Saturday's Child

Chapter Four

…

The first thing Buffy noticed when she opened her eyes was the crackling red glow around herself. She'd seen the same thing when she'd done the trance last year, so she knew exactly what it was. A visual manifestation of the fertility ritual's effect on her. A glance at Spike showed the same crackling blue energy field and purple tendrils as before.

This time, the purple glow just under his navel was strong and bright. Poor Thursday hadn't been doing as well, mainly because Spike had spent the first week and a half getting beaten up, starved, and tortured. Buffy was doing a lot better by him this time, and she was going to keep doing better.

Good plan, and I'm going to stick to it, but standing around staring at Spike isn't going to solve anything. She pulled her attention away and looked at Darla. Huh. Well, that was interesting. There was a glowing golden baby shape over the vampire's stomach, covered with a transparent thing that looked kind of like a chainmail apron. Gold tendrils were woven all through Darla, pulsing as what the baby needed was drawn from her. Whatever she couldn't provide, the baby seemed to be getting from the magic apron.

"So, is it working? What's going on?" Angel's voice sounded weird, all echo-y and distorted. Buffy had expected that.

"Yeah, it's working." Her own voice wasn't much better. She turned to face Angel. "Oh god!"

"What's wrong?"

Angel took a step towards her, and she recoiled in horror. What was…? All this time, Angel had been dealing with…. Buffy felt like she was going to be sick. Thick, black, writhing chains were wrapped tightly around him. They were covered in jagged spikes that pinned a silently screaming golden overlay to his body. His soul. Oh god, it was his soul. And the chains were a manifestation of the curse. The part of her that wasn't completely wigging out over the sight noticed the golden color of the soul and that it was identical to the baby. And to the color Spike's eyes had flashed when he'd won back his soul. Did that mean…?

There was a sudden cacophony of echoing and distorted sound. Someone shouting. The familiar smack of flesh against flesh. Screams. A baby crying. Her baby crying, and the nightmare slowness of moving through molasses as Buffy struggled to respond to the sounds. Spike snarled something, and his voice sounded different. Not just the trance, though, which was starting to fade. He'd vamped out.

Buffy wasn't fully out of the trance yet, and her body was moving too slowly. Too slow, too slow. No time. Oh god, she wouldn't be in time. Spike was punching Darla in the face and pulling Thursday away from her before the female vampire could sink her fangs into the baby's tender flesh.

Darla screamed in rage and grabbed at Spike, the now barely visible magic apron pulsing as it gave her unnatural strength. She pulled him against her and bit down on his neck, gulping hungrily at his blood. Buffy lunged towards them, the last of the trance shaken off, reminding herself that vampires couldn't die from being drained, and that Spike had gone through a lot worse while carrying Thursday.

Cordy and Fred jumped in suddenly, the latter grabbing Darla by the hair while Cordelia – who had a bloody nose and looked pretty disheveled – shoved a cross against her face. Both vampires hissed in pain, but it got the bitch's fangs out of Spike. Fred got backhanded to the ground, which was apparently enough to bring Wesley into things. Where was…? Ah, there. Gunn had Thursday now, while Spike was being an idiot and trying to dive back into the fray.

Bathtub, bubblewrap, packing peanuts, Buffy thought grimly as she delivered a full-force kick that sent Darla flying into the wall with a satisfying thud. She could chain him in, and maybe let him out for walkies every once in a while if he was good. Or just keep him there for the entire pregnancy. Despite what Spike seemed to think, boredom and inactivity wouldn't actually kill him.

Darla pushed off from the wall and came at her, but Buffy was ready. Remember the baby. Remember the baby, she chanted to herself as she fought the urge to try to rip the woman's head off with her bare hands. Darla needed to dust, and the sooner the better, but the kid was innocent. At least she didn't have to hold back beyond not dusting the bitch. That magic apron thing would protect the baby from her blows, just like it had protected it from Darla's abortion attempts.

A punch sent Darla staggering back, but before Buffy could close back in, Spike tackled the other vampire to the ground and started hitting her. That was when Angel finally made himself useful, pulling Spike away and shoving him to the side before wrestling his hissing, spitting hellcat of an ex (or possibly not so ex) into some heavy duty chains.

It was over, done with for now, but Buffy's blood was still up, the rage and desire to kill the bitch throbbing through her like her own personal dance music. The protective instinct wasn't ready to let it go, and the fact that a huge part of her agreed with it wasn't helping any. She took several slow, deep breaths, her fists clenching and unclenching at her side. Calm thoughts. Happy thoughts. Count to ten and be calm.

"You alright, love?"

She turned to face Spike as he walked towards her. He was obviously woozy and unsteady from blood loss, and the hand pressed tightly against the side of his neck wasn't doing a lot to hide the fact that Darla had tried to eat him. Which was actually kind of weird, since vampires couldn't really feed from each other. Not in a way that actually did anything for hunger, at least.

Stupid vampire. She wasn't sure which one the thought was aimed at. No, no, it was definitely Spike. Yeah, Darla had attacked their baby, and he had done the right thing protecting her, but once they'd gotten Darla off of him, he should have stayed the hell out of it. Her fists clenched again. Calm, calm, calm….

"Right nasty piece of work, she is, but a good spot of violence, wasn't it?"

Buffy was still telling herself to be calm and to count to ten even as she cocked back her fist and socked Spike right in the nose.

…

...

"Ow! Bloody bitch!" Spike spat, clutching at his injured nose with one hand and fighting the urge to hit Buffy back with the other. "What was that for?"

If they'd been home, he'd have done it. They'd have had a right proper row that would have ended in shagging or – depending on how sodding moody he was – him storming off to the Bronze for a few rounds of pool with Xander. They'd have bitched about their respective birds for a couple of hours while the boy taunted him with the fact that he couldn't drown his irritation in booze. Then he would have gone back, and there probably still would have been shagging.

But they weren't home. They were in Los sodding Angeles, and the only reason Angel's lot were being fairly friendly was because they thought he was still chipped. So he just had to stand there and take it when Buffy decided she wanted to use him as her own personal punching bag while Angel, the smug git, watched it all.

"What was that for?" Buffy repeated as if it were the daftest thing she'd ever heard. "You… you idiot!"

"You were in the way," Angel said as he finished up chaining Darla to an office chair.

In the bloody way, was it? Spike's jaw and fists clenched. That bitch. Maybe he didn't have a ritual-induced protective instinct screaming away inside, but Thursday was his daughter too, and he'd every right to protect her. Every right to make Darla pay. Buffy didn't even know the full extent of things. None of them did. Not yet, anyway.

"Shut up, Angel!" Buffy snapped, wiping the pompous superiority right off the wanker's face. That cheered Spike up enough that he finally noticed the fear in her eyes. Bloody hell. "How much blood have you lost?"

Enough that he was dizzy and lightheaded, and the only thing keeping him on his feet was adrenaline. Which apparently thought now was a fine time to bugger off and leave him in the lurch. Everything swayed and smeared together into strange new shapes and colors as his knees suddenly buckled. Buffy caught him before he could fall flat on his arse on the floor and led him to the lobby's circular couch, muttering the entire time about stupid vampires with no sense.

And the thing of it was, she was absolutely right. He'd been an idiot. The instant he'd gotten loose from Darla, he should have hightailed it to the kitchen and gotten some blood into himself. Instead, he'd handed Thursday off to Charlie, and had dived right back in, letting his fury get in the way of his sense. All because of one little thing that was bloody huge.

A hungry vampire going for a tasty snack was one thing. He could understand that. Nature of the beast, and all. But the bitch had hesitated. Darla, who had always considered infants a grand delicacy, had hesitated after getting her hands on Thursday. He'd known, then – even before sensing it when Darla had had her fangs in him – that Darla's sprog had a soul and that it was influencing her. A more or less souled vampire had tried to eat his little girl.

Poor little mite was still crying, shrieking her fear and unhappiness at an increasingly uncomfortable looking Charlie. "Bring her on over," Spike said wearily as he dropped down on the couch. Buffy murmured something about getting some blood and left him there.

"You don't need to keep me chained," Darla insisted, the fact that her eyes were locked on Thursday belying her words. "It's not like eating the brat would have helped." She laughed, a hollow, dark sound. "Nothing does. I'm always, always hungry!"

"I think it might be best to keep you chained up for now, ma'am," the twitchy little bird, Fred, said, voice carefully neutral.

She'd a few bumps and bruises the ex-watcher was tending to. Something going on there. The man was treating her like a treasure he was afraid of breaking. And he was moving like he was afraid he was going to break at any moment. Just then, Charlie handed over Thursday, and Spike lost all interest in the pair.

He closed his eyes and breathed in his girl's scent, letting it settle him. God, he was tired. And hungry. Not just for blood, either. Think I'd kill for a decent order of chips. Especially with chili and cheese slathered on. Maybe some fried up onions, too. He froze, suddenly. Hungry, and not just for blood…. Darla's sprog had a soul and he'd heard a heartbeat when he'd been all up close and personal like with its mum. Meant it wasn't a vampire. At least, not fully. Stood to reason it might need something other than just vampire food.

The sprog had survived a lot of things meant to kill it, what was a little malnutrition to all of that? Of course, just because it could survive not having what it needed didn't mean Darla wasn't going to be craving those things.

He opened his eyes and glanced at her. "You had any human food, lately?"

She gave him a look full of such disgust and revulsion that he was certain she'd sensed his soul when she'd bitten him. He thought she might have. Hopefully she'd keep her gob shut about it and Angel would keep being oblivious.

"Yeah, no. Just because we now technically have the same sire doesn't mean I picked up any of your disturbing fetishes."

Oh, right, he'd forgotten. Darla was technically still just a fledge, not even two years a vampire. She still felt like one over four-hundred, though. Odd, that. You'd think with a different sire, her vampire self would be different. He shook the thought away. Wasn't important right now.

"Someone give her a packet of crisps or somesuch. Her kid has a heartbeat, so it's not a vampire. Needs human food, I'd reckon."

"So would I," Buffy said, coming back into the lobby with a mug of blood and sitting beside him.

The sleeves of her lightweight green turtleneck covered anywhere she was likely to have cut, but he could smell her blood mixed in with the other human. He downed it in just a few gulps, some of the dizziness fading away. Not enough to replace all he'd lost, but a good start.

Angel scowled suddenly and took a step towards them. "Is that…?"

"Yes," Buffy said, voice mostly calm but tinged with annoyance. "It's donated human blood that I brought. Thursday needs it." Technically true, though she did alright with horse blood mixed in. The pure human was just for him, and just because he was carrying their second sprog, Aliena. Buffy continued on as if Angel hadn't said anything. "Spike needed human food when he was pregnant with Thursday." She focused on Angel again, though she seemed to be having trouble looking directly at him. "The baby has a heartbeat. And it has a soul. I saw it."

"No!" Darla yelled, eyes wild, as if Buffy had just suggested the sprog inside of her was some sort of sharktopus that was going to bloody well eat its way out of her. "No, it doesn't have a soul! It can't have a soul!"

"It does," Spike said quietly. "And you can feel it. Just like I felt Thursday."

Angel gave him an odd look, then turned to Darla, talking softly as she started to cry. The humans didn't get it. Not even Buffy, though he was certain she would, soon. Darla was upset because she had hesitated. She had felt guilt over eating a child she didn't even know, that didn't belong to anyone that was important to her. She'd been able to pack it away, deny it, but now there was no hiding it from herself anymore.

Spike almost felt sorry for her. Almost. Mostly though, he just felt tired. He shifted Thursday to cuddle more comfortably against him and leaned against Buffy. He'd close his eyes just for a moment. Just for a…. Buffy moved, letting his head rest on her chest while her arm wrapped around him, holding him close. He fell asleep to the sound of her heartbeat.