Saturday's Child

Chapter Six

…

Visions, prophecies, slayer dreams. How come none of them could ever just flat out tell you what you needed to know? If Buffy wanted riddles and puzzles, she could get that playing one of the video games Xander kept bringing to the house to play with Spike. She didn't need a bunch of cryptic crap when the wrong move could end with her man and baby in the clutches of uber evil lawyers. Should she send them away, or keep them close? Either could be what put them in danger, which is why, instead of making a concrete decision, she was at a local bar and grill with her family and Team Angel.

Buffy sighed and stared at her menu without really seeing it. She never should have come to L.A., and now it was too late to just bow out. Spike and Thursday were on Wolfram & Hart's radar for some reason, and if they all just went back home, they'd always be looking over their shoulders. They had to get things taken care of. ASAP.

There was a small sound from beside her. Soft and breathy, almost a moan, full of desire, of intense want, and it seemed to sizzle through her ears and straight to her groin. She swallowed hard and turned to look at Spike. His lips were parted slightly, eyes almost glazed as he stared at his menu like he was seriously considering making love to it.

Buffy leaned in against him to get a look at what had caught his attention, shivering slightly at the feel of his body. Oh. Oh, yeah, that explained it. She swallowed again, trying to banish the thought of hot, wild sex while she hand-fed him bacon cheddar ranch fries covered in onion petals and volcano sauce. She could drizzle the spicy stuff all over him and lick it…. No, no. Bad Buffy brain. None of that. Not in front of Angel, Darla, and the others. And definitely not with Thursday watching them from the highchair she was sitting in next to Spike.

Unfortunately, clearing her mind of that yummy mental image left room for the memory of the time she'd caught Spike practically giving a can of pineapples oral. Oh god, what they'd done after that. Spike painting lines of moisture along her inner thighs with a chunk of fruit and oh so slowly lapping it up with that wicked, wicked tongue….

"Why are you even looking at a menu?" Angel asked suddenly, the annoyed whine in his voice hitting Buffy like a bucket of ice water. Ugh. "Vampires don't eat." That got a flat oh really? look that made Angel squirm a little before declaring, "I'm not paying for anything for you."

Spike's hands tightened slightly on the menu, but Buffy spoke up before he could say anything. "No one asked you to pay for us, Angel. It takes a lot to satisfy a slayer, and I wouldn't want to put that burden on you."

There was part of her that was embarrassed by her own words, but mostly, she was tired of putting up with Angel's bullshit for the night. She wanted to pound it into his thick head that she didn't belong to him. She was her own woman, damn it, not some kind of prize that was supposed to be sitting pretty on a pedestal somewhere for him to look at from time to time.

Angel's eyes narrowed, but instead of commenting on the obvious, he went with something else. "You shouldn't be wasting your mother's or Giles's money just because Spike has a weird fetish for human food."

Her mother's or Giles's…. Ugh. Did he seriously think she'd gone begging to mommy or her watcher to fund this nightmare of a trip? Spike twitched slightly beside her, and she rested her hand on his thigh, gently squeezing. She appreciated him being upset on her behalf, but she had this.

"Not like it's actually any of your business, Angel," Cordelia pointed out with an eye roll from her seat beside him.

The post-vision headache didn't seem to be bothering her as much anymore, which was much of the good. Cordelia seemed to have matured since high school, and it suited her nicely. Maybe later they could bond over totally mature woman shopping or something. But not right now. Right now, Buffy had to deal with an overbearing ex being all overbearing and exy.

"Yeah, well, good thing I have my own money." Not that Giles or her mom would actually have objected to funding Spike getting what he needed to make sure both he and the baby stayed strong and healthy, but that wasn't the point of this conversation. "Considering I'm getting it because I'm out there all the time, risking my butt to stop the things that go bumpy in the night, I kinda have a right to spend it however I want."

"They're paying you for the whole slayer thing, now?" Cordelia asked while disbelief and disgust chased each other across Angel's face. "Good for you. You would not believe how hard it was to get Angel to charge clients for our help. Helping the hopeless is great and all, but it doesn't just magically make the bills go away."

"Amen to that," Gunn muttered without looking up from his own menu.

"It's the Watcher's Council footing the bill in my case," Buffy said. She would have problems charging the people she helped, too, but she wasn't going to bring that up.

"Huh, do you think they'd comp me if I sent in a log of all the hours I put in for the cause back in high school?"

"Not terribly likely, I'm afraid, Cordelia," Wesley said, joining in the conversation. "The Council has been considering providing monetary compensation to the Slayer since the seventies and they've only now begun actually doing it. I'm actually rather surprised they're finally following through."

Buffy snorted at that. "They're following through with it because I showed them who was boss and made them follow through."

Angel's expression tightened at that, and he shot Spike a dirty look. It said louder than words that he blamed the other vampire for whatever bug had crawled up his butt and died. Did he want her broke and dependent on others for her livelihood? It sure as hell seemed like it. Like he wanted her dependent on her mother and watcher and swooning into his arms whenever they were near each other. That really didn't sound like love. Not how she'd come to know it.

"As fascinating as all this is," Darla piped in sarcastically, "don't you think we should be focused less on the slayer's finances and more on this thing inside of me!"

She seemed to have gotten past the hysterics and was back to being bitchy. Though maybe slightly less bitchy. And there were shadows in her eyes, now that she couldn't deny some of what she was feeling anymore. She was late stage pregnant and dealing with a soul again after all the horrible things she'd done. Despite that, Buffy really didn't feel all that sorry for the bitch.

They'd figured out Spike was being influenced by Thursday's soul because he'd felt terrible about accidentally breaking a woman's arm. Darla had tried to eat a baby (and remembering that made Buffy's staking hand all itchy) and all the soul had done was make her hesitate. It seemed like the personality the soul was meshed with mattered just as much as the soul itself. Maybe more. People with souls did awful things all the time.

Buffy's musings were cut off by the waitress bringing their drinks and asking if they were all ready to order yet. After pointedly telling the woman she and Spike were together on a ticket, she ordered two appetizers – an onion flower and the spicy loaded fries Spike had been lusting over – along with a bacon triple cheeseburger with fries for herself and a nice, rare steak for her vampire.

Small talk reigned for the most part while they waited, Cordelia and Spike getting into a conversation about the latest fashions with Buffy adding in her two cents from time to time. It was good to see him interacting with people and being his usual animated and at least a little flirty self. The guilt still clawed at him sometimes and he was prone to nightmares, but for the most part, he'd adjusted to his soul. He hadn't become someone new. He was just Spike. With a little more depth.

"We could, perhaps, take Darla to the Host," Wesley suggested after their food had been brought to the table. He looked towards Angel. "If she were to sing for Lorne, he might be able to give us some answers."

"There's also that prophecy we're still working on deciphering," Fred added.

"Prophecy?" Buffy repeated in dismay. She hated prophecies. They were always all with the "you're going to die" and never enough details. And that led to your boyfriend making lame excuses about why he didn't bother to try CPR. "There's a prophecy?"

"A tricky one," Fred confirmed. "Even figuring out the timeline is kind of squirrelly. There's a good chance it has something to do with Darla and Angel's baby, but one interpretation says the big apocalyptic thing should have come back in Mar-" She trailed off, looking speculatively at Thursday, like she was counting back the months.

Spike snorted in amusement. "Yeah, she was born in March, but she's not the source of your sodding apocalypse." He scooped up a finger full of mashed potatoes and ran it through some of the blood from his steak before offering it to Thursday. "Come on now, bitty bit, open up for num-nums. That's a good girl. Closest she's ever come to causing the end of the world was when her Auntie Dawn tried to flush one of her nappies down the loo."

Thursday gurgle-squealed in delight, deeming the new flavor combination both acceptable and her royal due. She opened her mouth wide, making demanding little "aaah, aaah, aaah" noises that translated to "why isn't there food in my mouth? There should be food in my mouth. Right now!"

Buffy tried to focus on this whole prophecy thing, and not on Spike gleefully calling Thursday "daddy's little piggy" while making adorable oinking noises at her and feeding her more blood-soaked mashed potatoes.

"Okay, so there's a prophecy. What's it about?" she asked.

"The arising, or possibly birth, of the Tro-clan, which can be either a destroyer or a purifier," Wesley said.

"Or even something else, if it has a different meaning in a language we haven't cross-referenced yet," Fred added with enthusiasm. Good for her. All this stuff gave Buffy a headache. "It's kind of like a puzzle, really. Finding just the right meaning to make it all fit tog…. And, uh, you probably don't care about that, do you?"

Buffy gave her an apologetic smile. "Yeah, no, not so much."

"What about this Lorne fella you mentioned?" Spike asked as he pulled Thursday out of her highchair to cuddle her. "What was all that about Darla singing for 'im?"

"Demon, but one of the good guys," Gunn said, finally joining the conversation. "Some people I ran with busted up his place, but I've heard rumors that he's rebuilding."

"He can read emotions and the most likely path of one's destiny," Wesley explained, "but only when he hears someone sing."

"He's had to hear the great poof sing, then, has he?" Spike asked. "Poor sod." He shook his head in sympathy and ignored Angel's indignant protest. "Just be glad you never had to hear him quackin' along to Barry Manilow." There was an awkward silence, and no one would quite look at Angel or meet Spike's eyes."Really? Just cruel and unusual, that. Used to do it all the time at that bloody mansion back in Sunnydale, but that was when he was all soulless. Didn't think he was still into that kind of torture with a soul all stuffed up his arse again. Anyway, enough on that, seems like –"

"B-b-baaa-buh-buuu!" Thursday cut in, adding her vital two cents.

"Think you're going to sing for the demon, do you, love?" Spike cuddled the squirmy girl closer and kissed her on the temple. "Seems to me that taking Darla to this bloke and researching this prophecy would be the best idea. Maybe give old Rupes a call and see if he can help with the translations and the like."

"Is it safe at Lorne's place?" Buffy asked. If it was, it could be a good place to stash Spike and Thursday. And speaking of Spike and Thursday…. His whole separation anxiety issue after what Dru did to him was one thing, but right now, Spike was straight up hogging the baby. Buffy made gimme motions, and he handed their giggly, wiggly daughter over. "If it is, we can maybe set up there. I just need to go back to the hotel to pick up some things after everyone else gets settled."

"I'll go with you," Angel said immediately. "I can gather up the prophecy and research books along with a few weapons."

Spike tensed at that, and Buffy herself wasn't exactly keen on the idea of going to the hotel with Angel either. But it was his hotel, after all, so she couldn't exactly forbid him from going there at the same time she did. She gently pressed her leg against Spike's to get his attention.

"I need you and Thursday safe," she said quietly. "Please, Spike." He didn't relax, but he did nod jerkily, which was going to have to be good enough. Buffy looked over at Angel. "Fine. We'll get them to Lorne's, then go to the hotel together to get what we need."

…

...

Angel's hands were tight enough on the steering wheel as he drove that his knuckles would have gone white if he'd been human. He was in his car with Buffy while most of the others were in the DeSoto, Wes leading the way to Lorne's on his motorcycle. He knew he should be focused on the prophecy and on Darla and her impossible pregnancy, but he couldn't seem to stop thinking about Buffy. Or about some of the things he'd noticed.

Buffy had been unusually protective of Spike. Not just of the baby, but of Spike. Who hadn't lit up a single cigarette all night, despite being practically a chain smoker. He hadn't indulged in any other vices, either, drinking soda with his meal instead of anything alcoholic. Buffy had been pretty damn insistent about that meal, and he'd seen her passing something to Spike that had looked an awful lot like a couple of vitamins.

He didn't want to be thinking what he was thinking. He didn't want to be imagining Spike and Buffy doing that ritual together, but he couldn't seem to stop. Pale flesh intertwined with sun-kissed gold. He'd touched them both. God…. He shuddered at the memories. He'd been gentle with Buffy, treating her like the fragile treasure she was, but Spike…. Thank god Dru hadn't brought him home until after she'd turned him. It would have been so much worse if he'd done those things to an actual person.

He wasn't ready to admit his suspicions – suspicions that had been pretty much confirmed when he'd deliberately caught Spike's scent – so he stayed silent as he drove to the hotel. And he stayed silent as he and Buffy got out of the car and walked up to the door. But once they were inside, he couldn't hold back anymore.

"I know what's going on," he said abruptly. Buffy turned to look at him like she had no idea what he was talking about. Maybe she didn't. As much as he loved her, she could be a little slow at times. "I know what you did. I know Spike's pregnant again. My god, Buffy, what were you thinking?"

"What was I thinking?" she repeated incredulously. "Oh, I don't know, maybe that mine and Spike's reproductive choices are no one else's damn business!"

"You already have one dangerous little hybrid baby – have you even thought about what it's going to be like when she starts kindergarten? – and you're bringing another one into the world?" She was such a child sometimes, and Spike wasn't much better. Had she even talked it over with her mother or Giles first? Did she understand exactly what it was she was trying to do. He took a step towards her and spelled it out. "Getting Spike pregnant again with the So'voriku ritual so he'd be influenced by the baby's soul isn't going to turn him into me. It isn't going to make the two of you us."

…

...

Buffy stared at Angel for a second, unable to believe what she'd just heard. Could he be any more condescending and full of himself? Ugh. Had he always been like this?

"There is no us, Angel," she said harshly. "There will never again be an us, and it has nothing to do with your curse, or even with Spike. What was there between us? What, exactly, did we have?"

Other than him slowly and carefully programming her to think of him as her one true love. Programming that had lingered in her psyche like a poison even though she'd finally found the man who fit her perfectly, warts and all. She was pretty sure that programming was broken now. When she looked at him, the ghost of her old feelings didn't even stir, and she was glad of it. She felt free, like she'd shed some horrible weight keeping her pinned down.

"Buffy, the attraction between –"

"No," she cut him off. Sex, sex, sex. He'd supposedly left her because they couldn't have sex, like that was the end-all, be-all of a relationship. Some of the sweetest moments between her and Spike had been during the time when his sex drive had been pretty non-existent due to late term pregnancy. They'd just held each other a lot. "Not attraction. Attraction doesn't make a relationship. Think about it, Angel. About how it really was, not how we imagined it was. Except for a few really awkward exceptions, our 'dates' were basically just patrolling while trying to think of things to say to each other. And it was hard, because we really don't have that much in common, do we?"

"That's not true," Angel protested.

"What's your favorite music?" she demanded.

"Barry Manilow," he answered immediately.

"That's not a type of music, it's just one guy." She shook her head and waved it off. She should have expected it, considering what Spike had said at dinner. "What about dancing? We slow danced a couple of times, but what about the fast stuff? I love the fast stuff. Would you dance with me like that?"

Angel got a deer-in-the-headlights look at that. "I…. No, I don't… I don't do fast dances. But that shouldn't matter."

"You're right," she agreed. "It's just a little thing, but you know, all the little things add up. Here's a big one, though; what would we have to talk about? Music is out, since you don't even have a style you like, apparently. What about movies or TV shows?"

"I… don't really watch a lot of TV. Just, uh, hockey."

"So that's another thing we couldn't really talk about. What about makeup? Women's fashions? Modern era books and plays? Could we tease each other and be silly, or would it always just be the long, smoldering looks and heavy intensity? That's nice sometimes, and I get a lot of that with Spike, but it's really uncomfortable if that's all there is to a relationship."

He looked at a complete loss, mouth opening and closing while nothing came out for a moment. "I… Buffy…."

"No," she said, cutting him off. "This conversation is over. We are over."

And with that, she turned her back on him and started to collect the things she'd left behind.