Author note: Have to confess that this was an experiment to see if I could write believable mpreg fic. The answer unfortunately is no and this delved very quickly into OOC badness. Sorry!

Chapter Two

Just another day at Wolfram and Hart, a meeting room with requisite papers and pens and styrofoam cups sprinkled about like office confetti, a quorum of the 'fang gang' discretely looking at watches and feeling their jaws ache under the pressure of not wanting to yawn, a pregnant vampire pacing about the floor while an equally annoyed vampire sat down in his chair and leaped out again like an overactive angry jack in the box as words rolled about the room. The others wisely kept their heads down and quietly conferred over a piece of paper, a menu for a takeaway restaurant down the road as vampires threw their arms about and paced around them.

'This is just balls!', Spike yelled. 'Why the hell can't I get out there, let some steam off. I'm dying here in this bundle of cotton wool that you're smothering me in. Dying, Angel! I need violence, mayhem! Not just sitting on my arse watching talk shows and eating a chocolate box assortment of blood every day!' Angel raised his eyebrows in disbelief. 'Yeah, well, not saying that's exactly a hardship, but I need more than that. I need getting my hands in, fists and fangs, elbows and...erm, fangs!'

'Spike, it's just for a short period of time. Look, as soon as you've done with the delivery you can, I don't know, hand over the baby and run down to the sewers and kill a pack of Lorack demons, or something.'

Spike looked somewhat unimpressed. 'This is blatant discrimination this is.'

'What!'

'Yeah, you're discriminating against me because of my condition. The condition that you got me into!' Spike quickly waved aside Angel's spluttering attempts to interrupt. 'You don't let me back in the action and I'm going to be talking to the union, mate. See how you feel when you're dealing with a law suit for discriminating against pregnant workers.'

'We have a union? You're in the union?'

'Well, no, but I will be now. And you're completely missing the point.'

'No, I'm not. You're being all…pregnant and unreasonable. He's being unreasonable, Wesley, back me up on this one. Tell this hormonal moron what an idiot he's being for wanting to put himself and our baby in jeopardy.' Wesley huddled over further with Gunn pouring over the merits of wontons versus spring rolls and desperately dancing out of the way of the conversation.

'Hey, Wesley, you heard that! Did everyone hear that? The big boss man calling his pregnant workers hormonal idiots? And calling me a bad parent as well? You think I can't handle myself in a fight, you think I would put my baby in danger? Mate, by the time I'm done with you the only thing you'll have to your name is a Lada and half a glass of stale orangetang.'

'Orangetang is highly underrated. And anyway you missed out the bit where I called you a moron, Spike.' Angel exhaled and pressed his hands firmly against the table in an attempt to calm down. 'Look, I get it, you want the fight, you want the battle. How about we go down and spar occasionally? You get to burn off some energy, I make sure that nothing accidental happens to the baby. Yes?'

Spike pursed his lips as he contemplated the offer, sizing Angel up. 'You think you could hit me while I'm up the duff like this?'

'I'll just stare at your face and not your stomach, Spike. So believe me, I'll be able to hit you.'

'Yeah, alright', Spike shrugged. 'As long as you don't get all poofy and squeamish about it.'

'Hey, not like I haven't beaten up a pregnant woman before', Angel muttered darkly at the table. He blinked once, his head shooting straight up as he got to see a room full of people suddenly giving him their undivided attention with open mouths and horrified expressions. 'An evil pregnant demon person!', Angel hurriedly backtracked, hands up high. 'And hey, she started it!'

Wesley cleared his throat. 'Yes, I'm sure it was perfectly…how about we call this meeting closed.' At that everyone scooped papers into their hands and discretely fled for a phone and a dozen won tons with chow mein leaving Spike to smirk and Angel to do an impressive amount of arm crossing and frowning.

'Ohhh, look at you, all nicely riled up. Bet you'd love a bit of a go around. Wanna give it to me Angel, wanna pay me back with those fists of yours?'

'Oh hell, yeah.', Angel growled. 'But not right now. I'll beat the crap out of you later, okay?'

'You're not just saying that, right? You'll really beat me up?' Spike realised what he said as he saw Angel's amused glance. 'Well, obviously it's going to be you that's going to be kissing the floor.'

'Yeah, Spike, I'll really beat you up or be beaten up, what ever. But right now it's been a long day and I could use some down time.'

'Know, what you mean', Spike nodded. 'Tell you what but I think the baby's taking after you.'

Angel looked warily pleased. 'How do you mean?'

'Bit of a chunky thing, heavy, playing hell with my back.'

Angel decided to ignore the cheap weight joke, after all he couldn't help it if he just happened to have a muscular frame unlike some vampires who looked like a packet of twiglets with a pillow stuffed up them. 'Your back's sore?'

Spike shrugged. 'I feel like I've got a bowling ball sitting in my guts, so yeah, back gets sore sometimes.'

'I could, I don't know, rub your back for you maybe.' Angel waited for the laughter, the taunts, the loud 'poofs' and 'pansies' that was about to be shouted out for the entire lobby to hear which was completely unfair because who was the one that turned into a girl and got knocked up? Well it wasn't him thank you very much.

Spike's eyes went half-lidded and a leer threatened. 'Gee, Angel. Offering to beat a bloke up and then rubbing him down, guy could feel like he was getting swept off his feet.' At Angel's somewhat panicked face Spike's eyes went out of the half-lid and into a roll. 'You coming? Promise to keep my bits daintily covered up if that'll keep your virtue from fluttering.'

See, Angel thought as he followed Spike to the lift and up to his apartment. They called him a poof and Spike was the one with the flirty eyes and the husky sex voice and the talk of bits when it was wholly unnecessary and Angel quickly tried to remember if he'd left the sandalwood scented oil in the left bedroom drawer or in the bathroom.

There was oil, there were backs soothed and rubbed and turned into relaxed jellyfish, there were hands that meandered about to thighs and arms and feet. Bits were shown and a double act of rather jaded virtue was not seen to flutter.