Saturday's Child

Chapter Twelve

…

It was all fairly simple, really. The whole lot of them were back at the hotel, acting as if they hadn't a clue there were cameras and listening devices strewn all about. Once the pieces of the confluence all gathered together for the great destiny orgy, Spike was meant to sneak out the back with Darla and Thursday in tow. They'd scarper off to the DeSoto – parked a block or so away in the hopes that it wouldn't ping anyone's radar as a possible get-away car – and drive to Lorne's, where they'd be protected by the double sanctuary spells.

It was a good plan. Solid and had a good chance of working. Despite that, Spike hated it. He wasn't exactly all over thrilled about Thursday being put in danger, but he understood the need. What if he alone wasn't enough to bring in the ones interested in her? So, yeah, he was fully onboard with that part of the Slayer's plan. What had his knickers in a twist over the whole thing was having to bugger off and leave the fighting to everyone else.

He wasn't some delicate little flower what needed protecting. So what if he was in the family way again? It was only two sodding weeks! The equivalent of a human woman being one month along. He could bloody well still fight. Hell, even Darla could take out a few. Being mystically preggers seemed to have upped her strength, and nothing any of the baddies did would hurt her sprog. They should stay and fight, let the bloody cheerleader be the one to take Thursday to Lorne.

"Will you stop that?" Darla snapped from the sofa. They were in a room near the back entrance, probably meant as an employee breakroom. Thursday was with them, napping in the carrier that snapped into her car seat. "All that pacing is making me dizzy."

Spike stopped for a moment to glare at her, then resumed pacing. "Never much cared for obeying you back when you were my great grandmum. What makes you think I'll snap to now, with you being my li'l sis and all?"

Right peculiar, it was. She still felt like a vampire a few centuries old. She still gave off that pull of an older vampire in one's direct line. At the same time, though, she was very much both a fledge and more-or-less his sister. And he could feel it, all tangled about with the other stuff.

He shook his head clear of the contemplations and threw himself down on the sofa, mainly because he needed a break from the pacing as much as Darla did. For now, anyway. He'd likely be right back at it in a moment or two. Being still for any significant amount of time – other than during sleep when he tended to be as motionless as a log – wasn't exactly high up on his list of skills.

He groaned in frustration and put his hands over his eyes before sliding them up into his hair. Then he was back on his feet and pacing again. "I wish this meetup we're supposed to be rabbiting from would bloody well happen already."

Darla snorted and shook her head, a slight, almost fond look on her face. "You never did have any patience." She paused, then added. "Except when it came to Dr-"

She stopped talking with a small grunt, wincing in pain, and Spike left off his pacing to stand in front of her. He wasn't entirely sure when they'd started, but she'd been having pains off and on for at least the hour or so they'd been in this room.

"Right, then, probably time to let the others in on your situation here."

He turned, intending to grab Thursday – no way was he leaving the sprog alone with Darla – but Darla grabbed his arm with bruising strength. "No! Don't leave. I… I don't want to be alone."

He only saw if for an instant before she let go and looked away, but there was such fear and confusion in her eyes. Bloody hell, he thought with a sigh as he sat back down beside her. He didn't know if it was the soul or just him being him, but, as much as he hated the bitch, he couldn't help feeling for her.

"Why didn't you kill it?" she asked after a few moments of silence.

At first, he wondered what she was on about, but then he saw her hand resting on her belly, and he knew exactly what she was asking. "Tried to," he admitted quietly. "Had a knife all ready to skewer myself and the sprog with, but…." He shrugged. "Couldn't bring myself to do it. I loved her too much."

"Because of her soul." It was a statement, not a question, because she was sure she must be right.

Her and Angel, always thinking they must be the be all, end all of vampires, and never once entertaining the notion that mayhaps their inability to love anything but themselves had more to do with them being them. They really should have known better, considering who they'd been before they'd died.

"No. It was early days yet. Soul wasn't developed enough to affect me. I loved her because I loved her. She was mine, and I loved her." He glanced over at the sleeping infant, arms practically itching to hold her. "Still do, and I always will."

"How?" Darla demanded. She laughed, on the edge of hysteria, before he could even try to form an answer. "Anytime something caught when I was alive, I'd take whatever I could get my hands on to be rid of it. I eventually caused enough damage that I just stopped getting pregnant, and I was glad. I wanted to get rid of this one, too. I tried and tried and…." She broke off with a cry of pain as another contraction hit. "Why…" she panted out, "don't I want to kill it anymore? Why do I… love him?"

"Just answered your own question there, ducks," Spike said. "You saw your spawn on the ultrasound, and he went from an it to a flesh and blood baby boy."

He remembered when he'd seen the image of Thursday. He'd already loved her, but actually seeing her? Knowing for a fact that she was a healthy little girl? Not even Willow being there and nattering on about what they should name Thursday – as if she'd any say in the matter – had been able to completely ruin the moment for him. Buffy wanting to call her Celia had sent him off in a huff, but that look inside had still been special.

"You think I'll still be able to love him?" Darla asked, a hopeful, desperate edge to her voice. "When he's out of me, and I can't feel his soul anymore?"

"Souls don't have a thing to do with the ability to love," he pointed out. He'd gotten his own back for three basic reasons. So he would be able to help Thursday deal with having both a soul and bloodlust, because he'd actually kind of missed the feeling of having one, and so some part of him could continue on with his family once they'd all shuffled off this mortal coil. None of it had anything to with being able to love. But this was Darla they were talking about, not him. "Honestly, though, I think you'd likely bash his wee brains in the first time he keeps you up all day with non-stop crying."

She stared at him for a moment, looking utterly stricken, before launching herself at him. Instead of attacking, though, she pressed her face against his chest and cried. He patted her awkwardly on the back, murmuring quiet nonsense until she suddenly slid her hand under his coat and along his side. She probably meant nothing by it, considering her sex drive had to be nearly non-existent at this point, but it reminded him too much of his fledgling years, when she'd wanted what she'd wanted, and hadn't cared that he didn't.

He shoved her away and stood up, voice icy as he said, "Touch me again without my permission, and your wandering hand problem'll be solved with an axe." He turned away from Darla and picked up Thursday's carrier, careful not to wake her. "I'm off to tell someone about your contractions."

This time, Darla didn't try to stop him.

…

...

Angel was running out of time. Everything was coming to a head tonight, and then Buffy would go back to Sunnydale. It was where she belonged, honestly, far away from him and the temptation to be together, but she'd be taking Spike back with her. The thought of it made him sick. The two of them together, Spike continuing to manipulate her mind and emotions until she didn't know which way was up anymore.

This was Angel's best chance to help her see how wrong it all was. He'd sent his team down to the basement for some weapons training, and Buffy was alone in Wesley's office with one of her textbooks, using it to answer questions on some online school thing. He wondered if that had been Spike's idea; isolate Buffy from the normal life of dorms and physically going to college so she had to be around him all the time, constantly at his beck and call and slaving away over the child. A little voice in the back of Angel's head pointed out that he'd actually seen Spike change more diapers than Buffy had, but he pushed it aside. What they did here wasn't necessarily the same as what they did at home.

"Buffy," he said quietly once she closed the textbook.

"Unless this is about the plan or possible battle strategies, I really don't want to hear it." She didn't even bother to look at him.

"Yeah, well, you may not want to, but you obviously need to. You're throwing your life away, and I can't just stand back and let you do it."

"Can't just let me?" She was finally looking at him, her expression as incredulous as her voice. "Do you even listen to…?" She trailed off and shook her head, one hand coming up in a stopping motion. "You know what? No. Just no. One word, two letters. N. O. End of discussion."

She shut down the computer and gathered up her things before trying to brush past him to leave the office. He wasn't going to let her just walk away from this. He turned like he was going to let her through, but grabbed her arm with his full strength, stopping her and turning her to face him. She easily broke his grip, but he had her full attention now.

"I told you, I'm not letting you do this. We can never be together, Buffy. Ever." She looked angry, rather than hurt. "But that doesn't mean you should settle for less than what we had. For something that makes you less."

"Less than we had? Remind me just what it is we had again?"

He wasn't getting through to her. He could see it in the way she held her shoulders, in the furious gleam of her eyes. Words evidently weren't going to be enough, which left only one other option. It was cruel to both of them, but she'd literally asked for it, so he'd remind her. As she opened her mouth to say more, he leaned in and kissed her.

…

...

"… doesn't mean you should settle for less than what we had. For something that makes you less."

Spike's steps faltered as he walked out into the lobby. Angel and Buffy were stood together in the doorway of Wesley's office, their backs to the edges and facing each other. Slayer was tense and angry while the poof was all brooding intensity and looked like he was about to crap himself. Buffy could fight her own battles, but this seemed like something she could use backup for.

He'd just taken a step towards the office when Buffy demanded that Angel remind her of what they'd had. He was pretty sure what she meant by that. She was going to be pointing out that they hadn't had as much as Angel seemed to think, right? But then Angel leaned in, pressing his lips against hers in a passionate kiss, and everything Spike thought he knew was chased away by the sight.