BtVS fic: Books, Bookings and Blondes (1-2/5)
Title: Books, Bookings and Blondes
Author: SCWLC
Rating: Around PG-13, I think. Some innuendo and bad words.
Summary: This is my rewrite of S6 that turned into an AU immediate future fiction.
Pairings: Yes, I actually have something here other than B/A. It’s Spike/Darla. Don’t kill me.
Notes: Okay, first of all, to those who wanted to know from my last essay, I have a paper due in a week and a half on stained glass. Now you know. On this story, I would like to say that I made up the station in Indiana. I don’t know if there is a KWBL out there, I just was making up the station. Second, I know I’m writing Spike a lot nicer than he is in reality but I wanted to have a happy story. So, to keep the angst to a minimum I wrote him as a really nice guy. Next, I was also making up the numbers for the money Buffy got paid for her story and books. I realise things are different in the real world, but I refuse to research a pastime to avoid insulting real authors.
Thanks to everyone for your feedback. You’re the people who make failing Medieval Architecture worth it.
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Prologue
Darla was feeling desperate. Her baby boy was going to die because she was a vampire and some stupid primal power was keeping them from giving her a caesarean. She looked around at Angel and his little band of friends as they stared back at her helplessly.
Suddenly Fred frowned slightly and asked Darla, “When you were tryin’ to get the baby out before ... Y’know, when you found out that you couldn’t hurt him, what exactly did you do?”
Darla glared at the girl and spat, “I was just trying to get him out! Okay!? I stabbed myself in the gut, I tried just cutting myself open, and nothing worked!” Despite the furious words the vampiress’ face crumpled and she sobbed, “He’s going to die-”
“Maybe not,” said Fred.
Wesley looked at the young woman he had a crush on and asked, “Fred, there’s no way Darla can manage a proper labour to give birth, and if we can’t...” he trailed off, unsure of the way to express the grim notion.
Cordelia had no such compunction, “We can’t cut her open Fred!” she said vehemently, “She said she tried it herself. I don’t think we’ll have any more luck.”
“Maybe not if we try to do it the way she did.” Fred had a sly look on her face, “But Darla said she never tried to actually do it to save the baby’s life. Maybe if we do a proper C-section-”
Angel looked up with dawning hope, “The Powers are protecting the baby. If we go about this to save him rather than harm him, we might be able to save his life!”
At his words, the others perked up and began to sterilise the room, and put together the necessary implements to operate on Darla. Two hours later she and Angel were cooing at their son, and making all sorts of ridiculous facial expressions that new parents make at their children. Gunn had passed out in the grand tradition of the unprepared viewer of a live birth, while Wesley and Fred were looking inordinately pleased with themselves. Cordelia was being practical and shopping for necessities such as blankets, baby formula, baby clothes, and that necessity above all necessities, disposable diapers.
*************
Out in Sunnydale, a slayer struggled with her resurrection, bills, and confused feelings for a blonde vampire who seemed to be the only person around to realise that she was hanging by a thread.
*************
Part One
It was a lovely day in Sunnydale, the sun was shining, the trees were chirping as they fluttered from place to place, while the birds’ feathers shivered in the slight breeze. It was also a typical day in Sunnydale.
Willow and Tara were involved in trying to correct the work of a warlock who’s plan of world domination using an army of trees and shrubs had been seriously compromised by a starling fluttering into the middle of his spell. Now there were a couple of normally potted plants hopping around the magic shop leaving a trail of dirt, and Dawn was defending the rights of an adorable little geranium to exist as a motile creature. Xander and Anya were preoccupied with frantic attempts to capture the other plants before they covered everything with mud.
The only two people uninvolved with the plant crisis were Spike and Buffy. Spike, because he had more sense than to hang around a bunch of chirping bonsai trees, and Buffy because she was trying to find a way to pay for both the water and food, without going into debt. It was so riveting she didn’t hear the chaos going on around her.
“Tara! You can’t turn her back into a regular flower, she’ll be so sad,” Dawn held the trembling plant under the witch’s nose, then pulled it against her chest and petted it, “Isn’t she just the most adorable wittle planty, yes she is!” Dawn cooed to the cheeping geranium.
Okay, so Buffy wasn’t completely unaware of her surroundings, ( “Xander! It’s in the cash register! Don’t let it damage the money!” cried Anya), but she was determined to find a solution to her fiscal problems, and that meant concentrating on monetary flow, not on the really big bush hopping up and down in front of the window that some nutcase had attached a leash and doggie sweater to.
At that moment, Buffy decided that perhaps it might be less . . . insane elsewhere. “Guys, I’m heading home so I can work on this money thing,” she said.
“Are you sure -- Anya! Go left, there’s a spider plant over your head! -- Are you sure you don’t want to stay -- Bad bush! -- stay here?” Xander inquired.
Buffy smiled at the sight of the spider plant trying to fly out the window, and having all the success a wingless plant could have, and replied, “I think I’ll probably get more done at home than here.”
So she said her goodbyes and left. Walking down the street, Buffy could see all sorts of interesting things. The palm trees hopping up and down in a vain attempt to fly away, Mrs. O’Neal hollering as she chased her prized gardenias down past the hardware store, and several escaped emus from the local zoo standing stock still with glazed looks on their faces as worried zoo staff tried to get them to dislodge their feet from the dirt.
Buffy got home, just barely managing to avoid being crushed by a loudly chirping, hopping, out-of-control oak tree on the front lawn. “The bigger they are, the smaller they think they are,” sighed Buffy as she entered the house.
At the slight scent of singed hair and leather the Slayer looked up to see Spike leaning against the wall in the living room. “What are you doing here?” she asked tiredly.
“The ivy on my crypt wall was startin’ to act funny so I hightailed it out here. You don’t have any plants in your house do you?” he responded.
Buffy chuckled slightly, saying, “No, although Dawn may soon be bringing home a cheeping geranium. I hope she takes better care of it than all the plants I’ve managed to kill.”
“Well then until the plants get fixed can I sleep in your basement?” the expression on his face was so hangdog and desperate Buffy didn’t have the heart to throw him out.
“Okay, but if I catch you telling Dawn any more stories about the days of blood guts and gore, you’re out in the street. Got it?” Spike just nodded and hurried down the stairs, leaving Buffy to work on her bills in peace. Accompanied by the crashing sounds of potted plants leaping to their doom.
She sat down at the table and started into her budget to find things she could cut so they would still have electricity as well as the enormous luxury of food. Shuffling the bills between those that needed to be paid immediately, those that could wait, and the other expenses she garnered like the fact that she needed some new cords for her crossbow, and Dawn had a science fair coming up which usually required obscene amounts of money spent on pipe cleaners.
Buffy had just finished working the budget out to her satisfaction, albeit not Dawn’s, when she noticed it. It being the magazine with a huge cover ad in yellow, black, red, and green. It practically vibrated on the cover advertising a chance to be a published author and win $1,500. Naturally the money caught Buffy’s eye and she flipped through the magazine until she found the details of the contest. All one had to do to enter was write a science fiction or fantasy story, fill out the form and mail the package in. First prize was a huge wad of cash and being published, second and third were smaller wads of cash and being published.
Dawn and the others came home then. “Buffy! What do you think of Gerry as a name for my plant?” Dawn demanded, “Tara says she knows how to exclude her from the reversal spell.”
“You mean aside from the fact that I’ll be thinking of that Spice girl every time we talk about it?” Buffy replied.
Xander and Anya had followed Buffy’s younger sister in and were carrying bags of takeout Chinese food. “Hey everybody! We come bearing tribute!” called Xander.
“Did you bring blood?” Spike demanded, “If I’m not allowed to sleep, which is my right as a nocturnal creature, you could at least get me some food too.” He came tramping irritably up the stairs.
Anya looked over at Buffy, “You know, although Spike is hot I don’t see why you don’t kill him.” At that Spike looked quite baffled as to whether he ought to be affronted or complimented. “You are the Slayer, why don’t you kill him?”
“More to the point, why is he here?” asked Xander.
“The ivy was freaking him out.” Buffy responded shortly. “I haven’t killed Spike because killing something helpless is wrong.”
Dawn marched up to the vampire in question and linked her arm with his, saying, “Well, I like him, and I think we still have some blood in the fridge,” she directed the latter comment to Spike, and the two proceeded to the kitchen. They were followed by the three young adults who sat down to a nice family dinner of takeout. Through the whole conversation they had covering Dawn’s grades which were slowly on the rise again, Xander and Anya’s wedding, and Spike’s insistence at trying chicken fried rice in his blood which even grossed Dawn out, Buffy couldn’t get her mind off of the $1,500.
So after dinner she hurried upstairs, took out one of her old diaries and sat down at the computer. Five hours after writing, *Kitty had just spent what was arguably the most boring day of her life in school and now stood on the front steps waiting for Andrew to join her so she could make the quarterback beg to take her to the dance.* Buffy had finished writing about the day she was called.
She slipped it into the envelope with the entry form, and ducked briefly outside and down the block where people were busy rerooting their trees to drop it into the mailbox. After all, what did she have to lose?
***************************
Spike’s evening was not nearly as calm. After sunset he left the Summers’ residence and hit Willy’s bar. There he heard a rumour so bizarre he had to go to LA to find out specifically what events had (clearly) gotten mangled in the telling. He illegally parked his Cadillac in front of the hotel where Angel had set up his office and waltzed in to find out what exactly the poufter had been doing this time.
Amazingly, the demon who knew a guy hadn’t gotten things totally wrong. His grandsire stood in the atrium cooing at a small smelly bundle in his arms. “Oooo, isn’t he just a wet wittle baby aren’t you Connor?”
Spike shook himself as he lurked in the doorway. The sight of Angelus the Scourge of Europe baby talking was enough to give him chills. Of course, at least the baby wasn’t Angel’s. Vampires were sterile and Angel couldn’t have adopted the tyke. He’d probably taken on some chick with a baby as a case.
“Daddy’s gonna have to change your diaper,” said Angel speaking in the variable tones of a new parent. He also had just shattered Spike’s little happy illusion. God! What the hell was going on in this heathenish hole?
Then Darla come in and destroyed the last of Spike’s composure. She baby talked to the brat as well, and started feeding him, “Oh Connor, you’re gonna be a big strong boy just like your daddy, and Mommy and Daddy love you very much! Yes we do!”
“WHAT THE BLOODY HELL IS GOING ON IN HERE!?!?” Spike was too stunned to be cautious. This broke all the bounds and rules of logic, nature, and the supernatural. This set the baby off crying, and Angel stepped forward as though to protect the baby from Spike.
“Spike,” he said, his voice menacing.
“Angel,” was his reply. This was followed immediately thereafter with, “Since when are you and Darla so snuggly? Also, please tell me the demon was wrong and the baby is adopted or something.” Spike pleaded with his grandsire not to tell him the truth.
Instead of answering any questions at all Angel growled and demanded, “Which demon told you this?”
He shrugged, “Belviac out at Willy’s. Said you got Darla preggers, and the two of you were plannin’ on keepin’ the tyke.” The curiosity got the better of him, “So what is he? I mean the child of a couple of vampires has got to be something.”
“He’s human. Completely human.” Darla had faded into the background as the two talked. Having ascertained that Angel did not consider Spike a threat, she now stepped forward carrying her son and showing him to the chipped vampire.
Spike’s eyes widened, “So, Angel here I get bein’ all lovey and crap. What about you? You don’t have a soul the last time I checked.”
She shrugged, “Somehow, being pregnant with Connor, I got sort of infected by his soul. I do have one.”
Then Spike did something that took the other two aback. He laughed. Just breaking down into complete hysterics, the bleach blonde vampire staggered, howling with laughter, over to a chair and just flopped down. Angel and Darla looked at Spike both wearing expressions that clearly said, *I just knew he was unstable, must be all that time with Drusilla.* “Uh, Spike,” Angel said hesitantly. Darla was already edging away with the baby in case Spike lost it and tried to attack them. “Spike,” he said a little more firmly, “What is so funny?”
“Us!” came the reply, “Darla, favoured childe of the Master and the Scourge of Europe have souls, and I’ve got this bleedin’ chip in my head that keeps me from killin’ humans. Think we should start a club?”
Darla giggled slightly as she realised that Spike was not only not planning on hurting her son, he was not able to hurt the boy. Then began to really laugh as the meaning of his words reached her. Angel just looked flummoxed. “I really don’t see what the two of you find so funny.”
“Don’t you get it?” Darla handed their son over to him, “Us! Three of the most feared vampires in history, and we’ve all become unable to kill. We’re practically the good guys.” She looked over at Angel with a raised eyebrow and said, “You especially.”
Angel just shook his head and carried his son away from the two lunatics who spent so long talking that night that Spike was trapped there for the day and wound up staying to help Angel and Darla fight off a batch of marauding Fyarl demons hired to kidnap Connor.
As Spike prepared to leave at sunset that evening Darla approached him, carrying Connor, “So you’re leaving?” she asked.
“Yeah. Got myself a nice little crypt in Sunnyhell. ’Side’s the Slayer’s sister’ll want to hear some more blood and guts stories when Buffy’s not lookin’.” Spike smiled at Darla and thought about how sweet she was when she wasn’t saying he was an incompetent.
She smiled back saying, “I was just thinking. You’re welcome back any time. It’s nice having someone who understands aside from Angel around.” Darla considered what a nice guy Spike was, and really had always been. At least from a vampire perspective anyway. And it was nice talking to someone who got what being a vampire was about without either the gloom and doom of Angel, or the ‘treacherous bitch’ talks she got from most other vampires these days.
“Bye Darla,” he said.
“Goodbye.” As Spike drove off in the glow of the streetlights Darla looked down at her son. “My boy,” she said softly, reliving the moment she’d realised she would get to see her son grow up, “What do you think of Spike?”
**********************
Weeks had passed and Buffy had, for the most part, forgotten about her entry to the contest. After all, there were more important things to deal with, like explaining to Anya that no one was going to be wearing larvae to her wedding, and getting the social services people to realise that sometimes you have a bad day.
So, it was a pleasant surprise after Buffy had discovered that she needed $500 for various bills and down payments that month, she was almost out of free cash for food, and Dawn had spent her lunch money for the month on new earrings, that she had won the contest. A copy of the magazine and a $1,500 cheque were in her mailbox along with the rest of the mail.
Buffy ignored everything and rushed off to the bank to deposit the cheque so that she could pay off all of her bills at one go while she had the money, and to take some of the rest of the cash to pay for all her groceries for the week, and a chocolate cake to celebrate.
When she got home, she finished sorting out the mail and carried hers up to her room, and sat down to make dinner for all. She was somewhat hurt when no one noticed the miraculous appearance of luxuries on the table, and instead focussed on Dawn’s day with her cheeping plant.
". . . So anyways, Leslie said that she had seen something like this on a special on the Amazon rainforest, and Mrs. Jensen totally wanted to take her petals. Anyway, I was like, ‘No!’ I mean God! Doesn’t she have any feelings for other living creatures?” Dawn would have continued with her saga of the plant when Willow interrupted desperate to have Buffy’s opinion.
“Do you think that maybe if I had little wormy designs put on the bridesmaid dresses Anya might actually let us wear clothes instead of larvae?”
Buffy was about to answer when a huge red thing covered in slime burst through the door with Spike in hot pursuit. As they fought it off Buffy thought, *There goes the rest of my cheque,* and winced as the carpet got ripped and covered in slime, thus ensuring the need for a new carpet.
The demon took off out the back door and Buffy was forced to go after it and Spike. “What does it want?” she asked as she caught up with her sometime patrolling partner.
“Near as I can tell, it’s been eatin’ the guys down at the Mason’s lodge.” Spike said as they followed the thing down Sunnydale’s side streets. “I think that dip of a conjuror what works for the medieval society hired him to take ‘em out.”
Buffy rolled her eyes. The feud between the two was ongoing and even Sunnydale’s more oblivious citizenry had noticed and been irritated by the two. The medievalists insisted that the Masons were moronic for believing the Mason tradition went as far back as it did, and the Masons were insulted by the lack of belief from the medievalists. Both sides had connections to the occult and about a quarter of the demons raised in Sunnydale could be attributed to the overactive stupidity of both groups.
The demon had actually been raised by neither, but by a beginning warlock who had been manipulated by a mischief demon that saw the opportunity to institute widespread chaos. By the time the mess was cleared up it was one in the morning and Buffy showered and crawled into bed without going through the rest of her mail figuring it would still be there in the morning, and she was too tired to go into it then.
So it wasn’t until the next morning that Buffy got to see her short story in print, and read the other letter that had come accompanying the magazine. She read the letter twice before the meaning sank in. Then she read it once more to be certain it wasn’t a dream.
Dear Miss Summers,
We here at Mitchell Publishing have read your story and wish to place it in an anthology of fantasy fiction. The story will be published only with your permission and a percentage of the profits would be sent to you for your work.
This is not, however, the primary reason we have contacted you. After reading your story we wish to know whether you would be interested in writing a full length novel about your “Kitty” character. We believe that, should you agree, the novel would be quite profitable.
There would be a certain amount sent in advance of $500.00, and a payment of $2,000.00 on the completion of the work. You would also receive 8% of the profits from the sales of the book.
If you wish to accept these terms, please respond within the month by sending a letter to the enclosed address. Should you accept, you will be sent the contact to sign, and as soon as it is received your cheque will be in the mail. We will expect to see the novel completed within the year.
Sincerely,
Jeffrey P. Turner
“Well,” said Buffy, “Who am I to look a gift horse in the mouth?”
**********************
Angel crept quietly into the atrium of the hotel, grateful that Spike and Darla weren’t around. He was getting tired of seeing the vampire who claimed to live in Sunnydale constantly underfoot in his hotel in LA. The fact that he and Darla were well nigh inseparable just made the whole situation even more irritating. In fact, the only good thing about Spike’s presence was that it kept Cordelia from flirting with him, and the others from implying that the two had some sort of mystical bond.
*Which, now that I think of it, is a good reason to keep him around.* The other issue was a little more distressing. Darla and Spike had never gotten along. She had always thought him to be a complete sap and something of an imbecile as well. Spike had only respected her because he knew that Angelus would turn him into a bloody pulp if he ever tried anything on Darla. So this sudden friendship had Angel baffled.
Darla had actually let Spike hold their baby the other day. Spike had been holding Connor making Angel completely petrified for his son. Darla had smacked Angel, reminding him that Spike could not hurt the baby deliberately and that he had vampiric speed, reflexes and balance. He was unlikely to drop the boy by accident. That had not comforted Angel in the slightest.
Nor had her sighed comment that Spike was so good with the baby, and Connor really loved him helped at all. “He’s a vicious killer!” he had responded.
“He’s sweet.” Darla’s reply was firm.
Spike had chosen that moment to enter the conversation, “Oh! Anything but sweet luv,” he said in mock hurt, “No man wants to be told he’s sweet. That means you don’t think of us as material for a beau.” He had grinned at Darla who fluttered her eyelashes coquettishly at him.
“Who said I was looking for a beau?” she’d purred. Angel could have sworn the two had been flirting. It was ridiculous of course. Spike wasn’t Darla’s type, and neither was Darla Spike’s.
In any event, Angel had the hotel to himself for the time being, and he was going to play with Connor and enjoy the time alone with his son. His human employees had gone out to catch a movie, Lorne was busy rebuilding Caritas, and Darla and Spike had left earlier saying something about checking out the sewer routes between the hotel and places Angel might wish to get to during the day.
They had been rather unspecific about their destinations, but Angel had merely let them go off. He had learned long ago better than to try to convince Darla not to do something.
He had just settled down with Connor when he heard giggling coming from Wesley’s office. He went to investigate and saw something that threw him. Spike and Darla were kissing. Not just any kisses either. The hot openmouthed kind that usually went somewhere, and as Angel watched, Spike took off his everpresent duster and spread it on the floor. He and Darla sank down to the floor, and Angel scurried off before his son was introduced to an activity that was rated a little too high for his tender years.
After all, it wasn’t like he and Darla were involved. They were just raising Connor together because he needed two parents. Also, as the only two ensouled vampires in the world they shared the bond of being the only people who understood what that really meant. So he didn’t have a problem if she decided to have hot monkey sex with someone who wasn’t him.
It was just that it was Spike! Spike was the guy she had called a blithering idiot the day she first met him, and she hadn’t changed her opinion. Well, not until now anyhow. He now also had to admit that they must have been flirting that day, as much as the notion galled him.
*Ah well. She’s an adult and is entitled to make her own choices.*
But still... Spike!
**********************
When Spike got over to Buffy’s that evening he found the floor littered with diaries in Buffy’s handwriting. Buffy herself was sitting in the living room with a laptop computer and a pile of paper which she shuffled through rapidly, cursing with a vocabulary to make a longshoreman proud.
“Hello Slayer,” Spike decided to ignore the mess in favour of giving his message to Buffy, “I just dropped by to tell you I’ve found myself a girlfriend and I’m not attracted to you like that anymore.”
She looked up at him, frowned, and said, “So you came here to tell me that you’re not attracted to me?”
He suddenly realised how he had sounded and said hurriedly, “I didn’t mean I don’t like you anymore Slayer, and you are an attractive woman, but I’ve found myself a girlfriend and I thought you would want to know I won’t be chasin’ after you any more.”
Buffy smiled in response to his hasty backtracking saying, “I’m glad you’re going to stop trying to get me to go out with you.” She sighed and turned back to the books she was writing. On the whole it was going well, but Buffy wanted to have some scenes about the bad guys planning and stuff. She wasn’t a villain and she’d never plotted the downfall of a slayer.
“What are you writin’ pet?” Spike asked curiously.
Buffy looked over at him and sighed again. “Nothing important Spike,” she replied, “If you want to talk to Dawn she’s upstairs.”
Spike turned to leave, but was stopped by Buffy’s question, “Spike, do you know anything about Lothos?”
He blinked at her, puzzled, then hesitantly responded, “Ummm, you killed him, right?”
“Yeah,” she smiled, “But I was curious what you know. Y’know, like stuff I wouldn’t. Bad guy in his lair kinda stuff.”
The vampire shrugged and began to move off when he lunged at her and snatched the laptop off her lap and started to read, “’So Kaspar told his minions to find the Huntress and bring her to him. “Tonight, you will be mine, Kitty,” he said.’ What the hell is this?” He read a little more even as he played keep-away with Buffy, “This is like an autobiography or something!”
Buffy gave up and flopped onto the sofa, “I had this amazing piece of luck and somehow I got a book deal,” her face was chagrined, “I thought this would be easy ‘cause all I have to do is write my memoirs with the names changed. All of a sudden I realised I have to write the bad guys too.”
Sudden enlightenment crossed Spike’s face, “So you were tryin’ to pump me for information on what goes on in a master vampire’s lair.”
“Yeah.”
He grinned at her, “Of course I’ll help. Just give me some credit in the writin’ and a cut of the profits and I’ll tell you everything I know.”
“Well then, I’ll work out the details of the money with you when I find out how much I get, but you’ll get at least $50, okay?” Buffy was handed back her laptop and they settled in to write a real sounding Lothos.
Spike, it turned out had actually spent some time with him back in the day, and had even gotten an up close chance to observe how the vampire ran his little HQ. “Formality was a big thing. There were rituals for everything. Feeding, bathing, talking. It was like a bleedin’ Japanese court.”
“So, I have to have a lot of doing obeisance then, and a lot of that hack formal language stuff?” Buffy looked at the vampire who, it turned out, had a real gift for writing prose. When Buffy had complemented his writing style he had been surprised and had admitted to the ridicule of his poetry that had driven him into Drusilla’s clutches.
Buffy just rolled her eyes saying, “Just because you can’t write poetry doesn’t mean you can’t write. I knew this guy once, couldn’t sing at all, but he wrote the most amazing music.”
Spike looked at her hopefully, “You really think I’m good at this?”
“Totally.”
That evening, a writing partnership was born.
********
Part 2
Roger and Trish Burkle were happily adoring Darla and Angel’s son. “He’s just so adorable!” squealed Fred’s mother as she played with the baby. Angel was trailing anxiously around after the couple as they played aeroplane with his child.
“Angel, stop that!” Darla smacked him on the arm as he hovered over the Burkles again.
He gave her a wounded look, “I don’t want him to get hurt. Can’t you see how careless they’re being?”
Darla simply rolled her eyes, “Angel. They. Raised. Fred. Look how she turned out. Do you really think they’ll damage our son?” Suddenly she bit her lip and glanced away from him.
“What is it?” Angel stepped forward and leaned down to look her in the eye.
She gave a soft, bitter, snort of laughter and blinked away sudden tears, “It’s just that he’s probably safer with them than with me. His mother. What do I know about babies anyway? Other than how to kill them?” Darla began to fold in on herself.
“Hey,” Roger broke in, “First of all, you seem to be doing real well with him.” He smiled encouragingly, “Also, when Trish and I first brought Fred home, I was absolutely terrified I’d drop her, or hurt her, or something.” He wrapped an arm around Darla and gently squeezed for emphasis. “All parent are scared to death they’re gonna screw up. You’re no different.”
And Angel had decided to join the self-pity trip, “Anyway, if anyone’s going to be a bad parent it’ll be me. Look at my father. I’ll probably turn out just like him.”
Cordelia had entered as he spoke. On hearing that statement she walked up to him and thwapped him upside the head. “What did I tell you about stupid self-pity?” she demanded.
Angel moved with alacrity to put Darla between him and his seer, “Not to have them around you so I don’t get hurt by lunatic women with visions?”
Darla and Cordelia had reached an unstable truce over the months, but not so stable that either wanted to confront the other, “Don’t get me in the middle of your fights Angel,” she warned as she moved aside to allow Cordelia full access to a now mock-cowering Angel. “Now give me back my son,” she demanded of the Burkles, who forked him over with only a token protest.
The couple, having fulfilled their obligations as people meeting the vampires’ son sat down to talk with Cordelia about Fred and Gunn. Of course it was mainly along the lines of, “Are you sure that he’s good for her? I mean, not to insult your friend, it’s just that we don’t want Fred hurt.”
Wesley arrived, and the talk quickly turned to the latest cases. Darla was pissed off at Angel for not allowing her to join him when he went out fighting. “Honestly, it’s the most chauvinistic thing I ever heard! I’m a perfectly good fighter, and Lorne does a way better job of babysitting Connor while he waits for you to come back covered in slime.”
Angel glared at her, “I don’t want to run the risk of leaving Connor motherless too,” he said, “He needs to have at least one parent there to take care of him.”
“Then why don’t we take turns? Angel, I’m getting bored stuck in this hotel of yours all day.” The others wisely stayed silent.
Which was when Spike cheerfully made his way into the hotel lobby carrying flowers, a jar of blood, a package of Weetabix, and a bag of what seemed to be clothing. “Hello all!” he said exuberantly. He made his way to Darla’s side and handed her the flowers saying, “For the loveliest lady here.”
Darla smiled and looked like she would have blushed if she had the circulation to do so. She shifted Connor over to his father and smelled the flowers her smile brightening as she got a good look at them. “Lilies! Oh Spike, you remembered!”
He shrugged and flopped down next to her, “Eh, you’re easy compared to Dru. Her I could never get flowers ‘cause she’d always bring up the time Angelus got her a whole garden.” He shot Angel an annoyed look, “Also, I didn’t have to. You always dropped hints at him,” he jerked his head in his grandsire’s direction, “To get you lilies. He never obliged.”
Darla leaned over and kissed Spike, “Well it’s still sweet that you remembered.”
“Hey!” Cordelia demanded, “How come she’s getting flowers and no one else?”
The bleach blonde shot her a dark look. “When you and I are dating, which I hope to God never happens, I’ll get you flowers.”
Her eyes widened, “You guys are dating?”
“Well, I wouldn’t call what they did in Wesley’s office dating per se,” Angel muttered softly enough that only the other two vampires heard him.
Trish looked somewhat surprised, “So you two,” she gestured at Angel and Darla, “Aren’t together?”
Darla’s brief glare at Angel left him unrepentant, and she answered the question, ”No, not anymore. We used to be, but we’re just not a compatible couple.”
“But you and Spike are?” Wesley asked, looking rather flummoxed.
Just then Gunn and Fred returned from their date, and the conversation was sidetracked off of Spike and Darla’s relationship and onto the other couple’s. The change was facilitated by the dating vampires’ choice to sneak off to Darla’s room so they could have some privacy.
**********************
Buffy finished off the last of her and Spike’s manuscript and stuffed it and its cover letter into an envelope and started to search for stamps singing the song of the stamp hunter as it has been sung for years, “Stamp stamp stamp stamp stamp stamp stamp stamp stamp stamp stamp stamp stamp. Staaa-aaamp Staaa-aaamp Staaa-aaamp stamp stamp stamp stamp!”
With the big finale when she flushed them from the drawer they had taken refuge in, “STAMP!”
She rapidly affixed the irritating pieces of gluey paper to her manila envelope and trotted down the street to the mail box. Hopefully the rest of her money would arrive soon. She needed more cash for the broken fixtures. Again. Not to mention paying back various stores for the things Dawn had stolen. All in all she had to wonder why it was the universe was conspiring against her to make her have to pay for all the things she could theoretically spend money on.
She made her way home and asked the Powers what she had done. Buffy was certain that, whatever things she had done that could garner punishment, she had already been punished for them. It just wasn’t fair that she had to have the weight of the world on her shoulders and all the other stuff people had to deal with too.
When she got home Dawn was in the process of hiding a notice of a parent teacher conference in between the seat cushions so she could claim she forgot it when Buffy found out the day after when Dawn’s principal called. Buffy didn’t call her on it figuring that she’d dig it out after Dawn had gone to bed.
So Buffy waited until Dawn had finished with her efforts then walked in with a weary “Hey.”
“Oh! Hey! How is everything? I mean, the whole hunt for Warren and his buddies thing. By the way, there’s a special on TV on penguins. I thought we could watch it. Together?” Dawn’s desperate sounding babbling had Buffy smiling tiredly as she shooed her sister toward the television.
“Sure Dawn. I’ll make some popcorn. You get settled. You finished all your homework?” The Slayer queried her sister.
“Yup!” came the cheery reply.
Buffy got back in time to see the opening credits. The two watched the black and white birds waddle about while the announcer made comments of a serious nature about the various adorable things the penguins did. Willow joined them halfway through and the girls enjoyed a peaceful evening until Xander called to tell them Anya was being held prisoner by a large puce demon who wanted forty bucks and for Buffy to provide him with an unlimited source of vampire dust so he could suck the world into Hell. His name was Ornuylianhovdufhasoirnafijther. Arthur for short.
************************
Angel sat in his room with Connor and tried to block out the enthusiastic sounds coming from both Fred’s end of the hall and Darla’s. He wondered what Buffy would think if he asked her there to distract him from the noise coming from both directions.
************************
Arthur, it turned out, was an even worse fighter than he was bargainer and Anya was rescued and Arthur decapitated. Thus the evening was concluded with showers all around because the demon had turned into slime and exploded as though propelled by dynamite. Dawn was hustled off to bed and Buffy and Willow crawled into theirs both trying to forget the squoosh the demon had made when he landed on the Scoobies. It was enough to give a gal nightmares. Buffy wondered what Angel would think if she asked him there to distract her from the icky noise coming from the depths of her mind.
*SQUOOSSSHHH* “Stop it!”
**************************
Spike enjoyed the life he was living now. He had a wonderful girlfriend, got to needle Angel nearly constantly, and had been accepted by the A-Team as one of their own. Not to mention the possible amounts of money he was going to get from Buffy should their book become a success.
He had been left to babysit Connor while the others went to beat up some lawyers. Or maybe it was a vampire hunter. The details were way too complicated for him, and all he knew was that since he was useless for the mission, and Lorne was unavailable for babysitting, he had been left alone with the now four month old Connor.
“So kid,” he said, unsure of how to address someone who didn’t even speak yet, “You want uncle Spike to teach ya how to play poker?”
The baby smiled in response, and Spike could smell that Connor’s diaper needed changing. That just opened a whole can of worms better left alone. Unfortunately for Spike, he couldn’t leave it alone. So several minutes later Spike was grimly trying to get the kid to lie still so he could get him cleaned up and changed. Things were not improved when Spike turned around only to feel something wet land on the back of his shirt. “I wonder why no one drowns all the boys at birth,” he muttered as he struggled with the plastic tabs.
The others came back carrying a faint whiff of blood one hour later. Spike, who hadn’t brought a change of clothing, was grumbling to himself as he waited for his shirt to finish drying. Darla immediately trotted up to her lover and kissed him. “What was that for?” he asked, “No wait. Don’t tell me,” he grabbed her and kissed her longer and harder.
It was the catcalls that finally brought the two out of their self-induced haze. When Spike and Darla turned around Gunn and Fred were grinning, Wesley was stoically English, Cordelia looked envious while looking hard at the shirtless Spike, and Angel was glowering at the couple.
“What?” asked Darla. She made a beeline then for Connor’s crib and began to giggle helplessly at the state her son was in.
Spike just growled at her amusement. When he turned and grumped off to the other side of the lobby the others went over to investigate what had happened. Connor was fine. In fact, he was enjoying himself immensely, despite having his diaper wrapped around with duct tape. The shiny grey tape formed a band around the boy’s middle. “Have some trouble with the diaper?” Gunn asked, shaking with suppressed laughter.
“Oh shut up.”
Angel looked from his son, to the people around him, to Spike, and back again. He headed over to the blonde while the others figured out how to get the pampers off the boy. “I usually have one of the others do his diaper for me,” he said, “The first time I tried to do them myself Darla came in, took one look at me, and shoved me over to do them with far too much ease for my peace of mind.”
Spike snorted, “It’s probably a woman thing,“ he retorted.
“No, ‘cause Gunn, Wesley and Lorne have no trouble with the diapers at all.” Angel took a deep breath to steady himself then said, “Look, I’m sorry I’ve been giving you and Darla a hard time about your relationship. Besides, if Buffy trusts you around her sister and friends, I can trust you around Connor and Darla."
“S’okay, I nearly killed you a couple times anyway.” Spike grinned at Angel and waited for the response he knew he’d get.
“Same here, whelp. I still haven’t forgotten you got us trapped in a Yorkshire mineshaft with that loony act of yours.” In an abrupt subject change Angel asked, “What the hell happened to you shirt, by the way?”
“Your son decided I needed to be anointed,” responded the vampire irritably.
“Hunh,” said Angel, “You know, I was thinking it might be nice to spar with someone who’ll put up an actual challenge. You game?”
A wicked smirk settled on Spike’s face, “To kick your ass? Always.”
**********************
Three months later Buffy received her cheque for $2,000 as well as a second cheque for her percentage on the anthology her story had been included in. That was about $850. The sudden influx of money caught the burgeoning author by surprise and Buffy found herself staring blankly at the money before remembering that she didn’t want the others finding out. She didn’t know what their responses would be but, whether her friends pleaded with her to write more about them or whether they were horrified by her selling her life story for cash, she didn’t want to deal with them.
She was also grateful for the money because her job at the Double Meat Palace hadn’t panned out. She had been fired despite her knowledge of the secret ingredient because she was continually having to take time off to take on Warren and his geek patrol. The last time they had acted up Buffy hadn’t even had a chance to show up for work.
So Buffy took herself and her cheques to the bank and looked at her soon-to-be- dismally-empty bank account, sighed, and started to write the cheques to pay the bills. The job market was little better. The only place Buffy could find work was as one of those irritating people who ambush you in a shopping mall and spritz you with perfume. Buffy, being the new girl, got to have the perfume no one would buy anyway. Of course.
Yet again she found herself with no money to her name and a lousy job. The last $100 was going, as promised, to Spike. Now all Buffy could do was wait and hope that this whole book thing worked out. In the meantime, “Dawn!”
“What?” called the girl from upstairs.
“Your teachers tell me that you’re being disruptive in class,” Buffy made her way up the stairs to where Dawn was frozen in her bedroom door, “Look. I’m not saying you have to let bullies walk all over you but you have to at least try to get along with the teachers.”
“Mrs. Delaney-"
“I had Mrs. Delaney my first year here, and she was one of the few teachers I had who didn’t think that I was a hooligan. She was also one of the few teachers who recognized every single class bully for who they were.” Buffy gave her sister a level look, “I know it’s tough, but she’s not one of the bad ones, and if she’s commenting on your behaviour like this maybe you need to change.”
Dawn stared in shock at her sister for a moment then screamed, “I hate you!” and whirled into her room slamming the door after.
When Buffy got downstairs she saw Willow looking at her reproachfully. “What?” she asked her best friend.
“Buffy, maybe you don’t have to be so harsh.” The ex-witch seemed patronising to the irritated and broke Slayer, who didn’t, unlike her friend, have parents to fall back on, did have a sister to finish the upbringing of, and had the social services people telling her she was not eligible to receive welfare payments.
“Willow,” her voice was tightly controlled, “Tell me, do you think Mrs. Delaney is one of those teachers who would give a student unfair reports?”
The hacker hesitated then said, “No.”
“Do you think, maybe, if Dawn is getting mediocre grades at best, bad ones at worst, and every single teacher she has, bar none, says that she’s causing disruptions in the classroom that maybe there is some fault on Dawn’s part?”
“Well-”
“Dawn, who used to get straight As in school with almost no visible effort, is now flunking her favourite subjects, getting called on disruptive behaviour, and has been stealing from the Magic Box.” Buffy had gotten more wound up with each word and was now speaking with grim intensity, “I am Dawn’s legal guardian. I now have to do the things that a parent does. That means providing for Dawn, giving her a stable home environment, calling her on it when she screws up, and I have to punish her when she does so deliberately. If I don’t do this she will be taken away and put in a foster home.”
Willow was looking bug-eyed at the girl she suddenly barely recognized. Buffy had never taken that tone of voice with anyone except when slaying was involved. The fact that she was doing so now made Willow abruptly realise that Buffy was being a grown-up. An adult.
“Willow, I have to be Dawn’s mother now. I can’t be her sister or her friend. You and I both know that a parent can’t be friends with their kids, and from the moment Dawn was put in my care I essentially had the responsibility of a parent. I was able to slack off on that when Giles was here to be the grown-up, but I can’t now.”
“Buffy,” her friend leaned over and gently clasped her hand, “I know you mean well by being strict, but Dawn barely has any pocket money, and she can’t do things like go to the movies with her friends or-”
“That’s because I have no money whatsoever in the bank.” The certainty and grimness of the Slayer’s voice stopped Willow’s reprimand in its tracks. After all, what good to suggest Buffy give Dawn money when she had none to give?
Neither woman noticed Dawn quietly creep up the stairs again. She had been planning on appealing to Willow, but Buffy’s speech had forced her to rethink her position. Dawn knew she could do fine in school. The fact that she had been so distracted had been partly her fault. She also hadn’t realised that they were in such dire financial straits. Giles had bailed them out before, and even then, the threat of poverty hadn’t made much of an impact.
Hearing Buffy talk that way, about adult things like money, parenthood, and social services. Suddenly the world was full of things Dawn barely understood. Things that had no relation to magic and that Buffy couldn’t defeat by beating to a pulp. She retreated to her room to think over what she’d heard.
When Spike popped by several hours later Dawn spilled out the whole story to him, and he looked at her gravely as she finished, “. . . And I didn’t know that Buffy wasn’t giving me money because of being broke, I just thought she was being mean!”
“Easy Niblet,” he put an arm around her and Dawn leaned into his ironically comforting presence. “The Slayer didn’t want to worry you. You have enough on your plate what with school and losin’ your mother and all. She was tryin’ to keep you from worrying.” Then he gave her a wry look, “And you’re telling me you honestly didn’t know that she was flat broke after I caught you snooping in her financial stuff?”
The girl bit her lip and looked away shamefacedly, “But how do I fix it?”
The look on Spike’s face was one of vast amusement, “You’re telling me you can’t figure it out pet? All those things that she keeps after you to do, all that stuff about the social services and you have no idea?”
Dawn’s face lit up and she leaned forward to hug him, “Thanks Spike.”
“No problem luv.” He got up to leave then turned back to her, “You might start with that large pile of homework you got there,” he nodded at the desk, then swept from the room in a flare of leather. Dawn gave a dreamy sigh after he departed then settled in to do her homework.
********************
Spike arrived back downstairs to see Buffy holding a wad of cash. “What’s that? The book people finally send you the money?” he asked.
“Here’s the last hundred dollars,” Buffy gave one last longing look at the chunk of money in her hand, “It’s your payment for the help with the book. The rest has paid off my bills and stuff. I even have groceries to last me until when I get my first pay cheque from work.” She put the money into Spike’s hand.
“You didn’t have to luv.” Spike recalled how upset Dawn had been, and the shadows under Buffy’s eyes confirmed how bad things were for her. For a moment he regretted that he had been spending so much time with Darla.
She just smiled and said, “Why don’t you take the girlfriend that you refuse to tell me about out somewhere instead of spending all your money on cigarettes.”
He considered refusing the money. She obviously needed it and was only giving it to him out of her misguided sense of morality. Still, it was hundred bucks that he’d earned, and Darla would like to go out to that new production of Shakespeare that was playing downtown. “Thanks Slayer,” he said, and hurried off before he changed his mind and actually gave up the cash. God he’d turned into a pussy.
Buffy watched him go thinking how sweet it was that Spike had almost had a generous impulse. The fact that it had almost happened at all was a testament to how much he’d changed. Her slight smile vanished as she remembered a vampire who was sweet not graded on a curve. Sometimes she missed Angel so much it left this pain in her chest. She’d tried to move on with Riley, to do what Angel had asked, but it felt too weird to be dating another man because her soulmate had told her to. It was way existential or something.
Dawn had gone to bed and Spike had, no doubt, vanished off for another couple days to see his girlfriend that no one knew who she was. Buffy knew she existed because Spike kept coming by the Summers’ home smelling of Chanel no 5. After all the angst and worrying of the day Buffy went upstairs and went to bed. She was exhausted, and she couldn’t ambush people at the mall the next day looking like one of the living dead.
************************
Two more months passed and Spike and Buffy’s book hit the shelves of bookstores. It opened to reasonable reviews by several critics, some rave reviews by a couple of sci-fi magazines, and Buffy got two free copies in the mail. One for her, and one for her co-author William LePointe. She’d rolled her eyes at the name, “William The Spike? Please!”
His reply had been succinct, “So Anne Winters is so much more subtle?”
The two had spent time just flipping through a book that they had written and was their novel. Well, Buffy’s biography, but who other than the two of them knew? It was a literary work put together by their own four hands.
It was another two and a half weeks after the premier that Buffy received a letter from her publishers requesting that she and William meet them at their LA head offices. The pair pulled into the underground parking lot and hurried up to the office for the meeting. Neither had a clue as to what was coming next.
Spike and Buffy hesitantly entered the room they had been directed to and sat down when a stern faced man with a formidable grey beard gestured for them to do so. At his side sat an impeccable secretary, and on his other side was a somewhat more genial looking man with light brown hair who identified himself as Jeffrey Turner.
The other man turned out to be one of the executives of the company, and the vampire and slayer were exchanging nervous looks when he began to speak. “I understand you are the two authors of the “Kitty the Demon Huntress” book?” he asked. They nodded in response. “I hope you realise how important it is that this matter be handled carefully,” he continued, ”We here at Mitchell publishing always appreciate the efforts of our authors. However, in this case we seem to have underestimated the issues involved in your book.”
His expectant look only confused and worried the two listening intently to the businessman’s words. “Oh?” said Buffy finally.
Apparently satisfied with the inane comment he proceeded, “So, I hope you will understand when we decide to cancel your contract to redraw it in a manner that is preferable for all concerned.”
“Oh,” chorused Spike and Buffy faintly.
Jeffrey Turner now spoke. “I hope you understand that as an unknown quantity we must keep our options open. This is why we’re offering a very limited contract.”
Buffy’s eyes filled with tears, “Are we... I mean, did it sell that badly?”
It was the two executives’ turn to seem confused. “What do you mean?” asked Turner.
“What does she mean?!” Spike exploded, “We’re bloody talkin’ about the fact that you’re talkin’ like you need to revise the contract ‘cause you’re not makin’ enough money on it! She’s workin’ her ass off in the damned mall every night to keep herself and her sister from bein’ thrown out of their home, and you’re tellin’ her she isn’t gettin’ any money! What the bloody hell else are you babbling about?!”
Both executives looked taken aback but the secretary immediately filled in the gap looking intensely sympathetic. “You really have no idea,” she said.
“No idea about what?” Spike interrupted, grumbling.
“The book has hit the top of the New York bestsellers’ list. You’re being recommended by critics all over the English speaking world. People love your book. The contract ups your percentage from eight to twenty percent of the profits with a reduction to fourteen should sales on this book drop.”
The two stared. The notion that their book could become a hit had never occurred to them. “How... How much money are we talking about?” Buffy asked, bracing herself for a shock. She wasn’t disappointed.
“Well,” said the secretary hauling out her facts and figures, “We’ve made around 2.7 million in profits so far, so that’s about $540,000. Sales are continuing, of course, those are just the latest figures.”
Buffy started crying and left Spike to do the dickering as she thought about how she would have enough money to give Dawn an allowance, to pay for food, the bills, and all sorts of things she hadn’t been able to do. She didn’t even begin to get herself under control until Spike realised that she wasn’t acting to give him an easier time bargaining for extra perks. Then he began to cuddle her in earnest, and finally walked her down to his car, half supporting her as she hiccoughed with the tail end of her sobs.
“You alright?” he asked once she was calm again.
Buffy looked at him for a moment then broke into a wide smile, “I’m just so amazed. And happy,” she explained, “I’ll be able to pay for stuff again. I won’t have to default on bills.”
“You also have a writing career to start,” Spike said.
Buffy looked blankly at him, “What?”
“Weren’t you listening at all? They want us to write a second book. Start a series.” Spike’s grin was so wide that Buffy thought he was joking for a moment. When it became apparent that he wasn’t she threw herself at him with a squeal.
“We have a bestseller on the market! We’re famous!” The two settled into plans for the second book as they drove back to Sunnydale. Both agreed that to include their friends would create unnecessary complications. Also, since both the A-team and the Scoobies had given up on fantasy novels after discovering the reality (none of them up for a busman’s holiday) it was extremely unlikely anyone would ever find out about the series.
***********************
“Hey Trish!” called Roger.
“What?” responded his wife.
“You have got to take a look at this new book that just came out. It’s a lot like Fred’s life out in LA.” Roger grinned as he held up his brand new copy of “Kitty the Demon Huntress”. Trish and Roger Burkle settled in to read this new book. Neither had been very much interested in fantasy before, but since finding out all that stuff was real they’d taken to reading it. The ones with happy endings usually helped make them feel better about letting Fred live that dangerous life in LA.
**************
Section 2
Back to archive page
Author: SCWLC
Rating: Around PG-13, I think. Some innuendo and bad words.
Summary: This is my rewrite of S6 that turned into an AU immediate future fiction.
Pairings: Yes, I actually have something here other than B/A. It’s Spike/Darla. Don’t kill me.
Notes: Okay, first of all, to those who wanted to know from my last essay, I have a paper due in a week and a half on stained glass. Now you know. On this story, I would like to say that I made up the station in Indiana. I don’t know if there is a KWBL out there, I just was making up the station. Second, I know I’m writing Spike a lot nicer than he is in reality but I wanted to have a happy story. So, to keep the angst to a minimum I wrote him as a really nice guy. Next, I was also making up the numbers for the money Buffy got paid for her story and books. I realise things are different in the real world, but I refuse to research a pastime to avoid insulting real authors.
Thanks to everyone for your feedback. You’re the people who make failing Medieval Architecture worth it.
*********************
Prologue
Darla was feeling desperate. Her baby boy was going to die because she was a vampire and some stupid primal power was keeping them from giving her a caesarean. She looked around at Angel and his little band of friends as they stared back at her helplessly.
Suddenly Fred frowned slightly and asked Darla, “When you were tryin’ to get the baby out before ... Y’know, when you found out that you couldn’t hurt him, what exactly did you do?”
Darla glared at the girl and spat, “I was just trying to get him out! Okay!? I stabbed myself in the gut, I tried just cutting myself open, and nothing worked!” Despite the furious words the vampiress’ face crumpled and she sobbed, “He’s going to die-”
“Maybe not,” said Fred.
Wesley looked at the young woman he had a crush on and asked, “Fred, there’s no way Darla can manage a proper labour to give birth, and if we can’t...” he trailed off, unsure of the way to express the grim notion.
Cordelia had no such compunction, “We can’t cut her open Fred!” she said vehemently, “She said she tried it herself. I don’t think we’ll have any more luck.”
“Maybe not if we try to do it the way she did.” Fred had a sly look on her face, “But Darla said she never tried to actually do it to save the baby’s life. Maybe if we do a proper C-section-”
Angel looked up with dawning hope, “The Powers are protecting the baby. If we go about this to save him rather than harm him, we might be able to save his life!”
At his words, the others perked up and began to sterilise the room, and put together the necessary implements to operate on Darla. Two hours later she and Angel were cooing at their son, and making all sorts of ridiculous facial expressions that new parents make at their children. Gunn had passed out in the grand tradition of the unprepared viewer of a live birth, while Wesley and Fred were looking inordinately pleased with themselves. Cordelia was being practical and shopping for necessities such as blankets, baby formula, baby clothes, and that necessity above all necessities, disposable diapers.
*************
Out in Sunnydale, a slayer struggled with her resurrection, bills, and confused feelings for a blonde vampire who seemed to be the only person around to realise that she was hanging by a thread.
*************
Part One
It was a lovely day in Sunnydale, the sun was shining, the trees were chirping as they fluttered from place to place, while the birds’ feathers shivered in the slight breeze. It was also a typical day in Sunnydale.
Willow and Tara were involved in trying to correct the work of a warlock who’s plan of world domination using an army of trees and shrubs had been seriously compromised by a starling fluttering into the middle of his spell. Now there were a couple of normally potted plants hopping around the magic shop leaving a trail of dirt, and Dawn was defending the rights of an adorable little geranium to exist as a motile creature. Xander and Anya were preoccupied with frantic attempts to capture the other plants before they covered everything with mud.
The only two people uninvolved with the plant crisis were Spike and Buffy. Spike, because he had more sense than to hang around a bunch of chirping bonsai trees, and Buffy because she was trying to find a way to pay for both the water and food, without going into debt. It was so riveting she didn’t hear the chaos going on around her.
“Tara! You can’t turn her back into a regular flower, she’ll be so sad,” Dawn held the trembling plant under the witch’s nose, then pulled it against her chest and petted it, “Isn’t she just the most adorable wittle planty, yes she is!” Dawn cooed to the cheeping geranium.
Okay, so Buffy wasn’t completely unaware of her surroundings, ( “Xander! It’s in the cash register! Don’t let it damage the money!” cried Anya), but she was determined to find a solution to her fiscal problems, and that meant concentrating on monetary flow, not on the really big bush hopping up and down in front of the window that some nutcase had attached a leash and doggie sweater to.
At that moment, Buffy decided that perhaps it might be less . . . insane elsewhere. “Guys, I’m heading home so I can work on this money thing,” she said.
“Are you sure -- Anya! Go left, there’s a spider plant over your head! -- Are you sure you don’t want to stay -- Bad bush! -- stay here?” Xander inquired.
Buffy smiled at the sight of the spider plant trying to fly out the window, and having all the success a wingless plant could have, and replied, “I think I’ll probably get more done at home than here.”
So she said her goodbyes and left. Walking down the street, Buffy could see all sorts of interesting things. The palm trees hopping up and down in a vain attempt to fly away, Mrs. O’Neal hollering as she chased her prized gardenias down past the hardware store, and several escaped emus from the local zoo standing stock still with glazed looks on their faces as worried zoo staff tried to get them to dislodge their feet from the dirt.
Buffy got home, just barely managing to avoid being crushed by a loudly chirping, hopping, out-of-control oak tree on the front lawn. “The bigger they are, the smaller they think they are,” sighed Buffy as she entered the house.
At the slight scent of singed hair and leather the Slayer looked up to see Spike leaning against the wall in the living room. “What are you doing here?” she asked tiredly.
“The ivy on my crypt wall was startin’ to act funny so I hightailed it out here. You don’t have any plants in your house do you?” he responded.
Buffy chuckled slightly, saying, “No, although Dawn may soon be bringing home a cheeping geranium. I hope she takes better care of it than all the plants I’ve managed to kill.”
“Well then until the plants get fixed can I sleep in your basement?” the expression on his face was so hangdog and desperate Buffy didn’t have the heart to throw him out.
“Okay, but if I catch you telling Dawn any more stories about the days of blood guts and gore, you’re out in the street. Got it?” Spike just nodded and hurried down the stairs, leaving Buffy to work on her bills in peace. Accompanied by the crashing sounds of potted plants leaping to their doom.
She sat down at the table and started into her budget to find things she could cut so they would still have electricity as well as the enormous luxury of food. Shuffling the bills between those that needed to be paid immediately, those that could wait, and the other expenses she garnered like the fact that she needed some new cords for her crossbow, and Dawn had a science fair coming up which usually required obscene amounts of money spent on pipe cleaners.
Buffy had just finished working the budget out to her satisfaction, albeit not Dawn’s, when she noticed it. It being the magazine with a huge cover ad in yellow, black, red, and green. It practically vibrated on the cover advertising a chance to be a published author and win $1,500. Naturally the money caught Buffy’s eye and she flipped through the magazine until she found the details of the contest. All one had to do to enter was write a science fiction or fantasy story, fill out the form and mail the package in. First prize was a huge wad of cash and being published, second and third were smaller wads of cash and being published.
Dawn and the others came home then. “Buffy! What do you think of Gerry as a name for my plant?” Dawn demanded, “Tara says she knows how to exclude her from the reversal spell.”
“You mean aside from the fact that I’ll be thinking of that Spice girl every time we talk about it?” Buffy replied.
Xander and Anya had followed Buffy’s younger sister in and were carrying bags of takeout Chinese food. “Hey everybody! We come bearing tribute!” called Xander.
“Did you bring blood?” Spike demanded, “If I’m not allowed to sleep, which is my right as a nocturnal creature, you could at least get me some food too.” He came tramping irritably up the stairs.
Anya looked over at Buffy, “You know, although Spike is hot I don’t see why you don’t kill him.” At that Spike looked quite baffled as to whether he ought to be affronted or complimented. “You are the Slayer, why don’t you kill him?”
“More to the point, why is he here?” asked Xander.
“The ivy was freaking him out.” Buffy responded shortly. “I haven’t killed Spike because killing something helpless is wrong.”
Dawn marched up to the vampire in question and linked her arm with his, saying, “Well, I like him, and I think we still have some blood in the fridge,” she directed the latter comment to Spike, and the two proceeded to the kitchen. They were followed by the three young adults who sat down to a nice family dinner of takeout. Through the whole conversation they had covering Dawn’s grades which were slowly on the rise again, Xander and Anya’s wedding, and Spike’s insistence at trying chicken fried rice in his blood which even grossed Dawn out, Buffy couldn’t get her mind off of the $1,500.
So after dinner she hurried upstairs, took out one of her old diaries and sat down at the computer. Five hours after writing, *Kitty had just spent what was arguably the most boring day of her life in school and now stood on the front steps waiting for Andrew to join her so she could make the quarterback beg to take her to the dance.* Buffy had finished writing about the day she was called.
She slipped it into the envelope with the entry form, and ducked briefly outside and down the block where people were busy rerooting their trees to drop it into the mailbox. After all, what did she have to lose?
***************************
Spike’s evening was not nearly as calm. After sunset he left the Summers’ residence and hit Willy’s bar. There he heard a rumour so bizarre he had to go to LA to find out specifically what events had (clearly) gotten mangled in the telling. He illegally parked his Cadillac in front of the hotel where Angel had set up his office and waltzed in to find out what exactly the poufter had been doing this time.
Amazingly, the demon who knew a guy hadn’t gotten things totally wrong. His grandsire stood in the atrium cooing at a small smelly bundle in his arms. “Oooo, isn’t he just a wet wittle baby aren’t you Connor?”
Spike shook himself as he lurked in the doorway. The sight of Angelus the Scourge of Europe baby talking was enough to give him chills. Of course, at least the baby wasn’t Angel’s. Vampires were sterile and Angel couldn’t have adopted the tyke. He’d probably taken on some chick with a baby as a case.
“Daddy’s gonna have to change your diaper,” said Angel speaking in the variable tones of a new parent. He also had just shattered Spike’s little happy illusion. God! What the hell was going on in this heathenish hole?
Then Darla come in and destroyed the last of Spike’s composure. She baby talked to the brat as well, and started feeding him, “Oh Connor, you’re gonna be a big strong boy just like your daddy, and Mommy and Daddy love you very much! Yes we do!”
“WHAT THE BLOODY HELL IS GOING ON IN HERE!?!?” Spike was too stunned to be cautious. This broke all the bounds and rules of logic, nature, and the supernatural. This set the baby off crying, and Angel stepped forward as though to protect the baby from Spike.
“Spike,” he said, his voice menacing.
“Angel,” was his reply. This was followed immediately thereafter with, “Since when are you and Darla so snuggly? Also, please tell me the demon was wrong and the baby is adopted or something.” Spike pleaded with his grandsire not to tell him the truth.
Instead of answering any questions at all Angel growled and demanded, “Which demon told you this?”
He shrugged, “Belviac out at Willy’s. Said you got Darla preggers, and the two of you were plannin’ on keepin’ the tyke.” The curiosity got the better of him, “So what is he? I mean the child of a couple of vampires has got to be something.”
“He’s human. Completely human.” Darla had faded into the background as the two talked. Having ascertained that Angel did not consider Spike a threat, she now stepped forward carrying her son and showing him to the chipped vampire.
Spike’s eyes widened, “So, Angel here I get bein’ all lovey and crap. What about you? You don’t have a soul the last time I checked.”
She shrugged, “Somehow, being pregnant with Connor, I got sort of infected by his soul. I do have one.”
Then Spike did something that took the other two aback. He laughed. Just breaking down into complete hysterics, the bleach blonde vampire staggered, howling with laughter, over to a chair and just flopped down. Angel and Darla looked at Spike both wearing expressions that clearly said, *I just knew he was unstable, must be all that time with Drusilla.* “Uh, Spike,” Angel said hesitantly. Darla was already edging away with the baby in case Spike lost it and tried to attack them. “Spike,” he said a little more firmly, “What is so funny?”
“Us!” came the reply, “Darla, favoured childe of the Master and the Scourge of Europe have souls, and I’ve got this bleedin’ chip in my head that keeps me from killin’ humans. Think we should start a club?”
Darla giggled slightly as she realised that Spike was not only not planning on hurting her son, he was not able to hurt the boy. Then began to really laugh as the meaning of his words reached her. Angel just looked flummoxed. “I really don’t see what the two of you find so funny.”
“Don’t you get it?” Darla handed their son over to him, “Us! Three of the most feared vampires in history, and we’ve all become unable to kill. We’re practically the good guys.” She looked over at Angel with a raised eyebrow and said, “You especially.”
Angel just shook his head and carried his son away from the two lunatics who spent so long talking that night that Spike was trapped there for the day and wound up staying to help Angel and Darla fight off a batch of marauding Fyarl demons hired to kidnap Connor.
As Spike prepared to leave at sunset that evening Darla approached him, carrying Connor, “So you’re leaving?” she asked.
“Yeah. Got myself a nice little crypt in Sunnyhell. ’Side’s the Slayer’s sister’ll want to hear some more blood and guts stories when Buffy’s not lookin’.” Spike smiled at Darla and thought about how sweet she was when she wasn’t saying he was an incompetent.
She smiled back saying, “I was just thinking. You’re welcome back any time. It’s nice having someone who understands aside from Angel around.” Darla considered what a nice guy Spike was, and really had always been. At least from a vampire perspective anyway. And it was nice talking to someone who got what being a vampire was about without either the gloom and doom of Angel, or the ‘treacherous bitch’ talks she got from most other vampires these days.
“Bye Darla,” he said.
“Goodbye.” As Spike drove off in the glow of the streetlights Darla looked down at her son. “My boy,” she said softly, reliving the moment she’d realised she would get to see her son grow up, “What do you think of Spike?”
**********************
Weeks had passed and Buffy had, for the most part, forgotten about her entry to the contest. After all, there were more important things to deal with, like explaining to Anya that no one was going to be wearing larvae to her wedding, and getting the social services people to realise that sometimes you have a bad day.
So, it was a pleasant surprise after Buffy had discovered that she needed $500 for various bills and down payments that month, she was almost out of free cash for food, and Dawn had spent her lunch money for the month on new earrings, that she had won the contest. A copy of the magazine and a $1,500 cheque were in her mailbox along with the rest of the mail.
Buffy ignored everything and rushed off to the bank to deposit the cheque so that she could pay off all of her bills at one go while she had the money, and to take some of the rest of the cash to pay for all her groceries for the week, and a chocolate cake to celebrate.
When she got home, she finished sorting out the mail and carried hers up to her room, and sat down to make dinner for all. She was somewhat hurt when no one noticed the miraculous appearance of luxuries on the table, and instead focussed on Dawn’s day with her cheeping plant.
". . . So anyways, Leslie said that she had seen something like this on a special on the Amazon rainforest, and Mrs. Jensen totally wanted to take her petals. Anyway, I was like, ‘No!’ I mean God! Doesn’t she have any feelings for other living creatures?” Dawn would have continued with her saga of the plant when Willow interrupted desperate to have Buffy’s opinion.
“Do you think that maybe if I had little wormy designs put on the bridesmaid dresses Anya might actually let us wear clothes instead of larvae?”
Buffy was about to answer when a huge red thing covered in slime burst through the door with Spike in hot pursuit. As they fought it off Buffy thought, *There goes the rest of my cheque,* and winced as the carpet got ripped and covered in slime, thus ensuring the need for a new carpet.
The demon took off out the back door and Buffy was forced to go after it and Spike. “What does it want?” she asked as she caught up with her sometime patrolling partner.
“Near as I can tell, it’s been eatin’ the guys down at the Mason’s lodge.” Spike said as they followed the thing down Sunnydale’s side streets. “I think that dip of a conjuror what works for the medieval society hired him to take ‘em out.”
Buffy rolled her eyes. The feud between the two was ongoing and even Sunnydale’s more oblivious citizenry had noticed and been irritated by the two. The medievalists insisted that the Masons were moronic for believing the Mason tradition went as far back as it did, and the Masons were insulted by the lack of belief from the medievalists. Both sides had connections to the occult and about a quarter of the demons raised in Sunnydale could be attributed to the overactive stupidity of both groups.
The demon had actually been raised by neither, but by a beginning warlock who had been manipulated by a mischief demon that saw the opportunity to institute widespread chaos. By the time the mess was cleared up it was one in the morning and Buffy showered and crawled into bed without going through the rest of her mail figuring it would still be there in the morning, and she was too tired to go into it then.
So it wasn’t until the next morning that Buffy got to see her short story in print, and read the other letter that had come accompanying the magazine. She read the letter twice before the meaning sank in. Then she read it once more to be certain it wasn’t a dream.
Dear Miss Summers,
We here at Mitchell Publishing have read your story and wish to place it in an anthology of fantasy fiction. The story will be published only with your permission and a percentage of the profits would be sent to you for your work.
This is not, however, the primary reason we have contacted you. After reading your story we wish to know whether you would be interested in writing a full length novel about your “Kitty” character. We believe that, should you agree, the novel would be quite profitable.
There would be a certain amount sent in advance of $500.00, and a payment of $2,000.00 on the completion of the work. You would also receive 8% of the profits from the sales of the book.
If you wish to accept these terms, please respond within the month by sending a letter to the enclosed address. Should you accept, you will be sent the contact to sign, and as soon as it is received your cheque will be in the mail. We will expect to see the novel completed within the year.
Sincerely,
Jeffrey P. Turner
“Well,” said Buffy, “Who am I to look a gift horse in the mouth?”
**********************
Angel crept quietly into the atrium of the hotel, grateful that Spike and Darla weren’t around. He was getting tired of seeing the vampire who claimed to live in Sunnydale constantly underfoot in his hotel in LA. The fact that he and Darla were well nigh inseparable just made the whole situation even more irritating. In fact, the only good thing about Spike’s presence was that it kept Cordelia from flirting with him, and the others from implying that the two had some sort of mystical bond.
*Which, now that I think of it, is a good reason to keep him around.* The other issue was a little more distressing. Darla and Spike had never gotten along. She had always thought him to be a complete sap and something of an imbecile as well. Spike had only respected her because he knew that Angelus would turn him into a bloody pulp if he ever tried anything on Darla. So this sudden friendship had Angel baffled.
Darla had actually let Spike hold their baby the other day. Spike had been holding Connor making Angel completely petrified for his son. Darla had smacked Angel, reminding him that Spike could not hurt the baby deliberately and that he had vampiric speed, reflexes and balance. He was unlikely to drop the boy by accident. That had not comforted Angel in the slightest.
Nor had her sighed comment that Spike was so good with the baby, and Connor really loved him helped at all. “He’s a vicious killer!” he had responded.
“He’s sweet.” Darla’s reply was firm.
Spike had chosen that moment to enter the conversation, “Oh! Anything but sweet luv,” he said in mock hurt, “No man wants to be told he’s sweet. That means you don’t think of us as material for a beau.” He had grinned at Darla who fluttered her eyelashes coquettishly at him.
“Who said I was looking for a beau?” she’d purred. Angel could have sworn the two had been flirting. It was ridiculous of course. Spike wasn’t Darla’s type, and neither was Darla Spike’s.
In any event, Angel had the hotel to himself for the time being, and he was going to play with Connor and enjoy the time alone with his son. His human employees had gone out to catch a movie, Lorne was busy rebuilding Caritas, and Darla and Spike had left earlier saying something about checking out the sewer routes between the hotel and places Angel might wish to get to during the day.
They had been rather unspecific about their destinations, but Angel had merely let them go off. He had learned long ago better than to try to convince Darla not to do something.
He had just settled down with Connor when he heard giggling coming from Wesley’s office. He went to investigate and saw something that threw him. Spike and Darla were kissing. Not just any kisses either. The hot openmouthed kind that usually went somewhere, and as Angel watched, Spike took off his everpresent duster and spread it on the floor. He and Darla sank down to the floor, and Angel scurried off before his son was introduced to an activity that was rated a little too high for his tender years.
After all, it wasn’t like he and Darla were involved. They were just raising Connor together because he needed two parents. Also, as the only two ensouled vampires in the world they shared the bond of being the only people who understood what that really meant. So he didn’t have a problem if she decided to have hot monkey sex with someone who wasn’t him.
It was just that it was Spike! Spike was the guy she had called a blithering idiot the day she first met him, and she hadn’t changed her opinion. Well, not until now anyhow. He now also had to admit that they must have been flirting that day, as much as the notion galled him.
*Ah well. She’s an adult and is entitled to make her own choices.*
But still... Spike!
**********************
When Spike got over to Buffy’s that evening he found the floor littered with diaries in Buffy’s handwriting. Buffy herself was sitting in the living room with a laptop computer and a pile of paper which she shuffled through rapidly, cursing with a vocabulary to make a longshoreman proud.
“Hello Slayer,” Spike decided to ignore the mess in favour of giving his message to Buffy, “I just dropped by to tell you I’ve found myself a girlfriend and I’m not attracted to you like that anymore.”
She looked up at him, frowned, and said, “So you came here to tell me that you’re not attracted to me?”
He suddenly realised how he had sounded and said hurriedly, “I didn’t mean I don’t like you anymore Slayer, and you are an attractive woman, but I’ve found myself a girlfriend and I thought you would want to know I won’t be chasin’ after you any more.”
Buffy smiled in response to his hasty backtracking saying, “I’m glad you’re going to stop trying to get me to go out with you.” She sighed and turned back to the books she was writing. On the whole it was going well, but Buffy wanted to have some scenes about the bad guys planning and stuff. She wasn’t a villain and she’d never plotted the downfall of a slayer.
“What are you writin’ pet?” Spike asked curiously.
Buffy looked over at him and sighed again. “Nothing important Spike,” she replied, “If you want to talk to Dawn she’s upstairs.”
Spike turned to leave, but was stopped by Buffy’s question, “Spike, do you know anything about Lothos?”
He blinked at her, puzzled, then hesitantly responded, “Ummm, you killed him, right?”
“Yeah,” she smiled, “But I was curious what you know. Y’know, like stuff I wouldn’t. Bad guy in his lair kinda stuff.”
The vampire shrugged and began to move off when he lunged at her and snatched the laptop off her lap and started to read, “’So Kaspar told his minions to find the Huntress and bring her to him. “Tonight, you will be mine, Kitty,” he said.’ What the hell is this?” He read a little more even as he played keep-away with Buffy, “This is like an autobiography or something!”
Buffy gave up and flopped onto the sofa, “I had this amazing piece of luck and somehow I got a book deal,” her face was chagrined, “I thought this would be easy ‘cause all I have to do is write my memoirs with the names changed. All of a sudden I realised I have to write the bad guys too.”
Sudden enlightenment crossed Spike’s face, “So you were tryin’ to pump me for information on what goes on in a master vampire’s lair.”
“Yeah.”
He grinned at her, “Of course I’ll help. Just give me some credit in the writin’ and a cut of the profits and I’ll tell you everything I know.”
“Well then, I’ll work out the details of the money with you when I find out how much I get, but you’ll get at least $50, okay?” Buffy was handed back her laptop and they settled in to write a real sounding Lothos.
Spike, it turned out had actually spent some time with him back in the day, and had even gotten an up close chance to observe how the vampire ran his little HQ. “Formality was a big thing. There were rituals for everything. Feeding, bathing, talking. It was like a bleedin’ Japanese court.”
“So, I have to have a lot of doing obeisance then, and a lot of that hack formal language stuff?” Buffy looked at the vampire who, it turned out, had a real gift for writing prose. When Buffy had complemented his writing style he had been surprised and had admitted to the ridicule of his poetry that had driven him into Drusilla’s clutches.
Buffy just rolled her eyes saying, “Just because you can’t write poetry doesn’t mean you can’t write. I knew this guy once, couldn’t sing at all, but he wrote the most amazing music.”
Spike looked at her hopefully, “You really think I’m good at this?”
“Totally.”
That evening, a writing partnership was born.
********
Part 2
Roger and Trish Burkle were happily adoring Darla and Angel’s son. “He’s just so adorable!” squealed Fred’s mother as she played with the baby. Angel was trailing anxiously around after the couple as they played aeroplane with his child.
“Angel, stop that!” Darla smacked him on the arm as he hovered over the Burkles again.
He gave her a wounded look, “I don’t want him to get hurt. Can’t you see how careless they’re being?”
Darla simply rolled her eyes, “Angel. They. Raised. Fred. Look how she turned out. Do you really think they’ll damage our son?” Suddenly she bit her lip and glanced away from him.
“What is it?” Angel stepped forward and leaned down to look her in the eye.
She gave a soft, bitter, snort of laughter and blinked away sudden tears, “It’s just that he’s probably safer with them than with me. His mother. What do I know about babies anyway? Other than how to kill them?” Darla began to fold in on herself.
“Hey,” Roger broke in, “First of all, you seem to be doing real well with him.” He smiled encouragingly, “Also, when Trish and I first brought Fred home, I was absolutely terrified I’d drop her, or hurt her, or something.” He wrapped an arm around Darla and gently squeezed for emphasis. “All parent are scared to death they’re gonna screw up. You’re no different.”
And Angel had decided to join the self-pity trip, “Anyway, if anyone’s going to be a bad parent it’ll be me. Look at my father. I’ll probably turn out just like him.”
Cordelia had entered as he spoke. On hearing that statement she walked up to him and thwapped him upside the head. “What did I tell you about stupid self-pity?” she demanded.
Angel moved with alacrity to put Darla between him and his seer, “Not to have them around you so I don’t get hurt by lunatic women with visions?”
Darla and Cordelia had reached an unstable truce over the months, but not so stable that either wanted to confront the other, “Don’t get me in the middle of your fights Angel,” she warned as she moved aside to allow Cordelia full access to a now mock-cowering Angel. “Now give me back my son,” she demanded of the Burkles, who forked him over with only a token protest.
The couple, having fulfilled their obligations as people meeting the vampires’ son sat down to talk with Cordelia about Fred and Gunn. Of course it was mainly along the lines of, “Are you sure that he’s good for her? I mean, not to insult your friend, it’s just that we don’t want Fred hurt.”
Wesley arrived, and the talk quickly turned to the latest cases. Darla was pissed off at Angel for not allowing her to join him when he went out fighting. “Honestly, it’s the most chauvinistic thing I ever heard! I’m a perfectly good fighter, and Lorne does a way better job of babysitting Connor while he waits for you to come back covered in slime.”
Angel glared at her, “I don’t want to run the risk of leaving Connor motherless too,” he said, “He needs to have at least one parent there to take care of him.”
“Then why don’t we take turns? Angel, I’m getting bored stuck in this hotel of yours all day.” The others wisely stayed silent.
Which was when Spike cheerfully made his way into the hotel lobby carrying flowers, a jar of blood, a package of Weetabix, and a bag of what seemed to be clothing. “Hello all!” he said exuberantly. He made his way to Darla’s side and handed her the flowers saying, “For the loveliest lady here.”
Darla smiled and looked like she would have blushed if she had the circulation to do so. She shifted Connor over to his father and smelled the flowers her smile brightening as she got a good look at them. “Lilies! Oh Spike, you remembered!”
He shrugged and flopped down next to her, “Eh, you’re easy compared to Dru. Her I could never get flowers ‘cause she’d always bring up the time Angelus got her a whole garden.” He shot Angel an annoyed look, “Also, I didn’t have to. You always dropped hints at him,” he jerked his head in his grandsire’s direction, “To get you lilies. He never obliged.”
Darla leaned over and kissed Spike, “Well it’s still sweet that you remembered.”
“Hey!” Cordelia demanded, “How come she’s getting flowers and no one else?”
The bleach blonde shot her a dark look. “When you and I are dating, which I hope to God never happens, I’ll get you flowers.”
Her eyes widened, “You guys are dating?”
“Well, I wouldn’t call what they did in Wesley’s office dating per se,” Angel muttered softly enough that only the other two vampires heard him.
Trish looked somewhat surprised, “So you two,” she gestured at Angel and Darla, “Aren’t together?”
Darla’s brief glare at Angel left him unrepentant, and she answered the question, ”No, not anymore. We used to be, but we’re just not a compatible couple.”
“But you and Spike are?” Wesley asked, looking rather flummoxed.
Just then Gunn and Fred returned from their date, and the conversation was sidetracked off of Spike and Darla’s relationship and onto the other couple’s. The change was facilitated by the dating vampires’ choice to sneak off to Darla’s room so they could have some privacy.
**********************
Buffy finished off the last of her and Spike’s manuscript and stuffed it and its cover letter into an envelope and started to search for stamps singing the song of the stamp hunter as it has been sung for years, “Stamp stamp stamp stamp stamp stamp stamp stamp stamp stamp stamp stamp stamp. Staaa-aaamp Staaa-aaamp Staaa-aaamp stamp stamp stamp stamp!”
With the big finale when she flushed them from the drawer they had taken refuge in, “STAMP!”
She rapidly affixed the irritating pieces of gluey paper to her manila envelope and trotted down the street to the mail box. Hopefully the rest of her money would arrive soon. She needed more cash for the broken fixtures. Again. Not to mention paying back various stores for the things Dawn had stolen. All in all she had to wonder why it was the universe was conspiring against her to make her have to pay for all the things she could theoretically spend money on.
She made her way home and asked the Powers what she had done. Buffy was certain that, whatever things she had done that could garner punishment, she had already been punished for them. It just wasn’t fair that she had to have the weight of the world on her shoulders and all the other stuff people had to deal with too.
When she got home Dawn was in the process of hiding a notice of a parent teacher conference in between the seat cushions so she could claim she forgot it when Buffy found out the day after when Dawn’s principal called. Buffy didn’t call her on it figuring that she’d dig it out after Dawn had gone to bed.
So Buffy waited until Dawn had finished with her efforts then walked in with a weary “Hey.”
“Oh! Hey! How is everything? I mean, the whole hunt for Warren and his buddies thing. By the way, there’s a special on TV on penguins. I thought we could watch it. Together?” Dawn’s desperate sounding babbling had Buffy smiling tiredly as she shooed her sister toward the television.
“Sure Dawn. I’ll make some popcorn. You get settled. You finished all your homework?” The Slayer queried her sister.
“Yup!” came the cheery reply.
Buffy got back in time to see the opening credits. The two watched the black and white birds waddle about while the announcer made comments of a serious nature about the various adorable things the penguins did. Willow joined them halfway through and the girls enjoyed a peaceful evening until Xander called to tell them Anya was being held prisoner by a large puce demon who wanted forty bucks and for Buffy to provide him with an unlimited source of vampire dust so he could suck the world into Hell. His name was Ornuylianhovdufhasoirnafijther. Arthur for short.
************************
Angel sat in his room with Connor and tried to block out the enthusiastic sounds coming from both Fred’s end of the hall and Darla’s. He wondered what Buffy would think if he asked her there to distract him from the noise coming from both directions.
************************
Arthur, it turned out, was an even worse fighter than he was bargainer and Anya was rescued and Arthur decapitated. Thus the evening was concluded with showers all around because the demon had turned into slime and exploded as though propelled by dynamite. Dawn was hustled off to bed and Buffy and Willow crawled into theirs both trying to forget the squoosh the demon had made when he landed on the Scoobies. It was enough to give a gal nightmares. Buffy wondered what Angel would think if she asked him there to distract her from the icky noise coming from the depths of her mind.
*SQUOOSSSHHH* “Stop it!”
**************************
Spike enjoyed the life he was living now. He had a wonderful girlfriend, got to needle Angel nearly constantly, and had been accepted by the A-Team as one of their own. Not to mention the possible amounts of money he was going to get from Buffy should their book become a success.
He had been left to babysit Connor while the others went to beat up some lawyers. Or maybe it was a vampire hunter. The details were way too complicated for him, and all he knew was that since he was useless for the mission, and Lorne was unavailable for babysitting, he had been left alone with the now four month old Connor.
“So kid,” he said, unsure of how to address someone who didn’t even speak yet, “You want uncle Spike to teach ya how to play poker?”
The baby smiled in response, and Spike could smell that Connor’s diaper needed changing. That just opened a whole can of worms better left alone. Unfortunately for Spike, he couldn’t leave it alone. So several minutes later Spike was grimly trying to get the kid to lie still so he could get him cleaned up and changed. Things were not improved when Spike turned around only to feel something wet land on the back of his shirt. “I wonder why no one drowns all the boys at birth,” he muttered as he struggled with the plastic tabs.
The others came back carrying a faint whiff of blood one hour later. Spike, who hadn’t brought a change of clothing, was grumbling to himself as he waited for his shirt to finish drying. Darla immediately trotted up to her lover and kissed him. “What was that for?” he asked, “No wait. Don’t tell me,” he grabbed her and kissed her longer and harder.
It was the catcalls that finally brought the two out of their self-induced haze. When Spike and Darla turned around Gunn and Fred were grinning, Wesley was stoically English, Cordelia looked envious while looking hard at the shirtless Spike, and Angel was glowering at the couple.
“What?” asked Darla. She made a beeline then for Connor’s crib and began to giggle helplessly at the state her son was in.
Spike just growled at her amusement. When he turned and grumped off to the other side of the lobby the others went over to investigate what had happened. Connor was fine. In fact, he was enjoying himself immensely, despite having his diaper wrapped around with duct tape. The shiny grey tape formed a band around the boy’s middle. “Have some trouble with the diaper?” Gunn asked, shaking with suppressed laughter.
“Oh shut up.”
Angel looked from his son, to the people around him, to Spike, and back again. He headed over to the blonde while the others figured out how to get the pampers off the boy. “I usually have one of the others do his diaper for me,” he said, “The first time I tried to do them myself Darla came in, took one look at me, and shoved me over to do them with far too much ease for my peace of mind.”
Spike snorted, “It’s probably a woman thing,“ he retorted.
“No, ‘cause Gunn, Wesley and Lorne have no trouble with the diapers at all.” Angel took a deep breath to steady himself then said, “Look, I’m sorry I’ve been giving you and Darla a hard time about your relationship. Besides, if Buffy trusts you around her sister and friends, I can trust you around Connor and Darla."
“S’okay, I nearly killed you a couple times anyway.” Spike grinned at Angel and waited for the response he knew he’d get.
“Same here, whelp. I still haven’t forgotten you got us trapped in a Yorkshire mineshaft with that loony act of yours.” In an abrupt subject change Angel asked, “What the hell happened to you shirt, by the way?”
“Your son decided I needed to be anointed,” responded the vampire irritably.
“Hunh,” said Angel, “You know, I was thinking it might be nice to spar with someone who’ll put up an actual challenge. You game?”
A wicked smirk settled on Spike’s face, “To kick your ass? Always.”
**********************
Three months later Buffy received her cheque for $2,000 as well as a second cheque for her percentage on the anthology her story had been included in. That was about $850. The sudden influx of money caught the burgeoning author by surprise and Buffy found herself staring blankly at the money before remembering that she didn’t want the others finding out. She didn’t know what their responses would be but, whether her friends pleaded with her to write more about them or whether they were horrified by her selling her life story for cash, she didn’t want to deal with them.
She was also grateful for the money because her job at the Double Meat Palace hadn’t panned out. She had been fired despite her knowledge of the secret ingredient because she was continually having to take time off to take on Warren and his geek patrol. The last time they had acted up Buffy hadn’t even had a chance to show up for work.
So Buffy took herself and her cheques to the bank and looked at her soon-to-be- dismally-empty bank account, sighed, and started to write the cheques to pay the bills. The job market was little better. The only place Buffy could find work was as one of those irritating people who ambush you in a shopping mall and spritz you with perfume. Buffy, being the new girl, got to have the perfume no one would buy anyway. Of course.
Yet again she found herself with no money to her name and a lousy job. The last $100 was going, as promised, to Spike. Now all Buffy could do was wait and hope that this whole book thing worked out. In the meantime, “Dawn!”
“What?” called the girl from upstairs.
“Your teachers tell me that you’re being disruptive in class,” Buffy made her way up the stairs to where Dawn was frozen in her bedroom door, “Look. I’m not saying you have to let bullies walk all over you but you have to at least try to get along with the teachers.”
“Mrs. Delaney-"
“I had Mrs. Delaney my first year here, and she was one of the few teachers I had who didn’t think that I was a hooligan. She was also one of the few teachers who recognized every single class bully for who they were.” Buffy gave her sister a level look, “I know it’s tough, but she’s not one of the bad ones, and if she’s commenting on your behaviour like this maybe you need to change.”
Dawn stared in shock at her sister for a moment then screamed, “I hate you!” and whirled into her room slamming the door after.
When Buffy got downstairs she saw Willow looking at her reproachfully. “What?” she asked her best friend.
“Buffy, maybe you don’t have to be so harsh.” The ex-witch seemed patronising to the irritated and broke Slayer, who didn’t, unlike her friend, have parents to fall back on, did have a sister to finish the upbringing of, and had the social services people telling her she was not eligible to receive welfare payments.
“Willow,” her voice was tightly controlled, “Tell me, do you think Mrs. Delaney is one of those teachers who would give a student unfair reports?”
The hacker hesitated then said, “No.”
“Do you think, maybe, if Dawn is getting mediocre grades at best, bad ones at worst, and every single teacher she has, bar none, says that she’s causing disruptions in the classroom that maybe there is some fault on Dawn’s part?”
“Well-”
“Dawn, who used to get straight As in school with almost no visible effort, is now flunking her favourite subjects, getting called on disruptive behaviour, and has been stealing from the Magic Box.” Buffy had gotten more wound up with each word and was now speaking with grim intensity, “I am Dawn’s legal guardian. I now have to do the things that a parent does. That means providing for Dawn, giving her a stable home environment, calling her on it when she screws up, and I have to punish her when she does so deliberately. If I don’t do this she will be taken away and put in a foster home.”
Willow was looking bug-eyed at the girl she suddenly barely recognized. Buffy had never taken that tone of voice with anyone except when slaying was involved. The fact that she was doing so now made Willow abruptly realise that Buffy was being a grown-up. An adult.
“Willow, I have to be Dawn’s mother now. I can’t be her sister or her friend. You and I both know that a parent can’t be friends with their kids, and from the moment Dawn was put in my care I essentially had the responsibility of a parent. I was able to slack off on that when Giles was here to be the grown-up, but I can’t now.”
“Buffy,” her friend leaned over and gently clasped her hand, “I know you mean well by being strict, but Dawn barely has any pocket money, and she can’t do things like go to the movies with her friends or-”
“That’s because I have no money whatsoever in the bank.” The certainty and grimness of the Slayer’s voice stopped Willow’s reprimand in its tracks. After all, what good to suggest Buffy give Dawn money when she had none to give?
Neither woman noticed Dawn quietly creep up the stairs again. She had been planning on appealing to Willow, but Buffy’s speech had forced her to rethink her position. Dawn knew she could do fine in school. The fact that she had been so distracted had been partly her fault. She also hadn’t realised that they were in such dire financial straits. Giles had bailed them out before, and even then, the threat of poverty hadn’t made much of an impact.
Hearing Buffy talk that way, about adult things like money, parenthood, and social services. Suddenly the world was full of things Dawn barely understood. Things that had no relation to magic and that Buffy couldn’t defeat by beating to a pulp. She retreated to her room to think over what she’d heard.
When Spike popped by several hours later Dawn spilled out the whole story to him, and he looked at her gravely as she finished, “. . . And I didn’t know that Buffy wasn’t giving me money because of being broke, I just thought she was being mean!”
“Easy Niblet,” he put an arm around her and Dawn leaned into his ironically comforting presence. “The Slayer didn’t want to worry you. You have enough on your plate what with school and losin’ your mother and all. She was tryin’ to keep you from worrying.” Then he gave her a wry look, “And you’re telling me you honestly didn’t know that she was flat broke after I caught you snooping in her financial stuff?”
The girl bit her lip and looked away shamefacedly, “But how do I fix it?”
The look on Spike’s face was one of vast amusement, “You’re telling me you can’t figure it out pet? All those things that she keeps after you to do, all that stuff about the social services and you have no idea?”
Dawn’s face lit up and she leaned forward to hug him, “Thanks Spike.”
“No problem luv.” He got up to leave then turned back to her, “You might start with that large pile of homework you got there,” he nodded at the desk, then swept from the room in a flare of leather. Dawn gave a dreamy sigh after he departed then settled in to do her homework.
********************
Spike arrived back downstairs to see Buffy holding a wad of cash. “What’s that? The book people finally send you the money?” he asked.
“Here’s the last hundred dollars,” Buffy gave one last longing look at the chunk of money in her hand, “It’s your payment for the help with the book. The rest has paid off my bills and stuff. I even have groceries to last me until when I get my first pay cheque from work.” She put the money into Spike’s hand.
“You didn’t have to luv.” Spike recalled how upset Dawn had been, and the shadows under Buffy’s eyes confirmed how bad things were for her. For a moment he regretted that he had been spending so much time with Darla.
She just smiled and said, “Why don’t you take the girlfriend that you refuse to tell me about out somewhere instead of spending all your money on cigarettes.”
He considered refusing the money. She obviously needed it and was only giving it to him out of her misguided sense of morality. Still, it was hundred bucks that he’d earned, and Darla would like to go out to that new production of Shakespeare that was playing downtown. “Thanks Slayer,” he said, and hurried off before he changed his mind and actually gave up the cash. God he’d turned into a pussy.
Buffy watched him go thinking how sweet it was that Spike had almost had a generous impulse. The fact that it had almost happened at all was a testament to how much he’d changed. Her slight smile vanished as she remembered a vampire who was sweet not graded on a curve. Sometimes she missed Angel so much it left this pain in her chest. She’d tried to move on with Riley, to do what Angel had asked, but it felt too weird to be dating another man because her soulmate had told her to. It was way existential or something.
Dawn had gone to bed and Spike had, no doubt, vanished off for another couple days to see his girlfriend that no one knew who she was. Buffy knew she existed because Spike kept coming by the Summers’ home smelling of Chanel no 5. After all the angst and worrying of the day Buffy went upstairs and went to bed. She was exhausted, and she couldn’t ambush people at the mall the next day looking like one of the living dead.
************************
Two more months passed and Spike and Buffy’s book hit the shelves of bookstores. It opened to reasonable reviews by several critics, some rave reviews by a couple of sci-fi magazines, and Buffy got two free copies in the mail. One for her, and one for her co-author William LePointe. She’d rolled her eyes at the name, “William The Spike? Please!”
His reply had been succinct, “So Anne Winters is so much more subtle?”
The two had spent time just flipping through a book that they had written and was their novel. Well, Buffy’s biography, but who other than the two of them knew? It was a literary work put together by their own four hands.
It was another two and a half weeks after the premier that Buffy received a letter from her publishers requesting that she and William meet them at their LA head offices. The pair pulled into the underground parking lot and hurried up to the office for the meeting. Neither had a clue as to what was coming next.
Spike and Buffy hesitantly entered the room they had been directed to and sat down when a stern faced man with a formidable grey beard gestured for them to do so. At his side sat an impeccable secretary, and on his other side was a somewhat more genial looking man with light brown hair who identified himself as Jeffrey Turner.
The other man turned out to be one of the executives of the company, and the vampire and slayer were exchanging nervous looks when he began to speak. “I understand you are the two authors of the “Kitty the Demon Huntress” book?” he asked. They nodded in response. “I hope you realise how important it is that this matter be handled carefully,” he continued, ”We here at Mitchell publishing always appreciate the efforts of our authors. However, in this case we seem to have underestimated the issues involved in your book.”
His expectant look only confused and worried the two listening intently to the businessman’s words. “Oh?” said Buffy finally.
Apparently satisfied with the inane comment he proceeded, “So, I hope you will understand when we decide to cancel your contract to redraw it in a manner that is preferable for all concerned.”
“Oh,” chorused Spike and Buffy faintly.
Jeffrey Turner now spoke. “I hope you understand that as an unknown quantity we must keep our options open. This is why we’re offering a very limited contract.”
Buffy’s eyes filled with tears, “Are we... I mean, did it sell that badly?”
It was the two executives’ turn to seem confused. “What do you mean?” asked Turner.
“What does she mean?!” Spike exploded, “We’re bloody talkin’ about the fact that you’re talkin’ like you need to revise the contract ‘cause you’re not makin’ enough money on it! She’s workin’ her ass off in the damned mall every night to keep herself and her sister from bein’ thrown out of their home, and you’re tellin’ her she isn’t gettin’ any money! What the bloody hell else are you babbling about?!”
Both executives looked taken aback but the secretary immediately filled in the gap looking intensely sympathetic. “You really have no idea,” she said.
“No idea about what?” Spike interrupted, grumbling.
“The book has hit the top of the New York bestsellers’ list. You’re being recommended by critics all over the English speaking world. People love your book. The contract ups your percentage from eight to twenty percent of the profits with a reduction to fourteen should sales on this book drop.”
The two stared. The notion that their book could become a hit had never occurred to them. “How... How much money are we talking about?” Buffy asked, bracing herself for a shock. She wasn’t disappointed.
“Well,” said the secretary hauling out her facts and figures, “We’ve made around 2.7 million in profits so far, so that’s about $540,000. Sales are continuing, of course, those are just the latest figures.”
Buffy started crying and left Spike to do the dickering as she thought about how she would have enough money to give Dawn an allowance, to pay for food, the bills, and all sorts of things she hadn’t been able to do. She didn’t even begin to get herself under control until Spike realised that she wasn’t acting to give him an easier time bargaining for extra perks. Then he began to cuddle her in earnest, and finally walked her down to his car, half supporting her as she hiccoughed with the tail end of her sobs.
“You alright?” he asked once she was calm again.
Buffy looked at him for a moment then broke into a wide smile, “I’m just so amazed. And happy,” she explained, “I’ll be able to pay for stuff again. I won’t have to default on bills.”
“You also have a writing career to start,” Spike said.
Buffy looked blankly at him, “What?”
“Weren’t you listening at all? They want us to write a second book. Start a series.” Spike’s grin was so wide that Buffy thought he was joking for a moment. When it became apparent that he wasn’t she threw herself at him with a squeal.
“We have a bestseller on the market! We’re famous!” The two settled into plans for the second book as they drove back to Sunnydale. Both agreed that to include their friends would create unnecessary complications. Also, since both the A-team and the Scoobies had given up on fantasy novels after discovering the reality (none of them up for a busman’s holiday) it was extremely unlikely anyone would ever find out about the series.
***********************
“Hey Trish!” called Roger.
“What?” responded his wife.
“You have got to take a look at this new book that just came out. It’s a lot like Fred’s life out in LA.” Roger grinned as he held up his brand new copy of “Kitty the Demon Huntress”. Trish and Roger Burkle settled in to read this new book. Neither had been very much interested in fantasy before, but since finding out all that stuff was real they’d taken to reading it. The ones with happy endings usually helped make them feel better about letting Fred live that dangerous life in LA.
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Section 2
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