A/N: I know the updates have slowed to a crawl, but I'll be making a concerted effort to quicken my pace from here on in. I wanna get it finished before everyone starts losing interest after the finale. [We're only up to 'Showtime' here in Tassie, so we probably won't get 'Chosen' until August or September. Of course, I'm totally spoiled for everything, hence the depression and lack of writing progress (*sighs deeply*).]
The last four chapters are all in progress (word of warning: never do that - it's not fun) so more is definitely on the way.
Cheers all, Dee. : )

EPISODE EIGHT
"Green Demons and Yellowbellies"

Spike stalked along the now familiar metal grating of the warehouse catwalk, his tread smooth and purposeful. Florescent light filtered through the latticework, dancing up over the fall of his duster to paint abstract designs across his pale features.

Angel hung back and watched him, mesmerized, only jerking out of his wary scrutiny when Cordelia prodded him with the point of her crossbow.

"Ow!" He twisted around to glare her, rubbing at his abused arm. "What was that for?"

"Keep your eyes on the big scaly demons," she admonished, indicating the floor below them. "Down there. Not the little annoying one up here."

"But he..." Angel turned back to Spike. "He's acting weird."

"And this is news why?" Cordy followed Angel's gaze, only to frown herself when she observed the blonde's behavior. "Wait. What's he doing?"

"See?" Angel shook his head, eyes riveted to the younger vamp. "Weird."

Spike's face was now etched in a grimace of pain. He leant against the catwalk's handrail, bending over at the waist, the double-sided battle-axe dangling forgotten from his right hand. The left was rubbing at his chest and he was muttering something inaudible under his breath. Inaudible, but vehement, the simmering rage all but tangible.

"Well, that's all kinds of disturbing," Cordy whispered. "Can you hear what he's saying?"

Angel concentrated for a moment, then, "Not really. Something about... popcorn?" He shot her a quizzical look. "That doesn't make any sense."

She shrugged. "It's Spike. Who the hell knows what goes on in that freaky over-bleached head?"

There was a pause as they both digested what she'd said, and then they answered simultaneously, "Buffy."

Overhearing the name, Spike pivoted on his heels to stare at them, his eyes narrowed dangerously, jaw clenched tight.

Buffy.

He hated that she could do this to him. Hundred or more miles away and she was still shadowing his every move, tainting his every thought, the slightest contact making him ache inside and leaving a bittersweet taste in his mouth.

Heartburn - Appropriate bloody word for it.

And, sod it, enough was enough. He'd had it with being at her beck and call. He was his own man now, whether she liked it or not...

His nostrils flared, anger curling his lips into a sneer, eyes gleaming a brilliant yellow as his demon came forth. With a deft twirl of his wrist, the axe swung up to battle readiness, and the vampire launched himself up and over the handrail and into the pit of Keratos demons below.

Angel and Cordelia looked on, unabashedly wide-eyed, as he plummeted several feet to land boots-first in a feline crouch. He rolled, absorbing the impact, and then in one fluid move, sprang upright and tossed the axe. It slammed through a control panel with lethal accuracy, shutting down the conveyor belts. He bounced on his toes; tongue firmly planted behind his teeth, and wagged his eyebrows at the one demon he recognized. Apollyon.

"'Ello Polly. Who's been a naughty boy then?"

Angel rolled his eyes at Cordelia, exasperated.

No death wish, huh? Only problem was that if Spike got himself dusted, Buffy would more than likely stake HIM for not protecting the little twerp in the first place...

Cordy smiled and patted him encouragingly on the shoulder; her hand lingering to stroke down his arm in a subtle caress before she moved back to descend the stairs she'd just spent ten minutes climbing. Angel waited until she disappeared in the shadows, before leaping down to join Spike.

His landing was slightly less spectacular than the younger vamp's had been and he ended up lying in an inelegant sprawl at Spike's feet having narrowly avoided being impaled on his own sword.

"Graceful as ever," the blonde jeered as his Sire struggled upright.

"Shut up, Spike."

"Right. 'Cause I'm not the one whose got some explainin' to do." He stared pointedly at the still silent Keratos, brows arched skyward. "Care to start?"

Apollyon angled his head and regarded him with one bright green eye. "S-spike."

"Yeah. That'd be me. Nice of you to remember."

"S-s-spike!" Apollyon hissed again, louder.

"Uh, yeah? What?" The blonde blinked at the enormous demon, confused by his insistent tone and twitched in surprise, unconsciously reverting to human form, when another Keratos materialized behind him.

"Yeah?" it imitated in a high, oscillating tone, then squeaked and began to laugh with what the vampire could only hope was delight. The noise was horrendous. He scowled up at it and wiggled a finger in his ear.

"S-s-spike!" Apollyon was waving the rest of the lumbering reptilian-demons toward him now, his tongue flicking in and out excitedly. "S-s-spike! S-s-spike!""

"WHAT?!" Spike was beginning to work beyond annoyance now, getting up a full head of homicidal steam. "I am aware of my own name, you know."

Angel's lips quirked, twisted, then began to spread into a great big crooked grin that looked completely alien on his usually impassive face.

Spike squinted at him. "Am I the only one here who's even remotely sane? What the bloody hell is going on?"

"How many litters did you say Apollyon had?" Angel asked out of the blue.

"Didn't." Spike looked at the broadsword in his Sire's hands, seriously contemplating nicking it and decapitating every single one of them. "And what's that got to do with the King of Redundant over there?"

"Well, judging by the size of these guys, I'd say they were the oldest bunch of offspring. The first litter."

"And?"

"And they're all called Spike."

Spike stared at him, mouth open. "No they bloody well are not!" He turned the disbelieving stare on Apollyon. "Are they?"

Apollyon nodded vigorously, his tentacles extending to indicate his progeny, now numbering more than half a dozen. "Honor for deed," he informed the vampires. "Fealty."

"Don't want your sodding fealty," Spike grumbled, still eyeing him distrustfully. "And speakin' of deeds done, where's that money-grubbing missus of yours?"

Wesley emerged from a side office, leading Idylla at the point of his sawn-off shotgun, vigilantly avoiding the sinuous flow of her tentacles. "Is this the lady in question?" he asked, barely visible behind her bulk. "I discovered her uploading data from the computer inside. Rather hurriedly too, I might add."

He didn't mention how peculiar it had been, the sight of the colossal demon tapping delicately at the keyboard with a single nail claw, but it would make for an amusing story later when circumstances weren't as tense.

"S-s-spike!" the large female demon boomed, the doubled tones of her voice bizarrely lower in pitch than the males and resonating painfully in their ears.

Spike winced. He'd forgotten how dissonant the females were, especially to delicate vampire hearing. It actually hurt to listen to them. "We got that part, love. Now, if you could shut your torturous yap for a second, I'll get on interrogatin' hubby dearest."

"Of service," Apollyon burbled, eager to please. "Tell all needed."

Idylla moved alongside her mate, revealing herself to be almost a full head taller, and laid a massive clawed hand atop his head, patting it soothingly.

The ridiculous grin had not left Angel's face and his chest was starting to ache from holding himself in check. When Cordy emerged from the stairwell, dark eyes sparkling with amusement as she picked up on his mood, the knowledge that she was sharing his glee snapped what was left of his control and his laughter exploded in a high hysterical rush.

Spike glowered. "Not really the time, Peaches," he admonished between clenched teeth.

That earned him another howl of laughter. Spike was criticizing his timing! The older vampire flung his arms around Cordelia, almost to keep himself upright, and hiccuped loudly.

Wesley stared at him, aghast. "Some decorum, Angel, please."

"They're all called Spike!" he wheezed, his face buried in the curve of Cordy's neck, his shoulders shaking.

"Entertaining, yes," Wesley agreed. "But hardly enough to inspire such delirium."

Cordy snorted. "Oh lighten up, Wes, or I'll go tell Fred you're a big old stick-in-the-mud."

Steely eyes narrowed at the suggestion but he prudently resorted from making any further comments, instead backtracking into the office to try and determine just what Idylla had been up to in there.

Spike sighed. "Right then, before this gets worse and to avoid some confusion, I'll let you lot call me 'Liam' for the time bein'." He thrust an adamant finger at Angel before the older vamp could speak. "And no cheek from you."

Angel just nodded, sniffing, and handed his sword to Cordy while he wiped at his eyes. She shook her head, smiling indulgently all the while.

"Dork," she murmured softly.

Spike ignored them, focussed instead on the other demon couple. He gestured expansively. "So? Explain away. I'm all ears."

Apollyon flashed an ingratiating smile. "Family large," he said, causing a ripple of agreement from the attendant members. "Multiple litters. Mouths to feed many."

"Alright, I get that," Spike conceded, willing to give him the benefit of the doubt for the time being. "But not exactly seein' how that fits in with your little fairyland here."

"Gemel's exploits gainful to extreme," Apollyon went on, sounding like a bizarre cross between Giles and Anya. "Profit margin large." His expression brightened hopefully. "Cut you in?"

Idylla looked ready to protest her mate's offer, but recoiled with a deafening squawk when Spike growled at her.

"If you want to keep those tongues of yours, I suggest you keep them in your head," he warned and turned his attention back to Apollyon. "You seriously tryin' to justify putting us all in danger for a few pound to line your pocket?"

Wesley returned from the office, this time looking somewhat more flustered. "Sorry to interrupt, but we may have further problems..."

"And those would be what?"

"Idylla seems to have been... um, posting the latest data on their web page. Unfortunately this includes information about Buffy's present... condition..."

Spike's eyes grew colder by the second, his teeth tightly clenched. "Which condition? Just about the Nip or -?"

Wesley wavered, not wanting to be the bearer of bad news. "All of it, I'm afraid. Up to and including your current separation."

The blonde vampire was instantly back in game face, pure unadulterated fury driving bodily at the Keratos, his sheer momentum propelling them both forward until Apollyon slammed into one of the control panels, the machinery crumpling under his tremendous weight.

Spike glimpsed something out of the corner of his eye, and kept one hand fast against the demon's throat while the other reached out to extract the battle-axe from where he'd thrown it earlier. He held it up under Apollyon's chin, the tip of one blade barely piercing the crustaceous skin.

"Seth's origins were meant to be kept quiet, you sodding great git," he growled. "You wanna talk about family? Fair enough then. There'll be no more profitin' off me and mine, understand? Or your little clan's gonna find itself less one proud papa."

Apollyon gurgled, the only noise he was capable of making at this point, and his tentacles lashed out and attached themselves to the vampire, tiny suction caps clamping at his face and neck.

Angel struck without any thought but to help his Childe, the heavy broadsword slicing several of the demon's right-side appendages in half. He ducked and whirled, coming up again on the left to repeat the move, but Apollyon had let go just as suddenly as he had grabbed on, whining like an injured animal, the site of the amputation leaking a sticky black ichor.

Idylla gabbled at him in sympathy, but she and the remainder of the family were prevented from coming to his aid by both Cordy and Wes' ready aim and their own reticence. They were, after all, a peaceable race and not inclined toward violence.

"Aargh!"

Spike reeled sideward, away from the Keratos, hands scrubbing at his face where the tentacles had been. A raised, oddly polka-dotted welt ran straight down the left side from hairline to collar, and another snaked from cheekbone to the bridge of his nose on the right. He almost looked like he'd been daubed with some bizarre red war paint, the impression shattered only by the faint glimmer of moisture in his eyes and the lone tear that escaped to run parallel to the injury. He was in all kinds of pain.

Angel diverted his attention from the demon for a second to raise a comforting hand in the younger vamp's direction.

"Don't!" Spike snapped, wrenching himself away. "Nobody bloody touch me."

He turned his back on them and hunched his shoulders, trying to ignore the sudden blinding compulsion to scurry back to Sunnydale - a suggestion that Apollyon must've shoved in his head 'cause he'd had no intention of leaving beforehand. He straightened, and took a deep breath, visibly pulling himself together. And this Nancy boy boo-hooing wouldn't do. A bit of the old bluster was called for. If there was one thing he was good at, it was bluster...

"Right, you..." He stepped menacingly closer to Apollyon. "You never come near me, or any one of my family again. Got that, stumpy boy? We. Are. Done. This place is officially out of business."

That said, he brought the axe to bear on some nearby oil drums, his efforts rewarded when they split open and began leaking what smelt suspiciously like gasoline. He snorted, both in cynicism and at the pervasive odor. It was almost enough to give a bloke a nosebleed.

"Well, that's a fortunate turn of events, innit?" he drawled. "A proper little bonfire to take the chill off. Seems fitting." In spite of his words, the chill remained, glinting like icicles in his unwavering gaze.

Idylla met that gaze for the barest of moments, recognizing his intentions, then gathered her young band of Spikes and hurried for the exits, a deafening combination of whining, cackling and thunderous elephantine footfalls in filling the air. Apollyon cast one last mournful look around his crumbling empire and then followed, passing an incredulously wide-eyed Gunn, who had just arrived.

"Tell those bloody PTB wankers I'm done with them too!" Spike shouted after the Keratos, struggling to be heard over the din.

Gunn held his hand up as if in protest. "Now that's one slimy can of worms I don't wanna open." He shrugged off the weirdness and went on, "Came to see what the hold up was." He indicated the doorway behind him with a jerk of his head. "Vamp-girl's gettin' edgy. Says the sun's almost up."

Angel aimed a self-recriminating kick at the nest-of-snakes tangle of Apollyon's lost limbs, shaking his boot when a persistent suction cap attached itself to the sole. He grimaced. "Will they be alright? The Keratos?"

"Does it matter?" Cordelia screwed her nose up at Angel's predicament, finally taking the sword from him and scraping the sucker away herself. "God, that's gross."

Spike stared fixedly at the expanding pool of gasoline, still fighting against an overwhelming urge to race home to Buffy. After a while he rolled his head from side to side, deflating like a punctured balloon, complete with long hissing exhalation.

"Don't go worrying your sorry caveman head 'bout that lot, Peaches. Keratos regenerate. He'll be good as new and back to his wicked ways in no time." He pulled his silver lighter from the depths of his duster pocket, idly flicking the lid open and closed with his thumb. He didn't look at them. "Word to the wise, unless you're fond of the crispy-fried look, the more flammable among us might wanna find some cover. Things are about to get a touch heated."

Cordy appeared ready to object, but Angel caught her eye and gave an almost imperceptible shake of his head.

"We'll wait outside," he said simply. "Go ahead and do what you have to."

~[*]~

The van rolled along the highway, almost invisible but for the twin headlights cutting through the thick blanket of pre-dawn fog. It had been travelling along the road for a couple of hours now.

Jonathon sat in the passenger seat, going over a file of printouts. "I can't believe I didn't see it," he muttered, scrutinizing the contents carefully in the dim interior, then paused to amend the statement. "Well, except if you take into account that we've been keeping track of the Eldritch Universe for a while and they'd never released any official merchandise. All we had were those vague descriptiony things in the character archives. So - so you can't blame me, right?" He knew he sounded defensive, but Warren wouldn't really blame him, would he?

Fortunately Warren didn't seem in a blaming kind of mood. "But since we got hold of the info on the warehouse," he prompted, "And those conceptional drawings for the action figures...?"

Jonathon held up several of the sketches, one after the other. "Cordelia Chase is Jewel, Willow Rosenberg is Charm... God, look at this! Buffy Summers is Annulet! She saved my life a bunch of times and I never once realized..."

"I don't understand how you could just forget people who're all stunning and movie star-like," Andrew said from the rear of the vehicle where he sat, keeping a close eye on several incoming feeds. "I'd remember them. Especially Falchion, and Gladius. I mean, no one that good looking could possibly exist in real life." He sighed dreamily, drifting off for a moment before shaking himself out of it. "So, um, we get to this Sunnydale place, take Buffy-slash-Annulet hostage now she's all powerless and stuff. And then what? Wait for them to find us?"

"Don't be an idiot," Warren snapped. "We auction her off on our site, hand her over to the highest bidder..."

"And then we'll be rich, rich, rich," Jonathon concluded. "Right?"

"You got it, Sparky."

One of Warren's hands began beating an impatient rhythm against the van's steering wheel and Jonathon watched it anxiously. "But, no one gets hurt? We don't hurt her."

Warren didn't look at him, but his hand stopped its restless movement and he shrugged. "Of course not."

Jonathon glanced over his shoulder and met Andrew's gaze.

Why was it that neither of them found that reassuring?

Andrew turned back to the panel of flickering screens, eyes widening comically when three of them went dark without any warning. "Oh no!" He tapped frantically at the glass of the one nearest him. "Oh no, no, no!"

Warren didn't take his eyes off the road. "What the hell are you blubbering about?"

"It's gone." The panic in Andrew's voice made it tremble. "Aftertime Creations is gone. What are we supposed to do now?"

TBC...