Saturday's Child

Chapter Thirteen

…

At first, Buffy was too stunned by the kiss to have any reaction at all, so she just stood there while Angel mashed his cool lips against her own. There were no sparks, no memories of better times between them. Just blank disbelief that he would think what he was doing was okay. Then revulsion and rage swept through her, and she brought her knee up, smashing it into his groin with her full strength.

He grunted in pain, eyes bulging as he reached down to cup himself. Buffy didn't give him a chance to recover. She slapped him hard enough to send him falling over sideways and then kicked him in the ribs.

"I. Do. Not. Belong to you," she gritted out through clenched teeth as she glared down at him. "The only man I want touching me like that is my boyfriend. And that's Spike, not you. As you like to keep pointing out, that will never again be you."

"Buf-" he started to croak out.

She was pretty sure she didn't want to hear what he had to say, so she cut him off by pulling him up and slamming him against the wall.

"Do you even realize what it was we had?" she asked harshly. "I've talked to my therapist about you. He told me a lot of things about grooming and stalking. At first, I didn't want to believe it, but it all made so much sense."

All the cryptic advice, disappearing and reappearing at random, insulting her one moment and then praising her the next. All things meant to keep her off guard and make him seem mysterious and alluring. And then, once he had her all muddled and eating out of his hand….

She'd asked Spike once, after one of his nightmares about his fledge years, about the types of things Angel had done before the soul. He hadn't wanted to talk about anything that had happened to him, but he'd told her about girls Angelus had hunted. Except for the fact that he hadn't driven her insane, raped, or killed her, it was all so much like he what he had done to Buffy herself.

"Even without the curse's escape clause, we never would have worked," she said. "Because we never would have been equals."

Angel looked at her incredulously and shoved her away from him before circling around her. She followed the movement. "What, and you think you and Spike –" She backhanded him across the face hard enough that he had to spit out blood.

"I'm talking here!" she snapped. "Do we need to use a talking stick? Because I can always rip out your femur and beat you silent with it."

Angel rolled his eyes at her threat as he wiped the blood away from his mouth. "Real mature, Buffy. And what the hell even is a talking stick?" He didn't wait to see if she'd answer. "Whatever you think you have with Spike? It's not real." She lashed out at him, but he caught her by the wrist and used it to shove her away from him. "He doesn't love you. I don't know how he tricked that ritual into working, but I know he doesn't love you. He can't. And you don't love him."

White hot fury tore through Buffy, and she channeled it into pure aggression. She feinted a punch towards his face before dropping down into a leg sweep, sending him crashing to the ground. Then she was on him, pinning him to the floor before lifting his head and slamming it back down to stun him.

"What the hell is it going to take to make you believe what's right in front of you?" she demanded. "You've seen us taking care of Thursday, you know we have another child on the way, and you've even barged in on us while I was cuddling with Spike and feeding the baby. Do I have to shove him down to the ground and ride him like a pony right in front of you before you'll finally just stop?"

She had lots more to say – so much more. She had barely even started – but she was cut off by a familiar, unhappy wail. Buffy was instantly on her feet, eyes scanning the lobby. And there she was. Thursday, strapped into her carrier on the circular couch. But there was no sign of Spike.

…

...

The little garden area Spike had found was likely meant as a place of quiet reflection. He didn't particularly feel like being quiet, and as for reflection…. Well, was a vampire, wasn't he? Reflection wasn't exactly his thing. Violence, blood, death. Those were his thing. He punched again at one of the narrow concrete fence posts, using the first of those things to paint it with the second as the skin over his knuckles split.

The pain helped, but it couldn't quite erase the images from his mind. Buffy and Angel locked in a passionate kiss. Dru with her skirts around her ears, squealing in glee as good old "daddy" stuck it to her. God, what was so bloody wrong with him that he was never, ever good enough? He wished he could just blame bloody Angel for it all, but even when he'd been alive, no one had wanted him.

He laughed darkly and punched the fence post again. Buffy had the daft notion she chased men away. Him though? Men, women, he chased them all away. Even his mum…. He shuddered, his mind skittering away from that thought, and he punched the post again. And again. Again, again, and again, until it finally gave way.

He stared at it, then at his bloodied hand. He closed his eyes and forced himself to take deep, even breaths. They had baddies on the way, he couldn't afford to be standing about feeling sorry for himself. He'd left Thursday in the lobby right after seeing that kiss. She was safe enough there for now, but once the alarms they had set up went off, he'd only have a minute or so to get his girl out of the hotel and on the way to safety.

Get yourself together, mate, he told himself as he walked back into the hotel. Buffy was out of the office and in the lobby, holding a quietly fussing Thursday. Her eyes were wild, her skin flushed, like she'd been involved in a fight. Or had her blood up from a serious snogging.

"Spike! Where have you…?" She trailed off, staring at his damaged hand. Then she swallowed hard and looked into his eyes. "Oh, god, you saw. I… I can explain!"

He wasn't sure he wanted to hear it. She wasn't the type to cheat, but he knew how Angel could be. How he could make you feel special that he was bothering with you. How he could kiss you and touch you until….

The alarms suddenly went off. A loud, grating sound that sent Thursday into a fit of frightened screaming.

"Damn it!" Buffy swore. She put Thursday back in her carrier, much to the sprog's displeasure, and thrust the entire thing at him. "I love you. Now, go!"

He stared at her for a moment. Then he went.

…

...

Pain had always been one of Darla's kinks, both giving and receiving it. When she wanted it anyway, in regards to the later. What she was feeling as Spike hustled her out through the back entrance of the hotel was very much unwelcome. It was like her abdomen had become a giant fist, squeezing tight. Her back spasmed painfully while twisting, stabbing cramps rolled through her in waves. Everything below her breasts hurt, like her clothes had become arcane torture devices.

Being expected to run during all of this while Spike's brat screamed its damn head off really wasn't helping any. She couldn't do it. The current contraction reached the peak, and she fell to her knees, being dragged a few inches by Spike's grip on her wrist.

"Keep up!" he snapped, glaring over his shoulder.

His grip tightened as he tried to yank her back to her feet. She didn't know if he was still upset about that little misunderstanding – she hadn't even been trying for anything, damn it! – or something else had gotten him all riled up, but he was clearly in a bad mood. She wanted to claw his eyes out for it, the bastard. She should have been alone in a room, screaming out her pain. Or alone with Angel, breaking his bones for doing this thing to her.

"I'm trying," she snapped back once the contraction had ended. "This isn't exactly easy, you know!"

"Yeah, I do know. Well, not about the contractions and whatall, but I've had to be running all about while fairly far along. And trust me, it's a mite more pleasant than being a captive during it. Now move your arse!"

She put on a burst of speed, but then there was a strange sort of… popping sensation followed by a rush of wetness. What the hell? What was this? My water broke, she realized. She staggered and fell to her knees again.

"I… I can't," she panted out.

Spike swore and pulled her up, dragging her the last few feet to the car. He shoved her in the passenger seat, muttering darkly about her getting "mess" all over his car, and then put his kid into her car seat into the back before diving into the driver's side and burning rubber. Time became a never ending blur of pain, awful pressure, and swerving peppered with British swearing and something about a tail.

"Bloody hell!"

Darla screamed, and so did the baby as Spike turned the wheel, doing a one-eighty before slamming on the breaks. When the spots cleared from her vision, she could see a large van sideways across the road in front of them. A quick look behind showed another one there. A collection of humans and demons started getting out.

"Looks like it's going to be a fight," Spike said grimly, his hands tightening on the wheel. He stared at Darla, jaw clenched. "I'll keep 'em occupied. You get Thursday to Lorne's, it's two blocks down." He pointed. "You harm as much as one hair on her head, and I'll hunt you down and torture you to death."

Then he was out of the car and throwing himself into the fray, attacking anything and everything within range with reckless abandon. Darla got out too and frowned in confusion. Wasn't he supposed to be electronically neutered when it came to hurting humans or something? Then another contraction hit. She barely managed to stagger into an alley and hide behind a dumpster before she lost track of everything except the sounds of flesh striking flesh. Eventually, the sounds of fighting stopped.

"Where's the other one?"

"Don't know, don't care. We're only being paid for these two, and the drugs won't last long on the vampire."

The sound of a car door opening, and then vans starting back up before all was silent. She crawled to the mouth of the alley and looked around. The vans were gone, and there was no sign of Spike. The back door of the DeSoto was open, revealing an empty car seat. Darla slowly struggled to her feet and started towards Lorne's club. Alone.