffy, from the long blonde hair to the look of absolutely stubborn concentration on her face as she returned to coloring. Her clothes seemed to have transformed along with the rest of her, so that she wore a Mickey Mouse t-shirt and a pair of purple shorts. Her tiny feet dangled in purple sneakers above the Magic Box floor.
"Well," Willow began, "we think..."
"No thinking, Red. No maybes, possiblys, or perhaps. I want to know why the Slayer is suddenly a little kid!" he ended in a quite impressive shout.
"If we knew for certain why we'd tell you!" Willow protested weakly. "All we know is that we were doing a spell, and all of a sudden we hear this crying, and we found Little Buffy in the training room, and we think maybe --"
"The spell turned her into a child again," Tara finished before Spike could recharge his anger at Willow's "maybe." "But in all fairness it might have been the evil trio."
"The evil trio of dorks you mean, right?"
"Well, yeah. They're responsible for just about anything odd around here lately, aren't they?" Willow looked over her shoulder. "I don't know what they could gain by turning Buffy into a little kid, though. It seems like all of their efforts lately have just been to annoy her."
Tara frowned. "Or kill her."
"They don't pass out brains at Wicca meetings, do they?" Spike nearly stomped his foot in frustration before realizing just how childlike it would be. "They want to kill Buffy so they can do whatever they want. With a baby Buffy they've accomplished the same thing without the nasty complications of murder. The trio have nothing to worry about, evil-wise. How's she going to stop them when she's three feet tall?"
"I won't stop what?" Buffy tugged on the pocket of his duster, which he realized with a pang was all she could reach. "I'm thirsty."
"Okay honey," Willow said distractedly. "I think there's some juice in the refrigerator in the back, Spike -- would you?"
"Hey, why me? Shouldn't one of you lot take charge of her?" Spike protested. "I don't know the first thing about five-year-olds. And what if she has to go to the loo or something?"
"You just need to pour her some juice, Spike," Tara said. Willow had already wandered off and was pulling books from the shelves, clearly in "research-willow" mode. "Wills and I need to work on figuring out what caused this."
"Hey mister..." Buffy was now pulling insistently on the pocket of his duster. "I'm thirsty...."
"Okay, Buffy, okay." Spike said, resigned. "Let's see what we can find. You work hard!" he shouted over his shoulder at the witches as the prenaturnally strong five-year old pulled him into the training room. "I can't be babysitter to baby-Buffy forever..."
******
"I don't like apple juice. I want grape."
"Buffy," Spike said patiently for the umpteenth time in a row, "we don't have any grape juice. All we have is apple juice. Mmmmm, apple juice..." and blood, he thought, but he'd be doubly-damned if he was going to share any of his blood with this pint-size slayer, love of his unlife she might be. Besides, he doubted it would agree with her.
"I don't like apple juice."
"Buffy, that's all we have. Now drink it up like a good girl."
"Can you go buy me some grape juice?"
"Bloody hell, woman!" Spike exploded. "It's the middle of the day and I'm a bloody vampire! Do you want me to burst into bloody flames? Just drink the bloody -- oh no, please don't..." he added hastily, as Buffy's lower lip began to quiver. "I didn't mean it pet -- oh bloody hell," he sighed as the little slayer burst into tears to rival Niagara and shrieks that would have impressed a banshee.
"All I wanted was some grape juice and you're a big meanie and I want my mommy and I don't like this place and I don't like you and I'm still thirsty and I want to go home and you're a big poophead and -- mmph." The slayer stopped, her mouth effectively plugged by the large wad of chocolate Spike had crammed in it. Thank goodness for the Slayer's stash of PMS candy, he thought as he watched her chew. If only her little self liked chocolate as much as her grown self....
"I don't like this chocolate. Do you have any Snickers?"
"Oh bloody hell."
********
Several hours later Spike was still sequestered with the Little Buffy in the training room. He had tried to turn her over to the witches several times, but they shook him off, declaring that they were deeply engrossed in their research. That had better be all they were deeply engrossed in, he thought darkly. He knew they'd reunited a few days ago and hoped they weren't using him as a baby-sitter to sneak in some lesbian lovin'. Not if he couldn't watch, anyway.
Baby-Buffy, meanwhile, was seriously cramping his style. After a heated argument over whether he would accompany her to the bathroom -- he'd absolutely declined, knowing that the grown Buffy would stake him the moment she returned -- she had burst into tears, thrown herself kicking and screaming to the tumbling mats, and cried herself to sleep. She'd worked in a good couple of kicks to his shins before she'd finished, though. Spike had to smile at that slightly -- it reminded him all too much of their fights when she was a grown-up. Even as a five-year-old she couldn't resist trying to kick his ass. And speaking of Baby-Buffy.... he broke off his reverie of fights with slayers past as Buffy sat up and rubbed her eyes with her little fists. She was, he had to admit, damned cute as a five- year-old. He thought of all the children Dru had brought home to play with during their long, mad courtship and felt a twinge of uncharacteristic guilt.
"I'm hungry."
Spike looked up to the nearest window. It looked like the sun had set. "What would you like, pet? I don't think we have any baby-Buffy food in the fridge."
"Ummm...." Buffy paused, twirling a golden piece of hair between her fingers as she thought. "I want a Happy Meal," she decided with appropriate gravitas. "And I still have to go to the bathroom," she added darkly.
Spike winced. "One of the Wiccas is going to have to go with you, pet -- let's go find them and see if they'll let me take you out, shall we?" Baby Buffy hopped up and grabbed his duster pocket again as they walked into the main room of the Magic Box.
Willow and Tara scooted apart just a little too quickly as they entered, earning themselves a glare from Spike. "The littlest bit's hungry," he declared. "Says she wants a Happy Meal. Anyone got a problem with me driving her over to McDonald's?"
"No, go right ahead," Willow said quickly.
"And she needs to go to the bathroom. And I'm not taking her!"
"I can do that," said Tara. "I had lots of little sisters at home. Hey sweetie," she cooed to little Buffy, bending down so that their faces were almost level. "I'll take you to the potty, and then your Uncle Spike will take you to get a Happy Meal, okay?"
"I don't like him," Buffy scowled. "He's a meanie."
"Oh, I know he acts like he's a meanie," Willow said with a grin. "But underneath he's really a very nice man...."
"'S not a man, he's a vampire," Buffy announced with authority. "And he's still mean."
"How do you know he's a vampire?" Tara asked curiously.
'That's what he said he was," Buffy replied. "And his eyes go all yellow when he's mad and his face gets all bumpy and then he gives you chocolate."
"Spike!" Willow smirked. "Did you vamp out in front of Buffy then feed her candy?"
"The bint was crying!" Spike protested. "She wanted me to go buy her some grape juice and of course it was the middle of the bloody blooming day and - yes, I fed her candy. Some of big-Buffy's PMS stash."
"Okay, so no dessert with her Happy Meal then," Willow decided. "We don't want her ruining her teeth, or Big-Buffy will kill us. Sweetie," she directed to Baby-Buffy, who was looking with wide eyes at some of the Magic Shop's more unusual merchandise, "go to the bathroom with your auntie Tara, and then your Uncle Spike will take you for a Happy Meal."
"Kay," Baby-Buffy said as she took Tara's hand. "But he better not be mean to me again."
And outside in the bushes planted around the magic shop, someone nodded his head in satisfaction at the scene he had just witnessed, and slunk back into the darkness.
*******
"Your car smells bad," Buffy decided, wrinkling her little - littler - nose as she climbed into the front seat of Spike's DeSoto. "And the windows are dirty. How can you drive if you can't see through the windows?"
"I've got super powers."
"That's what you said about us not having to pay at McDonalds. And me getting all the Happy Meal toys."
"No, that wasn't the super powers, luv. That was me knowing the cashier." Spike decided not to add that the extent of his "knowledge" was flashing a little fang. He wasn't sure how he'd explain that to either the little or the big Buffy. He stuck his key into the ignition and started the engine, only to wince and clap his hands over his ears as the Clash burst through the speakers in their full, nasal glory. "Oi! What'd I tell you about messing with my radio?"
Baby-Buffy ignored him. "Twenty twenty twenty four hours ago-ah-oh," she warbled in a surprisingly passable British accent. "I wanna be serrated!"
"That's "sedated," pet, not "serrated,'" Spike grumbled as he fumbled for the radio dial. "And I don't see why you like my music now. You never did when you were a grown-up Buffy. Put that down!" he roared suddenly, seeing that baby-Buffy had somehow gotten hold of a large and wicked knife he kept stashed in the glove compartment along with a tire jack for "emergencies." Buffy only continued to use his knife to draw patterns in the grease of his passenger-side window. Spike reached over and plucked the knife out of her hands and she pouted. "You're no fun."
"Yes, you cutting off one of your little fingers with my knife is just my idea of fun," Spike grimaced as he jammed the knife into the his sunvisor. Hopefully it wouldn't fall down and cut off any essential bits while he was driving. "Lord, you're like a monkey, always with your little hands into everything." He slipped into a reverie about what grown-up Buffy had been capable of with those hands that was only interrupted by Buffy's giggle. "You're funny."
Spike looked at her askance - since when had the grown-up Buffy ever giggled at him? Maybe he could warm to the little Slayer after all, even if she was no substitute for the real thing. "How am I funny, pet?"
"Well.." Buffy paused, deep in thought. "You have funny hair and you talk funny and you wear that funny coat and you have a funny car. And your face is funny when you get angry."
Spike snorted. She thought his game face was funny now? Not to mention the hair? "I'm funny when I look like this, pet?" he asked, letting his demonic face slip to the fore. He got his answer when Buffy toppled to the floorboards in a fit of giggles. She stood up again on his seat and crowed, "You don't have eyebrows! You don't have eyebrows!"
"Yes, pet, I'm aware of that."
"And your pointy teeth are dirty," Buffy added, suddenly serious. She inspected his game face carefully, and Spike held his breath unnecessarily as she ran her little hands over the ridges in his forehead, the pronounced ridge of bone over his eyes, and even touched his fangs. "You should brush twice a day with toothpaste, long as you can before you have to spit," she concluded, utterly fearless. She even didn't start when Spike threw his head back, but when he started laughing until tears came to his eyes her brow creased with suspicion.
"What's so funny?" she demanded. "Are you laughing at me?"
"Of course I am pet," Spike snorted, and then quickly backtracked as Buffy's lip began to quiver. "Not at you pet, not at you," he amended. "But don't you think this is funny? You lecturing me on the basics of vampire hygiene?"
"I don't see anything funny," Buffy pouted. "And I want some ice cream. Can we go to Baskin Robbins?"
"Bloody hell," Spike exhaled. "Don't you ever stop eating?"
"Mama says I'm a growing girl," Buffy informed him solemnly. "And growing girls need ice cream to get good and big."
"Well, Joyce always did know her stuff," Spike said thoughtfully. Hell, it wasn't like he knew anything about children anyway. Before he was turned he'd been an only child, and afterwards he hadn't shared Dru's taste for them. "What's say we go to Baskin Robbins and then head back to the Magic Shop to see what the Wiccas are up to?"
"Okay. What's a Wicca?"
"Errr.." Spike pondered his answer as they pulled away from the McDonalds. As soon as the DeSota had pulled a safe distance away from the parking lot, a dark figure peered its head out of the bushes, nodded once in satisfaction, and padded off in the opposition direction.
*******
"I don't think you needed all that extra goo, pet."
'S whah ma' ith cream good," Buffy smiled around a mouthful of sundae as they walked back towards the Magic Shop. Spike had found it distressingly easy to shorten his long strides to match her little ones.
"Hot fudge, caramel, gummy bears, those little chocolate thingies and whipped cream?" Spike shook his head in disbelief. "You better eat all of that, pet - that's an eleven-dollar sundae right there."
"But you knew the ice cream man!" Buffy protested. "He said he would give us all the money in the drawer and all the ice cream we wanted if we just went away."
"Well, that's true," Spike amended. "But you better not get sick or the Wiccas will have my hide - oi, what's this?"
"What's oi?"
"Not that, pet." Spike pointed to the Magic Box. "Why're all those cars there this late at night?"
"Maybe it's a party!" Baby-Buffy stuffed her mouth full of ice cream again. Her face darkened as she chewed and swallowed. "Or maybe we're in trouble."
"Ay, that's my worry," Spike said thoughtfully. "Well, come on then pet. Might as well make a good entrance." He threw the remainder of his ice cream cone in the trash, grabbed Baby Buffy's sticky free hand with his slightly less sticky one, and rapped on the Magic Box door with all the arrogance he could summon through one hundred and fifty years of living and a damn cool coat. "Anyone home?" he called. He was mid-rap when the door was pulled open abruptly from the inside, forcing him to stumble ignominiously forward. His entrance ruined, he looked around for the culprit. Then he realized his error and looked down.
"Oh bloody bleeding buggering hell in a handbasket."
A five-year old Faith looked back at him curiously. "You talk funny."
*********
"Yes, the prison authorities dropped her off some time ago," Giles said wearily, polishing his glasses for the umpteenth time. It seems they found her in her cell like this sometime around noon today. As they were quite unprepared to deal with a five-year-old, and quite unable to solve this particular mystery, they decided the best policy was out of sight, out of mind, and drove her down to Sunnydale. The first word I had she was coming was when she showed up on my doorstep. It appears," he said, looking severely over his glasses at the little brunette slayer as she colored happily in his watcher journal with his fountain pen, "that they consider me her next of kin. How that happened I can't possibly imagine."
"Don't think that's the biggest mystery here, watcher," Spike said, watching baby-Buffy as she folded the Magic Box's inventory labels into tiny paper boats. "Why are both the slayers little kids?"
"Yes, I see your point," Giles amended. "Tara and Willow were here when Faith and I arrived, and Willow confessed that she thought she might have turned Buffy this way through a rogue spell. What a surprise," Giles enunciated, his voice dripping with enough sarcasm to paint a house. "But I pointed out to her that it was extraordinarily unlikely that one miscast spell could transform both slayers simultaneously into five-year-olds, especially when one was several hundred miles away."
"You're thinking the fact that they're both this way implies some sort of intent, then?" Spike considered. "So who would want to, and would be powerful enough, to do this?"
"That is the key question I'm afraid. Willow and Tara headed home to do some research."
"That better be all they're doing," Spike growled.
"Now, now," Giles said mildly. "Willow and Tara carry themselves with the utmost of professionalism."
Spike listened to that inner voice that occasionally told him smart things and held his tongue. "The question, then," he said, "is what're we going to do with them--" he jerked his thumb at the two little slayers, who both looked up "-until the Wiccas do find some sort of cure."
"An excellent question to be sure. As fascinating as this phenomena is-" Giles looked to the two girls, who had in the meantime joined forces to float Buffy's paper boats in a convenient bowl of goldfish - "I'm afraid I'm not set up to take care of two five-year olds."
"I'm five and a half," Faith interrupted.
"Yes, you are," Giles agreed. "And you also managed to knock over an entire shelf's full of newt's eyes."
Faith shrugged. To Spike's experienced eyes she didn't look all that repentant. "Already said I was sorry."
"Yes, anyway," Giles sighed. "You can't take them either. For all your crypt's amenities, being childproof is not one of them. And we can't take them to Xander and Anyas--'"
"-seeing as the whelp and demon bint are on their honeymoon of indefinite length. And the Wiccans are in student housing. Right then," Spike said with a sigh. "Looks like they're going to Buffy's house, doesn't it? Maybe Dawn can look after them for us."
"I hardly think that's fair," Giles frowned. "She has school tomorrow, after all. Perhaps you should go with them."
"Me?" Spike sputtered. "Why does everyone think I'm a bloody babysitter around here? Take baby-Buffy here, take baby-Buffy there," he mimicked. "Take baby-Buffy to the bleeding loo! I'm a master vampire, damn it! Not a sodding nursemaid!"
"You're a master vampire who took care of a five-year-old quite capably all afternoon," Giles said crisply. "You also have no pressing concerns of your own, unlike me, Dawn, Willow or Tara. Barring the sudden appearance of a job, classes, a mortgage or a business, I'll have to conclude that you are by far the most logical babysitter for the girls. Besides, I daresay you might find yourself sharing some traits in common with Buffy and Faith right now."
"You're treading on very thin ice, Watcher," Spike growled.
"I'm sure I am," Giles said with a satisfied smile. "But right now I'm going to continue researching and you're going to take the girls home. Buffy! Faith!" he called, and the two girls both looked up from their respective projects. "Your nice Uncle Spike is going to take you to Auntie Dawn's house for a sleepover! Won't that be fun."
"Why does everyone 'round here talk funny?" Faith asked with a frown.
"Don't know," Buffy shrugged. "But Spike knows everyone. And if you cry he gives you candy!"
"Does he really?" Giles asked. He caught Spike's eye and smirked. Spike found himself wishing once again that there was something convenient around that needed its head ripped off.
*******
Dawn crossed her arms incredulously in the doorway. "You're saying that's my big sister?"
"You're bigger than me," Buffy observed.
"Yes," Spike said again. "And this," he said, grabbing Faith's arm and pulling her forward, "is Faith, the other Slayer. They found her like this in the jail this morning in L.A."
"I don't know, Spike," Dawn frowned. "I've seen a lot of weird stuff in my day, but I'm having a hard time believing that these little kids are my big sister and the slayer who tried to kill her."
"Would I pull a joke on you, bit?"
"Short sheets on my bed. Whipped cream in my slippers. Live tadpoles in my water glass -"
"All right, so I took April Fool's a bit too far," Spike admitted. "But this is your sister."
"Prove it."
"Okay." Spike thought a moment. "Buffy," he said, "tell Dawnie what your Mum's name is."
"Joyce," Buffy said promptly. "And we live at 2524 Buena Vista Lane, Los Angeles -"
"-clever, Spike, very clever," Dawn said with a frown. "But how do I know you didn't teach her that?"
"How would I know your address from when you were in LA?"
"Good point," Dawn said thoughtfully. "Give me one more piece of proof."
"Well," Spike said thoughtfully, "They've both retained their slayer strength, just in smaller packages. Got anything around that needs smashing?"
"Hey, Mister Spike," Faith tugged on his duster pocket. "Buffy called me a mean name."
Spike sighed and bent down so that he was at eye level with the little slayers. "Buffy, is that true?"
Buffy crossed her arms and stuck out her lower lip in a fine imitation of Willow's resolved face. "She called me one first!"
"Faith, is that true?" Spike looked to the heavens and wondered when exactly he had been reduced to a mediator between two brassed-off five-year- olds. Sometime that afternoon, he realized with a pang.
"She's a liar!" Faith spat from across her own crossed arms.
"You said blondes were dummies!" Buffy knotted her little hands into fists. "And that Mickey Mouse was stupid!"
"Liar, liar, pants on fire, hanging on a telephone wire.." Faith sang.
With a yowl of frustration, Buffy launched herself at Faith, fists flailing. Faith met her in kind, and they rolled in a howling, kicking, punching, hair-pulling mess across the porch. Spike looked to Dawn - she'd backed into the doorframe, wide-eyed. With a sigh Spike waded into the melee, earning himself several more kicks to the shins for his trouble. They were still as strong as slayers, but they were hampered by their smaller size, and he eventually got Buffy under one arm and Faith under the other, where they dangled, still kicking and glaring at one another.
"Now do you believe me - hey!" Spike shouted at Faith, who had squirmed around so that she could sink her teeth into his arm. "Leggo, you little demon!"
"Faith is a de-mon," Buffy sing-songed from her perch under his other arm.
"Oh, I believe you," Dawn said, still wide-eyed. "Only Buffy and Faith would fight like that. I don't think the porch will ever be the same again."
Spike looked over his shoulder, noticing for the first time that Buffy and Faith had knocked a couple of posts and the railing lose from the porch and shattered the nearby flowerboxes in their tussle. He'd finally gotten to see the two slayers have at it, he thought bitterly. Too bad they were far too young for him to have enjoyed it. Plus there was no mud or jello, although Buffy appeared to have gotten a faceful of potting soil.
Faith stopped chewing on Spike's arm long enough to say, "I don't wanna stay here."
Buffy pulled a truly gruesome face at her from the other side of Spike. "Well nyah nyah nyah, I don't want you to stay here either!"
"Girls!" Spike shouted at the top of his vampiric lungs, his eyes to the heavens. "You're both staying here and that is final!" Both of the girls just looked up at him, wide-eyed. "Now if I put you two down, will that spark a repeat of the Slayer Wars? Or do I have to carry you around for the rest of the evening?"
"Don't know what a Slayer is," Faith shrugged. "I won't hit Buffy if she doesn't hit me."
"Buffy?"
Buffy pouted. Spike decided the expression was even less attractive on the face of the younger Buffy than it had been on the older one. "I won't hit Faith if she doesn't hit me."
"Fine then." Spike exhaled, again quite unnecessarily. "Now say you're sorry."
"She started it!" "No, she started it!" "No, she-"
"Girls!"
"Sorry." "Sorry."
"Fine." Spike carefully lowered each girl to her feet, where they stood, wide-eyed, staring at Dawn. Dawn looked back at them askance. "You're staying here tonight too, aren't you?
Spike groped wildly for an excuse. It wasn't that the little Buffy hadn't started to grow on him - that was far from the case. It was just that all this hanging about with five year olds, buying them ice cream and candy and separating their little squabbles, was going to be hell on his reputation in the demon community. As the reputation was a large part of what kept him undusty, he had no desire to see his image as William the Bloody replaced with William the Bloody Softy. "Ummm. well, there's a football match on telly tonight, and I promised some of the blokes at Willy's that I'd play a spot of poker, and -"
"Nope." Dawn shook her head. "Not gonna cut it. I need you here."
"Why does everyone think I'm this sort of indispensable babysitter?" Spike said bitterly. Dawn only pointed to the mangled remains of the porch in response.
"Ah, yes. You mean you need me in case we have Buffy versus Faith, the sequel?"
"Do I look like I want my leg broken by a five-year-old?"
"No one seems to consider whether I want my leg broken by a pint-size slayer."
Dawn only smirked in response. "That's because all of your desires are inherently selfish and evil, which means we don't have to care. Besides, you heal fast. Now get in here and help me corral these two."
"I'll never be able to show my face in Willy's again," Spike complained as he followed Dawn and the two little Slayers into the house." Across the street, in the bushes of the unsuspecting McHenry's, three heads turned to look at one another, nodded together in satisfaction, and headed off together into the night.
The subject of his question raised her golden head from the Magic Box's research table, where she had been happily drawing pictures in Anya's inventory book in red and black felt-tipped pens, but said nothing. Spike did a double-take again to reassure himself of what he was seeing, but it was unmistakeably a five-year-old Buffy, from the long blonde hair to the look of absolutely stubborn concentration on her face as she returned to coloring. Her clothes seemed to have transformed along with the rest of her, so that she wore a Mickey Mouse t-shirt and a pair of purple shorts. Her tiny feet dangled in purple sneakers above the Magic Box floor.
"Well," Willow began, "we think..."
"No thinking, Red. No maybes, possiblys, or perhaps. I want to know why the Slayer is suddenly a little kid!" he ended in a quite impressive shout.
"If we knew for certain why we'd tell you!" Willow protested weakly. "All we know is that we were doing a spell, and all of a sudden we hear this crying, and we found Little Buffy in the training room, and we think maybe --"
"The spell turned her into a child again," Tara finished before Spike could recharge his anger at Willow's "maybe." "But in all fairness it might have been the evil trio."
"The evil trio of dorks you mean, right?"
"Well, yeah. They're responsible for just about anything odd around here lately, aren't they?" Willow looked over her shoulder. "I don't know what they could gain by turning Buffy into a little kid, though. It seems like all of their efforts lately have just been to annoy her."
Tara frowned. "Or kill her."
"They don't pass out brains at Wicca meetings, do they?" Spike nearly stomped his foot in frustration before realizing just how childlike it would be. "They want to kill Buffy so they can do whatever they want. With a baby Buffy they've accomplished the same thing without the nasty complications of murder. The trio have nothing to worry about, evil-wise. How's she going to stop them when she's three feet tall?"
"I won't stop what?" Buffy tugged on the pocket of his duster, which he realized with a pang was all she could reach. "I'm thirsty."
"Okay honey," Willow said distractedly. "I think there's some juice in the refrigerator in the back, Spike -- would you?"
"Hey, why me? Shouldn't one of you lot take charge of her?" Spike protested. "I don't know the first thing about five-year-olds. And what if she has to go to the loo or something?"
"You just need to pour her some juice, Spike," Tara said. Willow had already wandered off and was pulling books from the shelves, clearly in "research-willow" mode. "Wills and I need to work on figuring out what caused this."
"Hey mister..." Buffy was now pulling insistently on the pocket of his duster. "I'm thirsty...."
"Okay, Buffy, okay." Spike said, resigned. "Let's see what we can find. You work hard!" he shouted over his shoulder at the witches as the prenaturnally strong five-year old pulled him into the training room. "I can't be babysitter to baby-Buffy forever..."
******
"I don't like apple juice. I want grape."
"Buffy," Spike said patiently for the umpteenth time in a row, "we don't have any grape juice. All we have is apple juice. Mmmmm, apple juice..." and blood, he thought, but he'd be doubly-damned if he was going to share any of his blood with this pint-size slayer, love of his unlife she might be. Besides, he doubted it would agree with her.
"I don't like apple juice."
"Buffy, that's all we have. Now drink it up like a good girl."
"Can you go buy me some grape juice?"
"Bloody hell, woman!" Spike exploded. "It's the middle of the day and I'm a bloody vampire! Do you want me to burst into bloody flames? Just drink the bloody -- oh no, please don't..." he added hastily, as Buffy's lower lip began to quiver. "I didn't mean it pet -- oh bloody hell," he sighed as the little slayer burst into tears to rival Niagara and shrieks that would have impressed a banshee.
"All I wanted was some grape juice and you're a big meanie and I want my mommy and I don't like this place and I don't like you and I'm still thirsty and I want to go home and you're a big poophead and -- mmph." The slayer stopped, her mouth effectively plugged by the large wad of chocolate Spike had crammed in it. Thank goodness for the Slayer's stash of PMS candy, he thought as he watched her chew. If only her little self liked chocolate as much as her grown self....
"I don't like this chocolate. Do you have any Snickers?"
"Oh bloody hell."
********
Several hours later Spike was still sequestered with the Little Buffy in the training room. He had tried to turn her over to the witches several times, but they shook him off, declaring that they were deeply engrossed in their research. That had better be all they were deeply engrossed in, he thought darkly. He knew they'd reunited a few days ago and hoped they weren't using him as a baby-sitter to sneak in some lesbian lovin'. Not if he couldn't watch, anyway.
Baby-Buffy, meanwhile, was seriously cramping his style. After a heated argument over whether he would accompany her to the bathroom -- he'd absolutely declined, knowing that the grown Buffy would stake him the moment she returned -- she had burst into tears, thrown herself kicking and screaming to the tumbling mats, and cried herself to sleep. She'd worked in a good couple of kicks to his shins before she'd finished, though. Spike had to smile at that slightly -- it reminded him all too much of their fights when she was a grown-up. Even as a five-year-old she couldn't resist trying to kick his ass. And speaking of Baby-Buffy.... he broke off his reverie of fights with slayers past as Buffy sat up and rubbed her eyes with her little fists. She was, he had to admit, damned cute as a five- year-old. He thought of all the children Dru had brought home to play with during their long, mad courtship and felt a twinge of uncharacteristic guilt.
"I'm hungry."
Spike looked up to the nearest window. It looked like the sun had set. "What would you like, pet? I don't think we have any baby-Buffy food in the fridge."
"Ummm...." Buffy paused, twirling a golden piece of hair between her fingers as she thought. "I want a Happy Meal," she decided with appropriate gravitas. "And I still have to go to the bathroom," she added darkly.
Spike winced. "One of the Wiccas is going to have to go with you, pet -- let's go find them and see if they'll let me take you out, shall we?" Baby Buffy hopped up and grabbed his duster pocket again as they walked into the main room of the Magic Box.
Willow and Tara scooted apart just a little too quickly as they entered, earning themselves a glare from Spike. "The littlest bit's hungry," he declared. "Says she wants a Happy Meal. Anyone got a problem with me driving her over to McDonald's?"
"No, go right ahead," Willow said quickly.
"And she needs to go to the bathroom. And I'm not taking her!"
"I can do that," said Tara. "I had lots of little sisters at home. Hey sweetie," she cooed to little Buffy, bending down so that their faces were almost level. "I'll take you to the potty, and then your Uncle Spike will take you to get a Happy Meal, okay?"
"I don't like him," Buffy scowled. "He's a meanie."
"Oh, I know he acts like he's a meanie," Willow said with a grin. "But underneath he's really a very nice man...."
"'S not a man, he's a vampire," Buffy announced with authority. "And he's still mean."
"How do you know he's a vampire?" Tara asked curiously.
'That's what he said he was," Buffy replied. "And his eyes go all yellow when he's mad and his face gets all bumpy and then he gives you chocolate."
"Spike!" Willow smirked. "Did you vamp out in front of Buffy then feed her candy?"
"The bint was crying!" Spike protested. "She wanted me to go buy her some grape juice and of course it was the middle of the bloody blooming day and - yes, I fed her candy. Some of big-Buffy's PMS stash."
"Okay, so no dessert with her Happy Meal then," Willow decided. "We don't want her ruining her teeth, or Big-Buffy will kill us. Sweetie," she directed to Baby-Buffy, who was looking with wide eyes at some of the Magic Shop's more unusual merchandise, "go to the bathroom with your auntie Tara, and then your Uncle Spike will take you for a Happy Meal."
"Kay," Baby-Buffy said as she took Tara's hand. "But he better not be mean to me again."
And outside in the bushes planted around the magic shop, someone nodded his head in satisfaction at the scene he had just witnessed, and slunk back into the darkness.
*******
"Your car smells bad," Buffy decided, wrinkling her little - littler - nose as she climbed into the front seat of Spike's DeSoto. "And the windows are dirty. How can you drive if you can't see through the windows?"
"I've got super powers."
"That's what you said about us not having to pay at McDonalds. And me getting all the Happy Meal toys."
"No, that wasn't the super powers, luv. That was me knowing the cashier." Spike decided not to add that the extent of his "knowledge" was flashing a little fang. He wasn't sure how he'd explain that to either the little or the big Buffy. He stuck his key into the ignition and started the engine, only to wince and clap his hands over his ears as the Clash burst through the speakers in their full, nasal glory. "Oi! What'd I tell you about messing with my radio?"
Baby-Buffy ignored him. "Twenty twenty twenty four hours ago-ah-oh," she warbled in a surprisingly passable British accent. "I wanna be serrated!"
"That's "sedated," pet, not "serrated,'" Spike grumbled as he fumbled for the radio dial. "And I don't see why you like my music now. You never did when you were a grown-up Buffy. Put that down!" he roared suddenly, seeing that baby-Buffy had somehow gotten hold of a large and wicked knife he kept stashed in the glove compartment along with a tire jack for "emergencies." Buffy only continued to use his knife to draw patterns in the grease of his passenger-side window. Spike reached over and plucked the knife out of her hands and she pouted. "You're no fun."
"Yes, you cutting off one of your little fingers with my knife is just my idea of fun," Spike grimaced as he jammed the knife into the his sunvisor. Hopefully it wouldn't fall down and cut off any essential bits while he was driving. "Lord, you're like a monkey, always with your little hands into everything." He slipped into a reverie about what grown-up Buffy had been capable of with those hands that was only interrupted by Buffy's giggle. "You're funny."
Spike looked at her askance - since when had the grown-up Buffy ever giggled at him? Maybe he could warm to the little Slayer after all, even if she was no substitute for the real thing. "How am I funny, pet?"
"Well.." Buffy paused, deep in thought. "You have funny hair and you talk funny and you wear that funny coat and you have a funny car. And your face is funny when you get angry."
Spike snorted. She thought his game face was funny now? Not to mention the hair? "I'm funny when I look like this, pet?" he asked, letting his demonic face slip to the fore. He got his answer when Buffy toppled to the floorboards in a fit of giggles. She stood up again on his seat and crowed, "You don't have eyebrows! You don't have eyebrows!"
"Yes, pet, I'm aware of that."
"And your pointy teeth are dirty," Buffy added, suddenly serious. She inspected his game face carefully, and Spike held his breath unnecessarily as she ran her little hands over the ridges in his forehead, the pronounced ridge of bone over his eyes, and even touched his fangs. "You should brush twice a day with toothpaste, long as you can before you have to spit," she concluded, utterly fearless. She even didn't start when Spike threw his head back, but when he started laughing until tears came to his eyes her brow creased with suspicion.
"What's so funny?" she demanded. "Are you laughing at me?"
"Of course I am pet," Spike snorted, and then quickly backtracked as Buffy's lip began to quiver. "Not at you pet, not at you," he amended. "But don't you think this is funny? You lecturing me on the basics of vampire hygiene?"
"I don't see anything funny," Buffy pouted. "And I want some ice cream. Can we go to Baskin Robbins?"
"Bloody hell," Spike exhaled. "Don't you ever stop eating?"
"Mama says I'm a growing girl," Buffy informed him solemnly. "And growing girls need ice cream to get good and big."
"Well, Joyce always did know her stuff," Spike said thoughtfully. Hell, it wasn't like he knew anything about children anyway. Before he was turned he'd been an only child, and afterwards he hadn't shared Dru's taste for them. "What's say we go to Baskin Robbins and then head back to the Magic Shop to see what the Wiccas are up to?"
"Okay. What's a Wicca?"
"Errr.." Spike pondered his answer as they pulled away from the McDonalds. As soon as the DeSota had pulled a safe distance away from the parking lot, a dark figure peered its head out of the bushes, nodded once in satisfaction, and padded off in the opposition direction.
*******
"I don't think you needed all that extra goo, pet."
'S whah ma' ith cream good," Buffy smiled around a mouthful of sundae as they walked back towards the Magic Shop. Spike had found it distressingly easy to shorten his long strides to match her little ones.
"Hot fudge, caramel, gummy bears, those little chocolate thingies and whipped cream?" Spike shook his head in disbelief. "You better eat all of that, pet - that's an eleven-dollar sundae right there."
"But you knew the ice cream man!" Buffy protested. "He said he would give us all the money in the drawer and all the ice cream we wanted if we just went away."
"Well, that's true," Spike amended. "But you better not get sick or the Wiccas will have my hide - oi, what's this?"
"What's oi?"
"Not that, pet." Spike pointed to the Magic Box. "Why're all those cars there this late at night?"
"Maybe it's a party!" Baby-Buffy stuffed her mouth full of ice cream again. Her face darkened as she chewed and swallowed. "Or maybe we're in trouble."
"Ay, that's my worry," Spike said thoughtfully. "Well, come on then pet. Might as well make a good entrance." He threw the remainder of his ice cream cone in the trash, grabbed Baby Buffy's sticky free hand with his slightly less sticky one, and rapped on the Magic Box door with all the arrogance he could summon through one hundred and fifty years of living and a damn cool coat. "Anyone home?" he called. He was mid-rap when the door was pulled open abruptly from the inside, forcing him to stumble ignominiously forward. His entrance ruined, he looked around for the culprit. Then he realized his error and looked down.
"Oh bloody bleeding buggering hell in a handbasket."
A five-year old Faith looked back at him curiously. "You talk funny."
*********
"Yes, the prison authorities dropped her off some time ago," Giles said wearily, polishing his glasses for the umpteenth time. It seems they found her in her cell like this sometime around noon today. As they were quite unprepared to deal with a five-year-old, and quite unable to solve this particular mystery, they decided the best policy was out of sight, out of mind, and drove her down to Sunnydale. The first word I had she was coming was when she showed up on my doorstep. It appears," he said, looking severely over his glasses at the little brunette slayer as she colored happily in his watcher journal with his fountain pen, "that they consider me her next of kin. How that happened I can't possibly imagine."
"Don't think that's the biggest mystery here, watcher," Spike said, watching baby-Buffy as she folded the Magic Box's inventory labels into tiny paper boats. "Why are both the slayers little kids?"
"Yes, I see your point," Giles amended. "Tara and Willow were here when Faith and I arrived, and Willow confessed that she thought she might have turned Buffy this way through a rogue spell. What a surprise," Giles enunciated, his voice dripping with enough sarcasm to paint a house. "But I pointed out to her that it was extraordinarily unlikely that one miscast spell could transform both slayers simultaneously into five-year-olds, especially when one was several hundred miles away."
"You're thinking the fact that they're both this way implies some sort of intent, then?" Spike considered. "So who would want to, and would be powerful enough, to do this?"
"That is the key question I'm afraid. Willow and Tara headed home to do some research."
"That better be all they're doing," Spike growled.
"Now, now," Giles said mildly. "Willow and Tara carry themselves with the utmost of professionalism."
Spike listened to that inner voice that occasionally told him smart things and held his tongue. "The question, then," he said, "is what're we going to do with them--" he jerked his thumb at the two little slayers, who both looked up "-until the Wiccas do find some sort of cure."
"An excellent question to be sure. As fascinating as this phenomena is-" Giles looked to the two girls, who had in the meantime joined forces to float Buffy's paper boats in a convenient bowl of goldfish - "I'm afraid I'm not set up to take care of two five-year olds."
"I'm five and a half," Faith interrupted.
"Yes, you are," Giles agreed. "And you also managed to knock over an entire shelf's full of newt's eyes."
Faith shrugged. To Spike's experienced eyes she didn't look all that repentant. "Already said I was sorry."
"Yes, anyway," Giles sighed. "You can't take them either. For all your crypt's amenities, being childproof is not one of them. And we can't take them to Xander and Anyas--'"
"-seeing as the whelp and demon bint are on their honeymoon of indefinite length. And the Wiccans are in student housing. Right then," Spike said with a sigh. "Looks like they're going to Buffy's house, doesn't it? Maybe Dawn can look after them for us."
"I hardly think that's fair," Giles frowned. "She has school tomorrow, after all. Perhaps you should go with them."
"Me?" Spike sputtered. "Why does everyone think I'm a bloody babysitter around here? Take baby-Buffy here, take baby-Buffy there," he mimicked. "Take baby-Buffy to the bleeding loo! I'm a master vampire, damn it! Not a sodding nursemaid!"
"You're a master vampire who took care of a five-year-old quite capably all afternoon," Giles said crisply. "You also have no pressing concerns of your own, unlike me, Dawn, Willow or Tara. Barring the sudden appearance of a job, classes, a mortgage or a business, I'll have to conclude that you are by far the most logical babysitter for the girls. Besides, I daresay you might find yourself sharing some traits in common with Buffy and Faith right now."
"You're treading on very thin ice, Watcher," Spike growled.
"I'm sure I am," Giles said with a satisfied smile. "But right now I'm going to continue researching and you're going to take the girls home. Buffy! Faith!" he called, and the two girls both looked up from their respective projects. "Your nice Uncle Spike is going to take you to Auntie Dawn's house for a sleepover! Won't that be fun."
"Why does everyone 'round here talk funny?" Faith asked with a frown.
"Don't know," Buffy shrugged. "But Spike knows everyone. And if you cry he gives you candy!"
"Does he really?" Giles asked. He caught Spike's eye and smirked. Spike found himself wishing once again that there was something convenient around that needed its head ripped off.
*******
Dawn crossed her arms incredulously in the doorway. "You're saying that's my big sister?"
"You're bigger than me," Buffy observed.
"Yes," Spike said again. "And this," he said, grabbing Faith's arm and pulling her forward, "is Faith, the other Slayer. They found her like this in the jail this morning in L.A."
"I don't know, Spike," Dawn frowned. "I've seen a lot of weird stuff in my day, but I'm having a hard time believing that these little kids are my big sister and the slayer who tried to kill her."
"Would I pull a joke on you, bit?"
"Short sheets on my bed. Whipped cream in my slippers. Live tadpoles in my water glass -"
"All right, so I took April Fool's a bit too far," Spike admitted. "But this is your sister."
"Prove it."
"Okay." Spike thought a moment. "Buffy," he said, "tell Dawnie what your Mum's name is."
"Joyce," Buffy said promptly. "And we live at 2524 Buena Vista Lane, Los Angeles -"
"-clever, Spike, very clever," Dawn said with a frown. "But how do I know you didn't teach her that?"
"How would I know your address from when you were in LA?"
"Good point," Dawn said thoughtfully. "Give me one more piece of proof."
"Well," Spike said thoughtfully, "They've both retained their slayer strength, just in smaller packages. Got anything around that needs smashing?"
"Hey, Mister Spike," Faith tugged on his duster pocket. "Buffy called me a mean name."
Spike sighed and bent down so that he was at eye level with the little slayers. "Buffy, is that true?"
Buffy crossed her arms and stuck out her lower lip in a fine imitation of Willow's resolved face. "She called me one first!"
"Faith, is that true?" Spike looked to the heavens and wondered when exactly he had been reduced to a mediator between two brassed-off five-year- olds. Sometime that afternoon, he realized with a pang.
"She's a liar!" Faith spat from across her own crossed arms.
"You said blondes were dummies!" Buffy knotted her little hands into fists. "And that Mickey Mouse was stupid!"
"Liar, liar, pants on fire, hanging on a telephone wire.." Faith sang.
With a yowl of frustration, Buffy launched herself at Faith, fists flailing. Faith met her in kind, and they rolled in a howling, kicking, punching, hair-pulling mess across the porch. Spike looked to Dawn - she'd backed into the doorframe, wide-eyed. With a sigh Spike waded into the melee, earning himself several more kicks to the shins for his trouble. They were still as strong as slayers, but they were hampered by their smaller size, and he eventually got Buffy under one arm and Faith under the other, where they dangled, still kicking and glaring at one another.
"Now do you believe me - hey!" Spike shouted at Faith, who had squirmed around so that she could sink her teeth into his arm. "Leggo, you little demon!"
"Faith is a de-mon," Buffy sing-songed from her perch under his other arm.
"Oh, I believe you," Dawn said, still wide-eyed. "Only Buffy and Faith would fight like that. I don't think the porch will ever be the same again."
Spike looked over his shoulder, noticing for the first time that Buffy and Faith had knocked a couple of posts and the railing lose from the porch and shattered the nearby flowerboxes in their tussle. He'd finally gotten to see the two slayers have at it, he thought bitterly. Too bad they were far too young for him to have enjoyed it. Plus there was no mud or jello, although Buffy appeared to have gotten a faceful of potting soil.
Faith stopped chewing on Spike's arm long enough to say, "I don't wanna stay here."
Buffy pulled a truly gruesome face at her from the other side of Spike. "Well nyah nyah nyah, I don't want you to stay here either!"
"Girls!" Spike shouted at the top of his vampiric lungs, his eyes to the heavens. "You're both staying here and that is final!" Both of the girls just looked up at him, wide-eyed. "Now if I put you two down, will that spark a repeat of the Slayer Wars? Or do I have to carry you around for the rest of the evening?"
"Don't know what a Slayer is," Faith shrugged. "I won't hit Buffy if she doesn't hit me."
"Buffy?"
Buffy pouted. Spike decided the expression was even less attractive on the face of the younger Buffy than it had been on the older one. "I won't hit Faith if she doesn't hit me."
"Fine then." Spike exhaled, again quite unnecessarily. "Now say you're sorry."
"She started it!" "No, she started it!" "No, she-"
"Girls!"
"Sorry." "Sorry."
"Fine." Spike carefully lowered each girl to her feet, where they stood, wide-eyed, staring at Dawn. Dawn looked back at them askance. "You're staying here tonight too, aren't you?
Spike groped wildly for an excuse. It wasn't that the little Buffy hadn't started to grow on him - that was far from the case. It was just that all this hanging about with five year olds, buying them ice cream and candy and separating their little squabbles, was going to be hell on his reputation in the demon community. As the reputation was a large part of what kept him undusty, he had no desire to see his image as William the Bloody replaced with William the Bloody Softy. "Ummm. well, there's a football match on telly tonight, and I promised some of the blokes at Willy's that I'd play a spot of poker, and -"
"Nope." Dawn shook her head. "Not gonna cut it. I need you here."
"Why does everyone think I'm this sort of indispensable babysitter?" Spike said bitterly. Dawn only pointed to the mangled remains of the porch in response.
"Ah, yes. You mean you need me in case we have Buffy versus Faith, the sequel?"
"Do I look like I want my leg broken by a five-year-old?"
"No one seems to consider whether I want my leg broken by a pint-size slayer."
Dawn only smirked in response. "That's because all of your desires are inherently selfish and evil, which means we don't have to care. Besides, you heal fast. Now get in here and help me corral these two."
"I'll never be able to show my face in Willy's again," Spike complained as he followed Dawn and the two little Slayers into the house." Across the street, in the bushes of the unsuspecting McHenry's, three heads turned to look at one another, nodded together in satisfaction, and headed off together into the night.