Author's Notes: You guys are rocking it with the reviews =) I 3 you.
Chapter Three – Idle Threats
Charles Gunn heaved a sigh of annoyance. He had been gone for one day. ONE DAY. But once he returned the NEXT day there had been an irritating little surprise waiting for him. A three-foot tall, blue-eyed, blond-haired irritating surprise who drank blood and screamed for fun.
"Yo, Fang Jr.!"
Spike set the fragile glass orb of mystical power back on Angel's desk, aiming an innocent smile at Gunn.
"Yes, good sir?"
"Keep your hands off the breakables, kid."
Babysitting. Charles Gunn, the brute strength of the team, had landed the job of babysitting the littlest vampire in history. They would pay for this. He slouched further in his chair and watched as Spike chewed on a fountain pen.
"It's gonna rupture," he told the child. "You're gonna have ink all over your face and it's gonna be gross."
"Says you," Little Spike growled.
"Says me," Gunn nodded.
Little Spike obviously had different plans for this particular pen. In a quick motion, he snapped the writing utensil at an amazingly accurate angle, causing the ink to shoot in a black geyser-like fashion right onto Gunn's orange shirt.
"Shit!" the large man jumped to his feet, wiping at his shirt and assessing the damage. "You…you little…ANGEL!"
With that, a "snack-sized" William the Bloody dashed out of the room, a "big grab" of a Charles Gunn hot on his heels.
"Okay, so the milk. It's not milk. It's…what is it again?"
Angel was having problems understanding how the evil milk wasn't really evil milk, but a very non-milky substance.
"The blood of Borna demon, Cakes," Lorne smiled, relaxing in his chair.
"Right…" Cordelia trailed. "And you had the blood of a Borna demon in Angel's refrigerator…why?"
"A friend needed to take a few years off. It takes effort to stay beautiful, you know," the green demon smoothed out his red sports coat. "Blood needs to be kept cool to stay good. You know that as well as anyone. Therefore…refrigerator."
"Why does it look like milk?" Angel wondered aloud.
"Why is my heart in my ass?" Lorne replied promptly.
"Point taken."
"Borna…" Wesley looked to the ceiling thoughtfully. "Borna is the Persian name for-"
"Youthful," Fred cut him off. "Wow…how obvious is that."
At that, Spike burst into the room and ran straight to Angel, hiding behind the larger vampire's legs. Gunn zoomed in a moment later, his hands outstretched to strangle the little bloodsucker.
"I'm going to kill him. Get me a child-sized stake; I'll run it straight through the little brat."
Spike climbed up Angel's legs and leeched to his back like a baby monkey.
"Sire won't let you," he sing-songed, sticking his tongue out at the infuriated man for good measure.
"What's going on?" Angel asked, confused.
"What happened to your shirt?" Wesley asked, noticing the splash of black marring Gunn's shirt with distaste. "It's not very aesthetically pleasing, is it?"
"THAT happened to my shirt," Gunn growled, pointing an angry finger at Spike.
Angel, fighting the urge to smile, knelt and gently shook Spike from his back. Before the little vampire could dash away, he was encompassed in his sire's strong arms.
"What'd you do?" Angel asked.
"Had fun," Spike said, sounding particularly childish. "Black fancies him. Looks a lot better. Orange is too bright."
"You gonna apologize?"
Little Spike snorted. "'Course not."
Lorne, Wesley, Fred, and Cordelia scoffed loudly. Angel tried to keep the smirk off of his face.
"I think you should."
"'Course you do," Spike grinned, butting Angel's chin with his head. "You're all nice. That's why I call you things like Nancyboy and Peaches and Poof."
"Kid's got a point," Gunn nodded. "If I were English, I'd do the same."
"Gunn!" Angel hissed. "Don't encourage him."
"I'm in the triple digits," Spike pointed out. "I don't need to be encouraged."
"Fine…then just don't."
"Don't what?"
"Call me those names."
"Call you what names? Nancyboy?"
"YES."
"Poof?"
"YES."
"Peaches?"
"YES."
"Okay, Peaches."
"Spike…"
"Whatever you say, Nancyboy."
"WILLIAM!"
Little vamps just don't know when to stop. "Yes, Poof?"
"So how do we cure him?" Wesley asked.
"Do I have to rip out the heart of a Borna demon and feed it to him?" Angel asked, reminiscing on past Sunnydale exploits. "Because I can do that."
Lorne shrugged. "I don't know, sweet cheeks. That one's gonna take some research."
"Can I come out yet?" Spike yelled from the corner.
"NO," Angel growled. "Keep your little undead butt in the chair."
"Wanker…"
"How'd you get him to stay put, anyway?" Gunn asked.
The former Scourge of Europe shrugged his shoulders. "Idle threats go a long way." He looked to his friends and sighed. "Let's get crackin' on that cure."
"Let's get crackin' on your skull!" Spike shouted.
"You just earned yourself 20 more minutes, mister!"
"Bugger all!"
The Big Bad had never felt so small before.
TBC…