~[*]~
EPISODE EIGHT
A Break in the Regularly Scheduled Game Plan

Spike's dark brows were knitted together in fierce concentration as he prowled along the camp perimeter. He came to a sudden stop and pointed an accusing finger at his partner. "You're not trying hard enough," he stated.

Buffy glared at him, fisted hands on her hips. "Oh, I'm trying," she gritted, teeth clenched. "I'm severely tried. I am so mad at you right now."

"Yeah, I know." The blonde vampire sucked in his cheeks, thinking. He'd been pushing her buttons for at least fifteen minutes now and nothing had happened - not a single sodding thing. He shook his head. "Can't fathom this bloody link. It's all ... wiggy."

The Slayer let go most of her pent-up anger in favor of a snort of laughter. "You said 'wiggy'."

"Sod off," he snarled. "Gormless bint. Wouldn't have a clue if your bony little ass was afire..."

Buffy waved a weary hand at him. "Give it up. The insults just don't work anymore." She blinked. "Hey, do you think the excitement has gone out of our relationship?"

Spike's scowled deepened for a second before his eyes lit with a lascivious glint. "How about if I told you I did the nasty with Red?"

Buffy raised a skeptical brow. "Uh huh."

"It could have happened. Me n' Red, and her little Tinkerbell - all three of us together. Had a grand old time of it, too."

She just looked at him until his shoulders slumped in defeat.

"It's not fair," he complained. "The rollicking temper bit worked a treat yesterday. What changed?"

There was a brief silence and then their eyes met in startled realization. "The Little Nipper," they chimed in perfect unison.

Spike threw his hands up in the air, starting off on one of his hyperactive bouts of pacing. "Bloody brilliant that is," he griped. "Not parents for one day and the tyke's throwin' spanners in where they're not wanted."

Buffy shielded her stomach with her hands as though covering a child's sensitive ears. "Shh!" she scolded. "He'll hear!"

"He?" Spike pulled up short and cocked his head, eyes flicking from her face to her stomach and back again. "It's a he? That definite?"

She contemplated her belly for a moment. "I don't know." She peered back up at him, a picture of uncertainty. "It feels definite. In a totally vague kinda way."

"Yeah, I get that." Spike was able to sense the truth himself, even though it was still rather out of focus. He let out a heavy sigh, sounding both pleased and frustrated at the same time. "So, we're to have a li'l boy then. Doesn't change the fact that he's put a big hole in the power sharin' formula."

"It's only because I'm happy," Buffy assured him. "Because we're happy. It's a whole big happy deal. I just can't tap into that level of angry now - it's too dark." She gave him an anguished look. "Plus, I don't want the baby exposed to that stuff. Not yet."

Spike sauntered over, looped his arms around her waist and pressed a light kiss on her forehead. "'S okay, love, no need to get all fraught. We won't use the dark side quite that way." His fingers began tracing patterns in the small of her back, only to pause as inspiration hit. "Alright then, what if..." He lapsed into silence, lips puckered in a speculative moue.

"What if what?" The Slayer squinted up at him. "You've lost me." She pouted, a little bit piqued. "I can't follow your thought patterns sometimes. Your mind works funny."

Spike peered down his nose at her. "I love you too."

Her eyes narrowed in a way that could have been considered ominous if you didn't notice the playful twinkle. She raised herself up on tiptoe to bite at his chin. "Grr," she said, nibbling her way along his jawbone. "Aargh."

He snorted. "Very convincing."

"Come on," she urged, bouncing a little. "Tell Sunshine the plan."

"Think of the Nipper," he said.

"Huh?" She wrinkled her nose at him. "That completely came out of nowhere. Way to get me un-lost, cryptic boy."

"Knock off the sarcasm, pet, I'm making sense here. Remember on patrol the other week, when that fledgling got fresh?" Spike arched his brows, waiting for her to catch up.

"You went into protective mode and flashed the fangs. You hadn't done that for a while..." She batted her lashes. "Did it make you feel all manly?"

"Slayer..."

"Oh, lighten up." Buffy giggled, sliding her hands up under his T-shirt to tickle his spine. The muscles of his back quivered intriguingly at her touch, but he didn't give in to the distraction. "Alright, I get it," she relented, yielding to his seriousness. "Really. You want me to plug into the protective instinct. Only you want me to use the paternal side, not the maternal."

"Clever girl."

Buffy closed her eyes, concentrating on the feel of Spike's arms around her body, on the smooth texture of his flesh beneath her fingertips. He was her anchor, her tower of strength. He was the one who supported her, protected her and kept her balanced. She imagined someone tearing that all apart, some unseen enemy taking her lover and her unborn child away from her.

Spike's voice insinuated itself into her head, reinforcing her mental picture. "Got to look out for what's yours, Slayer," he murmured. "Protect it with all that's in you, with all that's in me."

Buffy felt the surge of demonic power entering her system, but this time it hit on a much deeper level. Their earlier connection had been mostly surface emotion, a flash-in-the-pan reaction to an outside stimulus. This was a more elemental kind of sensation - basic, primal. This was the instinctive desire to defend one's own. This was Ripley in 'Aliens' shouting, "Get away from her you bitch!"

"Wow," she whispered, opening her eyes again. "That's really intense." Spike's jolt of surprise filtered in over her other emotions and she was instantly wary. "What?"

He offered a smile that tried to be reassuring, but wasn't. There was too much concern in his eyes for that.

"Well, on the bright side, your forehead's bump-free," he told her. "But the yellow peepers have made a comeback and you've gone a bit fangy."

"Fangy?" She probed at her teeth and accidentally sliced one of her fingers on a finely honed edge. "Ow!"

"Yeah, best watch yourself there," Spike advised. "Takes some gettin' used to. Try not to bite your lip."

"This is more fun than a barrel of vamped-out monkeys," Buffy muttered, inspecting her wounded digit. "The eyeball thing I could deal with. That happened before, right? But this tooth thing is ... icky."

Spike quirked an eyebrow. "Gettin' awfully close to insultin' the father of your kid there, pet." He pulled at his lower lip, taking in the new look. "I like it," he declared after a minute or two, nodding his approval. "It's got ... what's the word? Style."

"I just hope it's not permanent."

"'Course its bloody not!" Spike made a disgusted noise. "Don't see me waltzin' about in a constant state of Grr, do you? Bit o' practice and you'll be able to slip in and out whenever you want." A wicked grin curved his lips. "Hey, wanna scare the ex-Watcher?"

Buffy grinned back, the new set of extra-pointy incisors giving her a diabolical air of her own. "Okay."

~*[+]*~

Angel continued to hold Cordelia against his chest, unwilling to let go, even though she had passed out from the pain more than ten minutes earlier. She was not coping particularly well without the massive dose of medication she usually took and drifting off to sleep had been a tender mercy.

He sighed and cupped her cheek in his hand, skimming the pad of his thumb across her brow. It amazed him how much strength she had. She was stronger than anyone he'd ever met - stronger than he was most of the time.

She whimpered and pressed her face into his palm, reliving the vision in her dreams. The aftermath got worse and worse over time until they managed to do something about the foretold circumstances.

Angel scowled, detecting movement out in the dungeon's main tunnel. He waited for a moment, listening as they came closer, then brushed the softest of kisses against Cordy's lips. "I love you," he murmured. "Remember that. No matter what." He glanced up as the cell door flew open to reveal several guards and the dreaded Belial-wagon. "No matter what."

~*[+]*~

Wesley barely looked up when Fred materialized at his side. He would have loved to drop everything in order to spend some time with the young physicist, but at that moment organizing the rebellion had a much greater priority. He did have a brief moment of panic, though, when Spike popped up unexpectedly on his opposite side.

"Boo," Spike intoned mildly, having sensed his fright.

"Hmm," Wes bent his head, embarrassed at having his fidgety disposition exposed in front of Fred. Having the vampire lurking about certainly kept him on his toes. "Shouldn't you be off making yourself useful?"

"Done." Spike reached over the former Watcher's shoulder and flipped through some of the battle plans. "All primed and ready to go when you are."

Wesley glanced at Fred. She shrugged, not getting the problem, and began scribbling on a stray sheet of parchment.

"What do you mean 'done'?" he inquired carefully. Spike was acting way too nonchalant for his liking. "You've managed to perfect your sharing technique this quickly?"

The vampire's bright head dropped for a second. He took a deep breath and raised laughing blue eyes. "May I present," he announced over-dramatically. "Buffy the Vampire!"

He swung back out of the way to expose the Slayer hovering behind him. Buffy leered at them, her eyes shining a pure golden yellow, fangs gleaming.

Wesley stared, unwilling to admit just how shocked he was by this latest development. After the proclamation about the baby, nothing about their relationship should have shocked him at all, but they kept springing these things on him unawares.

Fred clapped her hands, delighted. "That's so great," she enthused. "You can hold that for a while, right?"

"As long as it takes," Buffy told her. "It just takes a tiny shift in concentration."

Wesley continued staring. "You're not mad," he blurted after a moment.

"Mad cranky or mad insane?" Buffy put her hands on her hips and tipped her head at him. "'Cause, depending on what's about to come out of your mouth, I could go either way."

Spike chuckled. "He's just noticed the distinct lack of temper in the transition," he explained. "No reason for twisted knickers."

Fred blinked at him. "You're funny," she said, deadly serious.

Spike nodded, equally straight-faced. "Thanks, love." He moved in back of his Slayer and rested his hands on her shoulders. Buffy's head lolled back against his chest, her human features back in place. "You two mega-brains figured a way home yet?"

Wesley adjusted his glasses. "What's that?"

Buffy sighed. "I knew we were forgetting something." She waved a hand toward the ex-slave girl. "Fred knows all about the portals."

"Not a lot," Fred disagreed. She tapped her quill against the parchment she'd been working on. It was covered in the same consonant patterns that decorated her cave. "The Trionic speechcraft formulation modification has to alter the dynamic reality sphere ... Lutzbalm predicted it at Zurich in '89 ... laughed him off the stage ... Although the slavery and degradation's no laughing matter..." She let out a distracted giggle. "It's no crug-grain and kallaberry breakfast all right."

Buffy and Spike gaped at her, rendered speechless for the time being.

Wesley just nodded thoughtfully. "The Trionic Ledgers are still in the possession of the Covenant," he said. "We will have to succeed in order to get hold of them."

He set his shoulders. Bloody fantastic. Now he had another reason to worry.

~*[+]*~

Cordelia couldn't believe how much the sunlight was aggravating her headache. She couldn't believe she'd slept through Angel being taken away from her. She also couldn't believe she was being so disbelieving. She should be used to the bizarre twist-of-fatey stuff by now, especially whenever Sir Brood-a-lot was involved.

She pouted and squirmed on the throne she had been ... well, tied to, her surreptitious movements earning a scathing glare from Silas.

Wouldn't do to let on to the masses that the princess wasn't exactly a willing participant, would it?

She gave him a death-glare of her own and wriggled a little. See? I'll move if I want to, not-the-boss-of-me evil robed-type from another dimension.

The priest was seated to her left, still keeping up appearances as the stable guide guy looking out for his empty-headed cow princess. He'd informed her that she was more or less the prize for this tournament. After this Groosaluggy thing killed Angel, she'd be going home with it.

Either that or she'd be killed too - not a great range of choices. The bargain basement of choices, any and all choices subject to availability.

She cast a worried gaze around the area. Part of the Village Square had been cordoned off into an uneven hemispherical arena. The space beyond the makeshift barrier was teeming with demony sorts, all braying for blood.

Some of them were also chanting for the Gemel, so Cordy figured that this whole gig was set up to bring them out in the open. Knowing Buffy, it would. And if Spike was as devoted as Angel said he was, then the vampire would be right there with her.

Just as that thought crossed her mind, she caught a flash of white from the corner of her eye. When she turned her head fully, it was gone.

"Is something wrong, Majesty?"

Cordy glanced at Silas. "Nope. I'm just fine. Thanks. You?"

He frowned at her, not at all certain how to take the inquiry, and then turned back to survey the adoring crowd.

Cordelia swallowed, suddenly nervous. That flash had looked an awful lot like sunlight on blonde hair. Was Spike here?

Her gaze flicked back in the direction the flash had come from and she almost gasped when she made direct eye contact with Buffy.

Not Spike - Buffy.

It was obvious how she'd mistaken the two, though. This was a leaner, meaner Buffy with a crop of streaky white-blonde hair, a long leather coat and ... yellow eyes? The Slayer smirked - since when did she smirk? - and disappeared into the crowd.

Cordelia blinked. Jeez, that was freaky.

She cast a wary gaze back toward Silas and had to bite her lip when she spotted Spike in the myriad faces beyond the robed priest, standing right next to a palace guard.

Cordy's not-so-fond memories of the blonde hadn't done him justice. She did not recall his being so amazingly handsome - the sort of handsome male models would cheerfully commit murder for. And in spite of his raw-boned frame and angular face, he looked way healthier than a vampire ought to. He had a sort of glow to his skin that didn't used to be there, like he'd had too much sun. The darker complexion looked great on him, radiant even.

He winked at her then, and she noticed that his eyes were still a soft shade of winter blue, their human color.

Human. Right. Angel had said that Spike was almost human now, that he and Buffy were linked, and that they had been made for each other - the PTB's very own version of Ken and Barbie, complete with built-in super-strength and demon-killing ability, no extra cost. She hadn't really believed what he was telling her, despite his customary soul-guy guilelessness, and yet here was the proof.

She could see both of them now, stalking along either side of the arena with a distinct predator vibe. Matching blonde heads, matching leather coats, matching smirks, and moving in a dynamic synchrony. Mirror images, they were, two seasoned hunters in their prime - sleek and stealthy and dangerous.

And how was it that she was the only one who could see them?

Cordelia sought the familiar face of the Host among the Sentenced-to-Deathees. He nodded, beaming with enthusiasm, and gave her a jaunty little wave.

Okay, so she wasn't the only one. They were about to get rescued. She gnawed at her lower lip, fretting. Where was Angel? And where, for that matter, was Wesley?

A cheer from the crowd brought her out of her wondering funk. The Groosalugg had arrived. He strode into the arena like a conquering hero.

Cordelia glowered at him. He was the guy from her vision all right - the big beefy guy with muscles on top of his muscles and beady little eyes and the sort of he-man hair that belonged in a B-grade barbarian movie.

Oh yeah, if you're such a hero, just you try conquering my Angel and see where that gets you.

'My Angel'? Where did that come from? When had she started thinking of him as being hers? Her mind seemed to shut down as realization hit. Time came to a standstill.

I'm in love with him.

"I love him." She sat blinking into space for a moment. "I'm in love with Angel." Nope, still sounded weird, even when she said it out loud.

"Did you say something, Majesty?" Silas didn't sound remotely interested in an answer. He was too distracted by the Groosalugg's sycophantic bowing in front of the royal booth.

Cordelia didn't acknowledge the Pylean champion at all - Hey! In the middle of an epiphany here buddy, don't interrupt. As epiphanies went this was at the top end of the scale and now that she knew how she truly felt about Angel she wanted to see him. She wanted him to be there with her, all dark and broody and solid and safe. She wanted him to get out here and rescue her, damn it!

The crowd did that unified cheering thing again, rousing her from her preoccupation. She glanced around and noticed that they were all staring expectantly at the entrance on the far side of the arena.

The now-familiar cage trundled into view, drawn by one of those poop-producing demon horses. Angel sat forlorn in the back, refusing to acknowledge anything around him - until the cage rattled to a halt and he immediately swung around to meet her eyes.

She sent him an adoring smile and he responded with an almost comedic double take, shooting to his feet and clutching the bars so tightly that his knuckles whitened. His obsidian gaze skimmed over her, checking that she was unharmed, then his brows lowered in that quirky worried expression he sometimes got, with the knot of lines that formed between his eyes and made his forehead crease up in an accordion of furrows. She had always found it incredibly endearing, but seeing it now distressed her.

He was about to fight for his life and he was worrying about her. He always worried about her - about Wesley, about Gunn, about all their helpless clients...

She glared at his broad-shouldered back as he climbed out of the cage. Why don't you think about yourself for once, you enormous lug? Maybe she was being selfish. She needed him stay alive, in an undead kind of way, for her. She had to tell him how she really felt. She owed him that much.

One of the guards that had accompanied the cage into the ring to the opportunity to wallop him in the back of the head with a truncheon thing and Cordelia let out an involuntary cry.

Angel whirled around at the sound, panicking for a second before he realized that she wasn't in any danger. He grinned then. One of those big, slow melty grins that he'd been torturing her with back in their cell. It immediately settled her nerves. Which was probably what he'd intended it to do all along.

Silas was staring at him. There was the smallest trace of fear lurking in the depths of those creepy eyes. "Why is he in cow form?" he asked. "He cannot fight like this."

Cordelia shot him a suspicious look. "Why not? He does it all the time back home." She smiled smugly. "Angel doesn't need that Belial thingy to win. He's a champion too."

"We'll see, won't we?" Silas called over one of his attendants and then got to his feet. "There is to be a change in the schedule," he announced. "The Groosalugg and the Belial will do battle now!"

Cordy shot a distraught glance toward the Host.

Lorne had an odd mixture of joy and concern on his watchful green face. He was extraordinarily pleased that he wasn't about to face the executioner, but apprehensive about his friend's fate.

"Oh boy," he whispered. "Here we go again."

~*[+]*~

Buffy heard the chief priest guy's lordly announcement and scowled, nibbling uncertainly at her lip. She wasn't finished with the scoping part yet and suddenly it was a toss-up for priority - surveillance for Wesley or rescue for Angel?

"Best to go on with Watcher boy's plan, love." Spike's link-voice traversed the gap between their bodies. He was still on the other side of the arena.

"Yeah, I know. You're right," she returned. "Angel can look after himself. For a little while at least."

She met her partner's gaze across the way. Even at this distance the connection made her heart skip a beat. He smirked at her, picking up the aberration, but she continued on as though nothing had happened. She couldn't afford to let him distract her now, she needed to stay in Protect-the-Nipper mode or she would be completely useless to all of them. "Okay. We'll report in, and then on with the show."

~*[+]*~

Angel eyed his opponent, trying to be objective. He had nothing personal against the guy so the whole grudge-match scenario was out. The worrying thing was that he was so ... pro-wrestler-y. He really looked like he could hold his own. On the plus side, he looked human.

Except for his eyes. Damn. Part-demon then. That meant he was probably about equal in the strength department - if not a tad stronger. Not good.

He let his gaze drift back to Cordelia. What was with that smile she'd sent him? There had been true emotion in that smile, a heartfelt message. It was almost like she ...

No! Don't look at her. Concentrate on the task at hand or you're gonna get deader than you already are.

He cased out the rest of the arena. It was a rough semi-circle in shape, doming away from the flat side where the royal booth was. Where Cordy was... Stop it, you moron, you're doing it again!

There weren't any weapons around, unless you counted the ones carried by the guards, so that mean hand-to-hand - thankfully a genre that he was well versed in.

He began to circle the defensively postured Pylean champion, and tried a tentative smile. Maybe he could negotiate with the guy.

"So," he said. "You do this tournament thing a lot?"

The Groosalugg narrowed enigmatic cobalt eyes. "Do not speak to me, Beast," he spat.

Angel raised his hands placatingly. "Hey, no need to get personal there, pal. I was just being polite. A little civilized conversation before an ass-kicking is not unheard of."

The other man glared at him, his hands flexing into meaty fists. "You are going to die."

Angel shrugged, unimpressed with the threats. He'd heard worse and the whole 'death' thing was pretty redundant as far as he was concerned. "I'll file that for future reference. Thanks."

The Groosalugg moved methodically forward and Angel shifted back, balancing lightly on his feet, his attention straying back toward the royal booth without any conscious thought.

The Pylean noticed the direction of his gaze and gritted his teeth. "Do not defile the princess with your foul stare," he said piously. "You are unworthy of her."

Angel perceived something in his tone, a hint of possessiveness. He tipped his chin cautiously. "And you are?"

"She is promised to me," Groosalugg said. "She is the reward for my loyalty to the Covenant."

Angel shook as a powerful flood of pure demonic rage flushed his system, drawing with it rumblings of the Belial. "No." His voice was tight in his throat, a savage growl of denial. "She isn't. Cordelia isn't anybody's trophy."

He launched himself toward the Pylean champion, relieved that he finally had a reason to fight the guy - and someone to fight for.