Spike absently tied a cherry stem into a knot with his tongue while watching his Slayer be utterly adorable. She was on the floor with Thursday, making squeaky growl noises as she "chased" the sprog across the floor on all fours. They were in the main part of the club, whiling away the hours until Angel and his team showed up.

"Gonna get you! Rawr! Mommy's gonna catch you and eat you all up!" Thursday squealed and hightailed it as fast as her little hands and knees would take her. It wasn't fast enough. She was caught up and held aloft in the air. "Gotcha!"

Buffy put Thursday down on the floor, pushing up the wiggling infant's shirt – black with pink-bowed skulls and the words "Daddy's Punk Princess" in pink script – to expose her chubby little belly. Then she kissed it, making om nom nom sounds before blowing a raspberry.

The moment she was allowed to escape, Thursday rolled over back onto her hands and knees and was off again. She motored under the table Spike was sitting at, babbling happily as she wrapped her arms around his leg.

He set aside the cherry stem knot and grinned down at her. "Got away from the Mummy Monster, did you?"

"Nnnehn na bah!"

"That so, is it?" he asked, scooping her up to sit in his lap. "Sounds like quite the adventure you had, pet."

He poked through the bowl of mixed fruit on the table and found a banana slice to stick into her mouth. Lorne apparently thought – what with Spike being the equivalent of a month or so along – that he needed to be sitting down as much as possible and should have fresh fruit and milk handy, along with a continually topped off thermos of human blood. Buffy, the traitor, was fully behind all the unnecessary fuss.

As exasperating as it was, Spike didn't actually mind, honestly. Just a bit odd, was all. There had been times when Dru had had enough presence of mind to pet and cuddle when he'd needed it, but for the most part, he'd been the one doing the fussing and caregiving for over a hundred years. Being on the receiving end still felt off somehow. Like it was all a dream, and he'd wake up at any moment to a nasty game of kick-the-Spike.

Not gonna happen, he told himself firmly. Buffy loved him. She wasn't going to just up and walk out to be with Angel. She wasn't that kind of girl, and she'd proved last night that she'd no interest in the smarmy git.

Spike's thoughts were interrupted by the smarmy git in question coming in through the door, the rest of his lot tromping in after like they'd coordinated it ahead of time. Maybe they had, for all he knew. It'd be just like good old gramps to ring them all up to meet at an exact time so he could look all heroic and leader-y as he led them down into the club.

"This isn't your private clubhouse, you know," Lorne said from behind the bar, where he'd been working on setting things up. "The grand opening is in two nights, and I'm not postponing just so you can have a meeting place." He glanced over as Buffy sat down beside Spike. "You can stay as long as you need, though. Caritas is a sanctuary after all."

"Does that apply to me, too?" Darla asked.

"No." Lorne turned away with that and went back to stocking his bar.

"Oh, the love and harmony here just fills me with the warm fuzzies." Darla's voice dripped sarcasm, but Spike could have sworn there was something actually a little hurt in her tone.

"Yeah, sorry," Cordelia said, answering sarcasm for sarcasm, "for some reason, none of us have really warmed to you. Might be the attempted baby eating or something." She glared suddenly at Angel while Darla waddled farther in and sat down at Spike's table. "Though at least you didn't sleep with an evil ho-bag and then lie about it!"

She sounded more upset about the lie than anything. From what little Spike knew of Cordelia, she was one to value honesty. He didn't have much time to think on that though, with Darla staring hungrily across from him. Buffy was tense at his side, barely holding back from lunging across the table to stake the other woman. Spike carefully shifted Thursday over to Buffy, then scooted the bowl of fruit across the table. Darla fell on it like a ravenous beast.

"Hopefully we'll be able to set up back at the hotel soon," Wesley said, striding past Angel to put a stack of papers and books on a table. "I spoke with Giles today, and we've made a bit of a breakthrough in the prophecy."

"It turns out some of the irregular verbs Wes was using were problematic when converted to Ga-shundi because of the Nyazian trick of converting both nouns and verbs," Fred added, coming up beside the ex-watcher. She smiled at him. "But I'll stop there and let him get on with telling you what he and Mr. Giles discovered."

Their body language was different with each other than it had been. Closer and lacking the uncomfortable tension. Spike suspected the prophecy wasn't the only breakthrough that had been made. He wondered if Fred had taken his advice. Either way, something had changed for the better. Good on them.

"The Tro-clan isn't a person or even group of people," Wesley began. "It's a confluence of events."

Angel frowned at that, his massive brow furrowing as the hamster in his thick skull got the rusty wheel in motion. "Not a person?" He glanced at Darla. "So that means my kid isn't some kind of big evil thing bringing an apocalypse?"

"Confluence doesn't sound like it actually rules the kid out," Charlie pointed out. "It just means we've got something going on that involves you, your kid, Darla, and some other stuff."

"Other things like her?" Angel asked, eyes narrowing as he looked at Thursday sitting innocently on Buffy's lap.

"The little cutie cake isn't part of this," Lorne said.

Wesley frowned over his shoulder at Angel. "Lorne already ascertained that Thursday had nothing to do with the prophecy. I filled you in on that yesterday."

The great and magnificent poof at least had the decency to look uncomfortable. "Right. But what about the other one? Spike needs to sing, so we can find out about the thing he's carrying right now."

Everyone seemed to talk all at once in response to Angel's words, but it barely registered for Spike. His grandsire was staring at him with a mix of emotions – contempt, jealousy, and revulsion at the forefront – and it brought all the old insecurities blazing to the surface.

"Whoa, wait, are you saying the dude's pregnant again?"

Worthless, pathetic puppy. Never good enough. Stupid and unattractive, naught but a poor substitute for those what wanted Angel.

"I don't mind helping you out with the whole saving the world gig, Angel-cakes, but you can't just expect me to use my powers whenever you snap your fingers."

Always second best. Always, always, always.

"Damn it, Angel," Buffy snapped. "Aliena is not a thing! I told you –"

Her words hit Spike like a pail of ice water. "You told him?"

He stood up abruptly and backed away from her, feeling betrayed. She knew he hadn't wanted Angel to know, but she'd gone and told the wanker anyway. Bloody hell. He could feel tears threatening to fall. Stupid sodding hormones.

Buffy paled, eyes wide and guilty as she looked up at him. "That's not... I didn't…. He figured it out on his own! I was going to tell you, but you were asleep when I got here, and then…." She trailed off, blushing at where her thoughts must have gone. "I sort of forgot after that."

Spike blinked, some of his anger and hurt dying away. "So, what, you're saying that I'm so incredibly sexy that it drove the thought right out your head?"

"Angel does have a point," Wesley cut in. "Some of the Nyazian phrases distinctly refer to something being born. If Spike is… uh, expecting again, it would be best to rule this other child out."

"Fine," Spike snapped, the anger back in full force. "I'll bloody well sing, but not because of your sodding prophecy. Lorne's been right friendly, and the poor sod's had to listen to Angel a time or two. He deserves something actually good for once."

…

...

Buffy watched, feeling miserable, as Spike stalked towards the stage and poked at the karaoke machine. She really had meant to tell him about Angel figuring things out. But she'd forgotten, and now Spike was mad at her. And staring at her with a wicked little smirk that seriously did not bode well. He was going to sing something that would embarrass her, she just knew it. Probably Wind Beneath My Wings.

Then the music started playing, and she suddenly wished it was Wind Beneath My Wings. He curled his tongue behind his teeth seductively, then started to sing.

"Take me now, baby, here as I am.

Pull me close, try and understand.

Desire is hunger, is the fire I breathe,

Love is a banquet on which we feed."

Not the yell-singing he tended to do with loud punk songs and not the off-key crooning of when he just didn't give a damn. It wasn't even the soft, sweet tone he used when singing for Thursday. No, this was a smoky near-purr that sent a ring of shivers through Buffy, starting at the top of her head and traveling down, seeming to make a special pit stop at her groin.

"Come on now, try and understand,

The way I feel, when I'm in your hands.

Take my hand, come undercover.

They can't hurt you now, can't hurt you now…."

He danced to the music, sinuous and sensual, and there was a big part of Buffy that wanted to hand Thursday over to Lorne and jump up on the stage. Run her hands all over that flexible, well-toned body. She felt her cheeks heat at the thought. No, no, no. Bad Buffy. No molesting her vampire in front of Angel. That would just lead to a fight, and she so did not want to deal with that at the moment.

"…love is an angel," Spike's eyes flicked over towards Angel with distaste before focusing on her again, "disguised as lust. Here in our bed until the morning comes. Come on now, try and understand, the way I feel under your command…."

Under her command…. Why hadn't she at least packed the handcuffs? Or the strap-on? Because we came here to help with the whole pregnant Darla thing, she reminded herself, not have kinky, sexy fun times. Why had that seemed like a good idea, again? She actually drifted off into fantasy land for a moment or two, lulled there by the sound of Spike's voice. She only came out of it when Lorne sat down next to her.

"…so touch me now, touch me now, touch me now…."

Oh god, he was making come hither gestures while giving her bedroom eyes. Stupid sexy vampire.

"You are one lucky little firecracker," Lorne murmured.

"I'm going to throttle him," Buffy muttered back. Lorne just laughed softly in response.

Spike finished the song and sauntered down from the stage. "Well, mate?" he asked, looking at the green demon with a raised brow. "See any prophecy bugaboos?"

"Nope. You are officially bugaboo free, my friend." Lorne glanced over his shoulder at Angel. "Buffy and Spike are only here because Wes happened to call them. They have absolutely nothing to do with your apocalypse cocktail." He looked back at Spike. "Just stay the hell away from Wolfram & Hart."

Definitely good news. Angel should, hopefully, get off their case about the babies now, and they'd already known they had to keep away from Evil Incorporated. Some of the tension went out of Buffy. Some, but not all. Damn vampire. She stood up abruptly and handed Thursday to Lorne.

"You have babysitting duty," she told him as she grabbed Spike by the arm and pulled him towards Lorne's bedroom. "We're going to be having a talk."

…

...

Buffy's idea of a "talk" apparently started with her slamming Spike against the wall instead of actual dialogue. Par for the course with her, really. She could sling words with the best of them, but when it was important, she preferred actions. Her actions seemed to be saying she was just as brassed off with him as he was with her, which was hardly fair. Yeah, okay, so he'd embarrassed her, getting her all hot and bothered right there in front of God and everyone, but that wasn't the same as withholding important information. Even if she hadn't meant to.

"You," she said accusingly as she pinned his arms above his head, "are a very bad, evil, evil man."

Then she turned and walked away from him. Damn it. He was the one supposed to be all moody and contrary right now. She could bloody well wait her turn. He dropped his arms down to his sides now that she wasn't holding them in place and went after her.

"Buffy –"

She whirled and slapped him, just hard enough to sting. Anger flared white hot. Bloody bitch! What the bloody hell did she think she was playing at?

"Who gave you permission to move from where I put you?" she demanded, voice husky and eyes dark with desire.

Oh. That's what she was playing at. He took a deep breath, the taste of her arousal hot and thick on his tongue like fresh made caramel. He could either play along or push for an actual, real fight. Or even just drop both ideas if he wanted. The ball was in his court now.

It was an easy enough decision. With a slow smirk, he took several steps back until he was against the wall again. Then he raised his arms, wrists crossed up above his head as if he were restrained.

"Sorry, love. I've been a right bad man, haven't I?"

"Oh yeah, you definitely have," she said, pressing herself against him. Her hands slid up under his shirt, her nails pressing lightly against his skin. "I'm going to have to punish you for it."

He held back a cry of mingled pleasure and pain as her nails sliced through his skin. God, he loved it when she did that. Marking him as hers, even if they would close up and fade away before too long. Her mouth joined in, biting at his neck hard enough to bruise. Her breath was warm against his skin, and then her tongue…. He moaned, eyes rolling up into the back of his head for a moment as he arched his hips against her.

Then that persistent nugget of insecurity reared its ugly head, and he had to ask, even though he hated himself for it. "You really meant to tell me?"

Buffy froze, then slowly, gently kissed her way up. "I really meant to," she whispered. A shudder went through him as her tongue traced the contours of his ear. "You were right. You really were so sexy that it drove the thought right out of my head. Pretty, pretty vampire."

"At least until I get as big as a bloody hou-"

She kissed him, hard and rough, stealing his words and unneeded breath away with the power of it. She pushed him tighter against the wall as her tongue delved into his mouth, silently proclaiming every inch of him hers, inside and out.

"That's… enough of that," she said as she pulled away, panting. "Sleek, slinky panther or killer whale, you're always a seriously sexy man." She leaned in again, nibbling at his earlobe. "I really like my killer whale Spike." Her hands moved, stroking his belly. "All nice and round with our child. Mmmm. If I thought we could take care of that many kids, I'd seriously consider getting you pregnant once a year."

Spike laughed softly. God, he loved this woman. "Our own little army of slaypires, eh?" he teased. "Not about keeping me all barefoot and preggers, is it? You just want other guardians of the Hellmouth so you can sit about on your arse at the beach."

"Oh, yeah, but it's totally not worth spending the thirty years or so changing diapers. Now shut up and kiss me."

"As you wish," Spike murmured. Then he shut up and kissed her.

…

...

Lilah Morgan finished reading the file on her desk and slowly smiled. Gavin and Linwood had been running around like headless chickens ever since this morning when she'd identified the "unknown pregnant female" in the surveillance images as Darla. Lilah would keep her fingers enough in that particular pie to reap the rewards if all went well, but she was backing a different pony for the most part.

The young woman that had been called in to help had been identified as a vampire slayer, like Miss Lehane. They'd probably have even less luck getting this slayer willingly on their side than they'd ultimately had with the imprisoned one. That didn't bother Lilah in the least. If she was gauging things right, all she had to do was get ahold of the baby and this Spike vampire and the slayer would come to them.

Lilah patted the file on her desk. All the details of the So'voriku ritual Angel had conveniently mentioned while ranting about the dangers of slayer/vampire hybrid babies when he and the slayer had been alone at the Hyperion.

They could stick Spike into one of the vacation dimensions the human VIPs used when they wanted to get away for a while with very little time passing back at home. Once the child he was apparently carrying now was born, they'd put the happy couple into a room together with a Kevary idol and have the chant needed piped in prerecorded over the intercom. Then put Spike back in the other dimension.

Rinse and repeat and even have the girls raised there. She'd have an army of obedient little slaypires ready for the senior partners in no time. Even if the shit hit the fan with Angel and Darla's mystery child and Gavin and Linwood ended up headless for real, Lilah was going to come out of this smelling like roses.

Author's Note: The song Spike sings is the Patti Smith version of Because of the Night. A few lines of dialogue were taken from the Angel episode Quickening.