"Oh, but please, Papa, please can't I have it back?" Spike begged.

"No," Angel replied firmly, turning the newspaper page with infuriating calm.

"Please?" Spike tried again, crafting the finest pair of puppy dog eyes that two blue orbs could form.

It wasn't doing any good, of course, because Angel refused to look at him. If he could just get his attention, just for like five seconds, he was sure he could win him over and convince him to give back his iPod.

"But you've kept it almost a whole day!" he pleaded, bouncing up and down on his toes.

"And I'll be keeping it for several more whole days," Angel informed him.

"Uh! But I'm being good!"

Angel finally did look up, but his expression wasn't reassuring.

"Bugger bloody all," Spike muttered under his breath as Angel's attention returned to the sodding newspaper. "Wanker!"

"Care to repeat that?" Angel asked mildly.

Spike sat down on the couch with the loudest huff he dared and crossed his arms over his chest.

"Well … Well, what are we going to do all night? Just sit here?" he asked incredulously.

"Yep," Angel said, taking a sip of his coffee.

"Can't we go out on a case or something? Fight some bad guys?"

"Nope."

"Well … Can't we watch a movie or something, at least?"

"Nope. You're still grounded."

"Aww, come on!" Spike whined. "Please?"

"No."

"Please?"

"Ask me again and it's a spanking," Angel threatened, though Spike could tell he wasn't serious … well, not too serious.

Still, he waited several seconds before speaking again, and when he did, he made sure to keep the whining to a minimum.

"But if we could just..."

Angel set his paper aside with a sigh and rose to his feet.

"No, don't smack me!" Spike said, laughing nervously as Angel approached him. "No, Angel, I was joking! I was joking!"

He pulled his legs up underneath him and tried to fend Angel off by throwing his hands out in front of him, but the older man easily flipped him over and raised his arm high.

"No, don't! Ow! Ow!" Spike yelled.

Angel gave an amused snort and gathered Spike's wrists at the small of his back.

"I haven't even touched you yet," he pointed out. "Why are you yelling?"

"Oh. Well, it still hurts from the last time, Papa," Spike offered, his voice small, piteous, and fake as all get out.

Angel rolled his eyes, knowing that wasn't true in the least, but instead of administering the spanking he had fully intended to give—his patience could only withstand so much gnawing at it before it cracked, after all—he poked his boy playfully in the side before launching a full-scale tickle attack.

"Oh—oh god, stop!" Spike squealed, writhing uncontrollably as he tried unsuccessfully to get away. "What are you—don't do—why—I-I can't breathe! I can't breathe!"

"You don't need to breathe," Angel reminded him calmly as he continued his assault. "So I guess we can just keep this up all night. Days, even."

"Please, I can't! I can't stand this. Let me go! Let me go!"

Despite his attempt to remain stoic and unaffected, Spike began to laugh. It was music to Angel's ears. When was the last time he had heard that laugh, pure and uncontaminated by the usual cynicism his grandchilde normally possessed? Had he ever heard it?

"Oh, you think this is funny, young man?" he asked with mock sternness. "Do you?"

"Y-yes," Spike laughed, trying in vain to break free from the grip his grandsire had on him. "Stop it!"

"I said no more questions," Angel said, lightly swatting him three times on the backside for emphasis.

"Okay, okay!" Spike exclaimed. "Don't spank!"

"Are you done asking me questions?" Angel asked, his hand poised and ready to strike again.

"Yes!" Spike promised, wrenching his wrists free and reaching back to cover his behind. "Yes!"

Angel moved his hands and gave him one hard smack for good measure.

"Ow! Papa!"

Angel let him up, and watched with amusement as the kid gave him a rather mutinous look while rubbing the sting from his bottom. Spike fell silent, but Angel doubted it had much to do with the threat of more punishment. When had that ever stopped him?

"What's wrong?" he asked gently, dropping down beside him.

Spike shook his head like he didn't want to talk about it.

"I miss Connor, too," Angel offered, guessing the problem. "But we'll see him soon."

"It's all my fault!" Spike blurted out sadly. "He didn't want to go out last night. He told me no and everything. But … But you know how I am! I kept at it until I got him to give in. I just wanted to have some fun."

"And did you?" Angel asked with a single raised eyebrow.

"Well … Well, yeah," Spike answered sheepishly. "Up to a point."

"Up to the point where I had to come and get you?" Angel asked dryly.

"Yeah. That point," Spike murmured. "And I … I should have said something last night. I shouldn't have let you lay into him for it when it was all my fault."

"And since when do you get to make my decisions for me, hmm?" Angel asked. "Connor is a grown man. No matter what you said to him, he shouldn't have let you go out, and he damn sure shouldn't have gone with you."

"He's really angry with me," Spike said sadly. "And with you."

"He'll get over it," Angel said. "Do you need another dose of the hairbrush to help you get over it?"

"No! What are you, crazy?" Spike said, eyes wide.

"Then I don't wanna hear any more about your guilt in the matter," Angel said resolutely. "You both made your decisions. Poor, poor decisions."

"Okay, Angel," Spike said with a dejected sigh. "I'm sorry."

Angel wrapped his arm around his Will and gave him a kiss on top of his head.

Spike figured that was as good a time as any to ask,

"But are you sure we couldn't just watch a movie?"

Connor couldn't remember the last time he'd been in such a foul mood. Sure, he was irritable quite a bit, but this... this was a mood. Having to first ride the bus and then walk all those miles with that heavy, awkward suitcase certainly hadn't helped matters, and he really missed his damn car, no matter how ugly Angel said it was. Oh well. At least he'd finally made it.

With that thought, he opened his hand and let the suitcase fall to the ground with a thud. He could hear rather loud music from within and, after waiting for several seconds with no answer, wondered if they could even hear the doorbell over the bassy thump. He had his own key, of course, but he didn't feel it would be polite to just let himself in. He was just about to ring a second time when a girl about his sister's age answered.

"Well, hello," she said with what she clearly hoped was a seductive, approving smile. "Here for the party, I assume?"

"Uh…" Connor said eloquently, looking around the girl and peering into his parents' living room which, judging solely from the number of red Solo cups lying around, appeared to be packed full of drunk college students.

"Come on in," the girl invited, stepping back to make way for him. "Abby won't mind."

Oh, no. Of course not. Abby wouldn't mind. But Laurence and Colleen Reilly were going to kill her!