FIC: Seraph (17/23?)
Jun. 22nd, 2009 02:30 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
snick_backupStory begins here. All parts may be found here.
As usual, muchas gracias to my lovely betas,![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
hello_spikey and phoenixofborg.
A/N: Hurrah, an update! I'm hoping things will get a little more regular from here on out. Meanwhile, if you haven't seen it yet you should totally check out the very cool Seraph manip that fan extraordinairemoscow_watcher made me.
~~~~~
Spike spent his first full day at the Summers residence running smack into that contrast between demanding and being given. What he’d have stolen from Xander right in front of him, Joyce offered, and he found himself muttering his gratitude. Washcloth and towels of his own. A lamp and other discarded oddments to furnish the basement with. A mug of warmed blood sitting in an empty place at the table.
After dinner, Joyce clattered dishes into the dishwasher and spoke of inconsequential gallery happenings while he planted himself on the kitchen island with his feet dangling, half his attention on her and half on the stirrings in his stomach.
“So, do you have a preference?”
“What?” He glanced up, caught.
“About chores,” Joyce said.
“No...?”
“The girls would probably tell me it’s not fair, letting you choose, but I can’t help feeling that you are a guest, in a way. So dishes, laundry, bathrooms, or floors? Except you shouldn’t do anything strenuous, so that leaves out the floors.”
“I shouldn’t?”
She glanced over her shoulder at him. “Because you’re pregnant. You have to be gentle with yourself for a while.”
“Does that mean I have to be gentle, too?” Buffy said, walking in and brandishing a banana from the fruit bowl. “Pre-patrol snack.”
“I, uh, don’t think it works that way with me,” Spike said, thinking of futons and car accidents and armageddons. “Still a vampire. It’s just I’m... occupied, now.”
Joyce snorted. “I’m sure even vampires get backaches.”
“Well...”
“Laundry, I think,” Joyce said. “After all, you’re in the basement anyway.”
“Better not,” he said. “Washing machines and I, we’re nemeses, you might say.”
“What, does Evil not do laundry?” Buffy asked. “ ‘Cause if you say yes, then I feel a dark-Buffy phase coming on.”
“As long as Evil lives in my house, Evil will do his share like everyone else,” Joyce said. “Laundry.”
“Thought you said I got to choose?” Spike protested.
“Yes,” she nodded in agreement, “except that I can never get anyone else to do it, and meanwhile you’ll be alleviating that horrible guilt you feel for imposing on us rent-free until the baby is born and you find work.”
“You’re confused,” Buffy said around a mouthful of banana. “Angel’s the one with all the soulful guilt.”
But Joyce was giving him that maternal you’ll-say-yes-if-you-know-what’s-good-for-you look that hadn’t changed all that much in a hundred and fifty years, and he said hurriedly, “Right. Ashamed of myself. Laundry it is. But,” he added, “the wash is apt to come out shrunk, just to spite me.”
“Do you need me to slay the no-good very bad washing machine?” Buffy asked, brows drawn and threatening.
Joyce rolled her eyes -- well, at least Spike knew where the girls got it from, now. “I will show you the magic buttons to push,” she told him, “and then I will write the sacred ritual down so that you can’t forget.”
Buffy nabbed another banana from the bowl. “Off to patrol. You can’t come,” she added to Spike. “You’re pregnant.”
He glared sourly, and she strolled out the kitchen door with a smirk.
Laundry, then. He added it to the running mental list of things he must or must not do, living with people again -- in a permanent, settled sort of sense, not in a ‘chained in the bathtub, tied to the sleeping chair’ sense. He was to take his boots off in the house and walk softly after bedtime. Rinse his mugs after he’d used them. No punching the walls when Buffy twitted him once too often -- the upstairs walls, anyway; in the basement they were concrete, and he doubted anyone would mind if he bashed his knuckles on them now and again.
Once upon a time, he’d taunted Angel with being housebroken. But Angel never had it this bad.
But then -- he glanced at Joyce’s cheeks flushed over the hot water, at Dawn with her head bowed in a book -- Angel never had it this good, either.
~*~*~
He was sitting on the back porch working on the latest of long line of cigarettes when Buffy got back. “Need a word with you,” he said.
“Yeah?” She rubbed at a shiny spot on her jacket and then hissed. “Yucky icky acidy demon,” she said.
“I need blood.”
“Ew. Wait, let me guess, you’re a vampire!”
Chip. Slayer’s mum. Dawn. Not being staked. “The human blood, Slayer.”
Her head snapped up. “We’re not draining some innocent victim for you, Spike.”
“She’s too small, the doc said. Suppose she’s born a runt? Or she doesn’t grow up properly, because she wasn’t fed right?” His voice had turned raspier than he’d meant. “Or could be she’s already buggered -- been living in me all this time without any tending, after all. Guess it won’t matter that she’s born a mini-Slayer, if she can’t walk like she should or her head’s a little wonky.”
“Spike...” Buffy was eyeing him more uncertainly now.
“Every day, Slayer, she’s missing a bit more of what she needs, and if I can’t make up for the first six months, I will bloody well not let her go suffering for the other three.” He slid his tongue across dry lips. “Don’t even know why I bothered asking. All you’re worried about is me enjoying the stuff.
“Won’t you?” She gave him the trademarked brow of Slayer skepticism.
“Well, yeah.” It’d be an an actual supply, more than just the blue-moon evening when he could afford a pint. He could already taste it, the ghost of breakfast future pricking at his tongue and his throat, promising rich sweet bliss, and if it took that mysterious modern convenience the microwave to bring it to its proper 98.6, who was he to complain?
And there was Buffy still standing in front of him, lips pursed.
Conversation. Right.
“Not the point. If it was just some human bint who needed a transfusion for her little one’s health, you’d see she got it, wouldn’t you? And none of this shocked disapproval, either.” He snorted. “I’ll figure it out, with or without you. Willy’s, or the hospital, or something.”
After a moment, she said, “When did you get to be all logic-vamp?”
“That a trick question?”
She ignored him. “You’re right,” she said, more softly. “I’ll get the gang together tomorrow and we’ll see what we can do.”
“What? No! This is between you and me, Slayer. I’m not parading my private concerns to the whole neighborhood.”
“You are if you want us to help you,” she said, smiling ever so slightly.
Damn her smiles. “I’m not a sodding group project!”
A snort and an irreverent pat on the shoulder as she climbed the stairs. “You are now.”
~*~*~
Tara hadn’t been sure she should come. She’d told Spike the truth when she said she didn’t like confrontations -- she always ended up hot and flushed, looking anywhere but where she needed to, and the stammer got even worse than usual. Besides, she was the last person to ask about illicit human blood supplies. But Willow had told Buffy they’d come before even mentioned it to Tara, and that assumed inclusion was precious.
Also, Tara wondered if Spike might need to see a friendly face.
When they arrived at the Summers’ that evening, Spike was sprawling out of a stuffed chair, flaunting his belly, with his eyes half-lidded and his hands folded over his chest. Strategy, Tara thought, and was convinced when she noticed how his gaze flitted up and back again as they entered. Bluff. Play like you have all the cards, and maybe you won’t need them. Act like a predator and they won’t notice you’re prey -- which was why what looked like stillness was really tension, waiting to snap.
Tara squinted to clear her head and looked for someplace to sit.
Xander was hunched in one corner of a couch, the farthest seat in the room from Spike. Anya, cuddled at Xander’s side, caught Tara’s gaze and patted the space next to her vigorously. In a tone clearly meant to be a whisper, she said, “I know where the bathroom is.”
“That’s good,” Tara said, sitting. “I-in case--”
“In case they yell at each other like that other time, and we have to go hide again,” Anya cut in. “I brought my nail kit, since painting each other’s nails is a traditional bonding activity.”
Willow squeezed in at Tara’s other side, flushing and with a hint of a scowl. Spike, when Tara stole a glance, looked ever so faintly amused.
Buffy wandered in, surveyed the group, and wandered out again.
“Are w-we waiting for Mr. Giles?” Tara asked.
“Riley,” Xander answered.
“But it’s not a Scooby meeting without Giles,” said Willow.
“Thank God for that,” muttered Spike, closing his eyes and thus not seeing the Willow-frown and the Xander-frown.
A firm knock came at the door. Buffy scrambled across the hallway and out the door, pulling it shut behind her.
“Has to snog the boy,” said Spike. “Make sure he behaves.”
“Gee, does that work with you?” Xander said.
Spike’s smirk was immediate and assured. “Care to find out?”
Xander’s teeth snapped shut with an audible click, and he shifted resolutely away.
Buffy strode in, Riley behind her. She pulled the coffee table away from the couch and sat on it; he leaned against a wall. “So, plans to get Spike human blood,” she said.
“Explain why we want to, again?” Xander said.
Spike opened his mouth and Buffy shot him a glance. “It’s for the baby,” she said, eyebrow lifted. Xander’s gaze fell to the floor. “Look,” she said, surveying the faces. “This isn’t about Spike, okay? We don’t have to like Spike.” A throat-clearing from Riley’s corner. “We don’t have to care about Spike at all. But the baby is human, and this is not her fault. If she needs help, we have to help. Right?”
After a pause for the individual murmurs of agreement, Buffy said, “So where can we get blood from?”
“The blood bank has blood,” Anya offered.
“But people need that blood,” Willow said. “We can’t just take it.”
“Sure you can,” Spike said. “When people in this town die from lack of blood, it’s not because a few bags went missing from the community stash.”
Xander said, “People donated that to help other people, not to give you a, a blood happy.”
Blood happy? mouthed Willow.
Spike rolled his eyes. “It’s not like they’re using it anymore. Besides,” he added in a tone half-defiant, half-pleading, “she’s a person, isn’t she?” The mask was dropped, the bluff forgotten.
“We’re not just talking about a couple of bags, are we?” Buffy asked. “We’re talking about two and a half months of Spike supper. I don’t think Sunnydale General can afford to lose that much.”
“You’re really talking about stealing from a hospital?” Willow said. “Isn’t that kind of villain-y behavior? I mean, not Darth Vader villain-y--”
“More the Han Solo type,” Xander said.
“But Han Solo is cool!” Willow protested. “Aside,” she said, brow furrowing, “from the smuggling and the not paying his debts and the shooting the debt collector--”
“Because he totally shot first,” Xander added.
“Uh huh,” Buffy said firmly. “So, other suggestions?”
“Not to be all sacrificial lambey,” said Willow, “but we have blood, too.”
Spike gave her a sudden, startled glance and sat forward, elbows on knees.
“No way,” said Xander. “My blood, my veins. It’s a very close relationship.”
“For the baby,” Willow repeated softly, and Xander flicked a glance to Spike and was silent.
“Doesn’t matter,” Spike said -- regretfully, it sounded to Tara. “You lot wouldn’t be enough, not long-term. You’d go all anemic.”
“What do you care?” Riley, speaking from his corner for the first time.
“It doesn’t do me any good if my supply dries up, does it?” The glare he directed at Riley suggested that he would not, on the other hand, much mind if Riley’s blood supply evaporated entirely. “Look, it’s simple, all right? Not cheap, but simple. A couple of pints a day from Willy’s--”
“But trafficking in human tissues is illegal!” Willow said. He gave her a sidelong glance. “O-okay, not the main point.”
Buffy added, “But you said Willy, what, keeps people chained up and fed so he can use them for blood-cows?”
“No, I said Willy’s supplier doesn’t kill the people the blood comes from. The chains are all yours.”
“So they’re not enslaved and helpless.”
“What the bloody hell do I care?”
“Right.” She blinked several blinks of intense concentration. “You don’t care. How did I ever think this could work?”
“Slayer?”
She threw her hands up. “Of course the soulless murdering guy doesn’t care if people get turned into Bessies. They’re just, what, Happy Meals on legs?”
“Well, yeah.” He huffed at her. “You think just because I’m expecting, I’m all fluffy now? Overflowing with sunshine and self-righteousness?”
“No. I don’t think that. That would be stupid of me to think that.” She glared at him.
“Fine!” He pushed himself to his feet and faced her down. “You won’t kill and I can’t, you won’t abide filching a few stray bags from the hospital or supporting a little free enterprise, and heaven forbid you should sacrifice a bit of your own for the cause. Well, never mind. Just don’t ask me how I go about providing for my little girl if you don’t want me sullying your conscience.”
Through gritted teeth, she said, “We are trying to help.”
“Think I’ve had about enough help from you,” he growled.
“Says the vampire living in my house!”
Maybe it was that Anya was pinching Tara’s arm and nodding her head towards the hallway, or that, as usual, people yelling made Tara want to fold into a shadow and disappear before the ire turned on her. Or maybe it was Spike’s furious, desperate frustration washing through her like a shock wave, his fists clenched and every facial muscle rigid.
Regardless, from somewhere, an idea came.
“W-where did you say Willy gets the blood from?” she said.
Thrown off his rhythm, Spike turned to her curiously. “His supplier,” Spike said. “Some bloke up in the great metropolis -- deals in all the biologicals. Eyeballs and spinal fluid and so on. Shipment comes in every two weeks.”
“Could we steal it?” Tara said.
“Ooh,” Willow said. “We could intercept one of those shipments. It’d be like Robin Hood -- rob the rich to feed... Spike? Or maybe not so much. But we wouldn’t be supporting the evil black marketers--”
“--and we’d put a crimp in the local blood trade, which would be one point to the good,” Buffy finished.
“Could be workable,” Spike said, considering. “Got some nasty brutes for security, not to mention the vamps hanging around Willy’s who’ll want to get in on the action, but I expect you and All American over there would enjoy the fisticuffs.”
That first breakthrough made, all the other planning came easier. On delivery night, Buffy and Riley would attack the security guards and hopefully take the driver out in the process while Xander grabbed the crates of blood.
“Crates?” Xander repeated in appalled disbelief. “They sell blood by the crate now?”
Meanwhile, Willow and Tara would play lookouts and direct any mystical influences they could. “Our first mission together,” Willow whispered, her eyes shining. Tara smiled back, trying to hold the apprehension in.
“And I’ll stay here and mind the embroidery,” Spike finished sourly, but his gaze was on his hand, absently stroking his stomach, and he looked only mildly disgruntled. Willow reached over and squeezed his arm.
Anya declared that she was bored, and she and Xander left soon after, he with an apologetic shrug to them all and a furtive touch to Spike’s shoulder -- which was maybe also an apology.
Willow eyed Buffy and Riley, muttering in a corner, and stood. As Tara rose to follow her, Spike caught her arm. “Think you did the trick,” he said.
“I d-didn’t really do anything. It was just an idea.”
“Yeah, but it had that flavor of justice and good deeds about it. All it took, I guess.” He shrugged. “It’s that sodding human logic.”
If he saw her flinch, he didn’t make any mention of it. Leaning closer in, he said softly, “You know, interfering with the black market’s no straightforward enterprise. As easy to harm as heal.” He dropped back and waited, his expression a challenge: What’ll you do with that, White Witch?
She knew he was expecting her to balk. He’d have been better off not saying anything, but for at least one instant he must have cared more about testing her ethics than about whatever trouble it’d cause him.
Maybe it was that gift -- some called it other things -- that allowed her glimpses, clear as spring water, of others’ hearts. Or maybe -- she pushed the certainty down deep in her chest -- it was that part of her logic that wasn’t human. She simply didn’t have it in her to worry about the hypothetical concerns of abstract people while the need of the person in front of her shone so vivid.
She knelt, his eyes never leaving her. Cautiously, remembering his skittishness last time, she laid one hand gently against his stomach. Marveled: life, growing out of death. “Some things are straightforward,” she said.
next part
As usual, muchas gracias to my lovely betas,
hello_spikey and phoenixofborg.A/N: Hurrah, an update! I'm hoping things will get a little more regular from here on out. Meanwhile, if you haven't seen it yet you should totally check out the very cool Seraph manip that fan extraordinaire
moscow_watcher made me.~~~~~
Spike spent his first full day at the Summers residence running smack into that contrast between demanding and being given. What he’d have stolen from Xander right in front of him, Joyce offered, and he found himself muttering his gratitude. Washcloth and towels of his own. A lamp and other discarded oddments to furnish the basement with. A mug of warmed blood sitting in an empty place at the table.
After dinner, Joyce clattered dishes into the dishwasher and spoke of inconsequential gallery happenings while he planted himself on the kitchen island with his feet dangling, half his attention on her and half on the stirrings in his stomach.
“So, do you have a preference?”
“What?” He glanced up, caught.
“About chores,” Joyce said.
“No...?”
“The girls would probably tell me it’s not fair, letting you choose, but I can’t help feeling that you are a guest, in a way. So dishes, laundry, bathrooms, or floors? Except you shouldn’t do anything strenuous, so that leaves out the floors.”
“I shouldn’t?”
She glanced over her shoulder at him. “Because you’re pregnant. You have to be gentle with yourself for a while.”
“Does that mean I have to be gentle, too?” Buffy said, walking in and brandishing a banana from the fruit bowl. “Pre-patrol snack.”
“I, uh, don’t think it works that way with me,” Spike said, thinking of futons and car accidents and armageddons. “Still a vampire. It’s just I’m... occupied, now.”
Joyce snorted. “I’m sure even vampires get backaches.”
“Well...”
“Laundry, I think,” Joyce said. “After all, you’re in the basement anyway.”
“Better not,” he said. “Washing machines and I, we’re nemeses, you might say.”
“What, does Evil not do laundry?” Buffy asked. “ ‘Cause if you say yes, then I feel a dark-Buffy phase coming on.”
“As long as Evil lives in my house, Evil will do his share like everyone else,” Joyce said. “Laundry.”
“Thought you said I got to choose?” Spike protested.
“Yes,” she nodded in agreement, “except that I can never get anyone else to do it, and meanwhile you’ll be alleviating that horrible guilt you feel for imposing on us rent-free until the baby is born and you find work.”
“You’re confused,” Buffy said around a mouthful of banana. “Angel’s the one with all the soulful guilt.”
But Joyce was giving him that maternal you’ll-say-yes-if-you-know-what’s-good-for-you look that hadn’t changed all that much in a hundred and fifty years, and he said hurriedly, “Right. Ashamed of myself. Laundry it is. But,” he added, “the wash is apt to come out shrunk, just to spite me.”
“Do you need me to slay the no-good very bad washing machine?” Buffy asked, brows drawn and threatening.
Joyce rolled her eyes -- well, at least Spike knew where the girls got it from, now. “I will show you the magic buttons to push,” she told him, “and then I will write the sacred ritual down so that you can’t forget.”
Buffy nabbed another banana from the bowl. “Off to patrol. You can’t come,” she added to Spike. “You’re pregnant.”
He glared sourly, and she strolled out the kitchen door with a smirk.
Laundry, then. He added it to the running mental list of things he must or must not do, living with people again -- in a permanent, settled sort of sense, not in a ‘chained in the bathtub, tied to the sleeping chair’ sense. He was to take his boots off in the house and walk softly after bedtime. Rinse his mugs after he’d used them. No punching the walls when Buffy twitted him once too often -- the upstairs walls, anyway; in the basement they were concrete, and he doubted anyone would mind if he bashed his knuckles on them now and again.
Once upon a time, he’d taunted Angel with being housebroken. But Angel never had it this bad.
But then -- he glanced at Joyce’s cheeks flushed over the hot water, at Dawn with her head bowed in a book -- Angel never had it this good, either.
He was sitting on the back porch working on the latest of long line of cigarettes when Buffy got back. “Need a word with you,” he said.
“Yeah?” She rubbed at a shiny spot on her jacket and then hissed. “Yucky icky acidy demon,” she said.
“I need blood.”
“Ew. Wait, let me guess, you’re a vampire!”
Chip. Slayer’s mum. Dawn. Not being staked. “The human blood, Slayer.”
Her head snapped up. “We’re not draining some innocent victim for you, Spike.”
“She’s too small, the doc said. Suppose she’s born a runt? Or she doesn’t grow up properly, because she wasn’t fed right?” His voice had turned raspier than he’d meant. “Or could be she’s already buggered -- been living in me all this time without any tending, after all. Guess it won’t matter that she’s born a mini-Slayer, if she can’t walk like she should or her head’s a little wonky.”
“Spike...” Buffy was eyeing him more uncertainly now.
“Every day, Slayer, she’s missing a bit more of what she needs, and if I can’t make up for the first six months, I will bloody well not let her go suffering for the other three.” He slid his tongue across dry lips. “Don’t even know why I bothered asking. All you’re worried about is me enjoying the stuff.
“Won’t you?” She gave him the trademarked brow of Slayer skepticism.
“Well, yeah.” It’d be an an actual supply, more than just the blue-moon evening when he could afford a pint. He could already taste it, the ghost of breakfast future pricking at his tongue and his throat, promising rich sweet bliss, and if it took that mysterious modern convenience the microwave to bring it to its proper 98.6, who was he to complain?
And there was Buffy still standing in front of him, lips pursed.
Conversation. Right.
“Not the point. If it was just some human bint who needed a transfusion for her little one’s health, you’d see she got it, wouldn’t you? And none of this shocked disapproval, either.” He snorted. “I’ll figure it out, with or without you. Willy’s, or the hospital, or something.”
After a moment, she said, “When did you get to be all logic-vamp?”
“That a trick question?”
She ignored him. “You’re right,” she said, more softly. “I’ll get the gang together tomorrow and we’ll see what we can do.”
“What? No! This is between you and me, Slayer. I’m not parading my private concerns to the whole neighborhood.”
“You are if you want us to help you,” she said, smiling ever so slightly.
Damn her smiles. “I’m not a sodding group project!”
A snort and an irreverent pat on the shoulder as she climbed the stairs. “You are now.”
Tara hadn’t been sure she should come. She’d told Spike the truth when she said she didn’t like confrontations -- she always ended up hot and flushed, looking anywhere but where she needed to, and the stammer got even worse than usual. Besides, she was the last person to ask about illicit human blood supplies. But Willow had told Buffy they’d come before even mentioned it to Tara, and that assumed inclusion was precious.
Also, Tara wondered if Spike might need to see a friendly face.
When they arrived at the Summers’ that evening, Spike was sprawling out of a stuffed chair, flaunting his belly, with his eyes half-lidded and his hands folded over his chest. Strategy, Tara thought, and was convinced when she noticed how his gaze flitted up and back again as they entered. Bluff. Play like you have all the cards, and maybe you won’t need them. Act like a predator and they won’t notice you’re prey -- which was why what looked like stillness was really tension, waiting to snap.
Tara squinted to clear her head and looked for someplace to sit.
Xander was hunched in one corner of a couch, the farthest seat in the room from Spike. Anya, cuddled at Xander’s side, caught Tara’s gaze and patted the space next to her vigorously. In a tone clearly meant to be a whisper, she said, “I know where the bathroom is.”
“That’s good,” Tara said, sitting. “I-in case--”
“In case they yell at each other like that other time, and we have to go hide again,” Anya cut in. “I brought my nail kit, since painting each other’s nails is a traditional bonding activity.”
Willow squeezed in at Tara’s other side, flushing and with a hint of a scowl. Spike, when Tara stole a glance, looked ever so faintly amused.
Buffy wandered in, surveyed the group, and wandered out again.
“Are w-we waiting for Mr. Giles?” Tara asked.
“Riley,” Xander answered.
“But it’s not a Scooby meeting without Giles,” said Willow.
“Thank God for that,” muttered Spike, closing his eyes and thus not seeing the Willow-frown and the Xander-frown.
A firm knock came at the door. Buffy scrambled across the hallway and out the door, pulling it shut behind her.
“Has to snog the boy,” said Spike. “Make sure he behaves.”
“Gee, does that work with you?” Xander said.
Spike’s smirk was immediate and assured. “Care to find out?”
Xander’s teeth snapped shut with an audible click, and he shifted resolutely away.
Buffy strode in, Riley behind her. She pulled the coffee table away from the couch and sat on it; he leaned against a wall. “So, plans to get Spike human blood,” she said.
“Explain why we want to, again?” Xander said.
Spike opened his mouth and Buffy shot him a glance. “It’s for the baby,” she said, eyebrow lifted. Xander’s gaze fell to the floor. “Look,” she said, surveying the faces. “This isn’t about Spike, okay? We don’t have to like Spike.” A throat-clearing from Riley’s corner. “We don’t have to care about Spike at all. But the baby is human, and this is not her fault. If she needs help, we have to help. Right?”
After a pause for the individual murmurs of agreement, Buffy said, “So where can we get blood from?”
“The blood bank has blood,” Anya offered.
“But people need that blood,” Willow said. “We can’t just take it.”
“Sure you can,” Spike said. “When people in this town die from lack of blood, it’s not because a few bags went missing from the community stash.”
Xander said, “People donated that to help other people, not to give you a, a blood happy.”
Blood happy? mouthed Willow.
Spike rolled his eyes. “It’s not like they’re using it anymore. Besides,” he added in a tone half-defiant, half-pleading, “she’s a person, isn’t she?” The mask was dropped, the bluff forgotten.
“We’re not just talking about a couple of bags, are we?” Buffy asked. “We’re talking about two and a half months of Spike supper. I don’t think Sunnydale General can afford to lose that much.”
“You’re really talking about stealing from a hospital?” Willow said. “Isn’t that kind of villain-y behavior? I mean, not Darth Vader villain-y--”
“More the Han Solo type,” Xander said.
“But Han Solo is cool!” Willow protested. “Aside,” she said, brow furrowing, “from the smuggling and the not paying his debts and the shooting the debt collector--”
“Because he totally shot first,” Xander added.
“Uh huh,” Buffy said firmly. “So, other suggestions?”
“Not to be all sacrificial lambey,” said Willow, “but we have blood, too.”
Spike gave her a sudden, startled glance and sat forward, elbows on knees.
“No way,” said Xander. “My blood, my veins. It’s a very close relationship.”
“For the baby,” Willow repeated softly, and Xander flicked a glance to Spike and was silent.
“Doesn’t matter,” Spike said -- regretfully, it sounded to Tara. “You lot wouldn’t be enough, not long-term. You’d go all anemic.”
“What do you care?” Riley, speaking from his corner for the first time.
“It doesn’t do me any good if my supply dries up, does it?” The glare he directed at Riley suggested that he would not, on the other hand, much mind if Riley’s blood supply evaporated entirely. “Look, it’s simple, all right? Not cheap, but simple. A couple of pints a day from Willy’s--”
“But trafficking in human tissues is illegal!” Willow said. He gave her a sidelong glance. “O-okay, not the main point.”
Buffy added, “But you said Willy, what, keeps people chained up and fed so he can use them for blood-cows?”
“No, I said Willy’s supplier doesn’t kill the people the blood comes from. The chains are all yours.”
“So they’re not enslaved and helpless.”
“What the bloody hell do I care?”
“Right.” She blinked several blinks of intense concentration. “You don’t care. How did I ever think this could work?”
“Slayer?”
She threw her hands up. “Of course the soulless murdering guy doesn’t care if people get turned into Bessies. They’re just, what, Happy Meals on legs?”
“Well, yeah.” He huffed at her. “You think just because I’m expecting, I’m all fluffy now? Overflowing with sunshine and self-righteousness?”
“No. I don’t think that. That would be stupid of me to think that.” She glared at him.
“Fine!” He pushed himself to his feet and faced her down. “You won’t kill and I can’t, you won’t abide filching a few stray bags from the hospital or supporting a little free enterprise, and heaven forbid you should sacrifice a bit of your own for the cause. Well, never mind. Just don’t ask me how I go about providing for my little girl if you don’t want me sullying your conscience.”
Through gritted teeth, she said, “We are trying to help.”
“Think I’ve had about enough help from you,” he growled.
“Says the vampire living in my house!”
Maybe it was that Anya was pinching Tara’s arm and nodding her head towards the hallway, or that, as usual, people yelling made Tara want to fold into a shadow and disappear before the ire turned on her. Or maybe it was Spike’s furious, desperate frustration washing through her like a shock wave, his fists clenched and every facial muscle rigid.
Regardless, from somewhere, an idea came.
“W-where did you say Willy gets the blood from?” she said.
Thrown off his rhythm, Spike turned to her curiously. “His supplier,” Spike said. “Some bloke up in the great metropolis -- deals in all the biologicals. Eyeballs and spinal fluid and so on. Shipment comes in every two weeks.”
“Could we steal it?” Tara said.
“Ooh,” Willow said. “We could intercept one of those shipments. It’d be like Robin Hood -- rob the rich to feed... Spike? Or maybe not so much. But we wouldn’t be supporting the evil black marketers--”
“--and we’d put a crimp in the local blood trade, which would be one point to the good,” Buffy finished.
“Could be workable,” Spike said, considering. “Got some nasty brutes for security, not to mention the vamps hanging around Willy’s who’ll want to get in on the action, but I expect you and All American over there would enjoy the fisticuffs.”
That first breakthrough made, all the other planning came easier. On delivery night, Buffy and Riley would attack the security guards and hopefully take the driver out in the process while Xander grabbed the crates of blood.
“Crates?” Xander repeated in appalled disbelief. “They sell blood by the crate now?”
Meanwhile, Willow and Tara would play lookouts and direct any mystical influences they could. “Our first mission together,” Willow whispered, her eyes shining. Tara smiled back, trying to hold the apprehension in.
“And I’ll stay here and mind the embroidery,” Spike finished sourly, but his gaze was on his hand, absently stroking his stomach, and he looked only mildly disgruntled. Willow reached over and squeezed his arm.
Anya declared that she was bored, and she and Xander left soon after, he with an apologetic shrug to them all and a furtive touch to Spike’s shoulder -- which was maybe also an apology.
Willow eyed Buffy and Riley, muttering in a corner, and stood. As Tara rose to follow her, Spike caught her arm. “Think you did the trick,” he said.
“I d-didn’t really do anything. It was just an idea.”
“Yeah, but it had that flavor of justice and good deeds about it. All it took, I guess.” He shrugged. “It’s that sodding human logic.”
If he saw her flinch, he didn’t make any mention of it. Leaning closer in, he said softly, “You know, interfering with the black market’s no straightforward enterprise. As easy to harm as heal.” He dropped back and waited, his expression a challenge: What’ll you do with that, White Witch?
She knew he was expecting her to balk. He’d have been better off not saying anything, but for at least one instant he must have cared more about testing her ethics than about whatever trouble it’d cause him.
Maybe it was that gift -- some called it other things -- that allowed her glimpses, clear as spring water, of others’ hearts. Or maybe -- she pushed the certainty down deep in her chest -- it was that part of her logic that wasn’t human. She simply didn’t have it in her to worry about the hypothetical concerns of abstract people while the need of the person in front of her shone so vivid.
She knelt, his eyes never leaving her. Cautiously, remembering his skittishness last time, she laid one hand gently against his stomach. Marveled: life, growing out of death. “Some things are straightforward,” she said.
next part
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no subject
Date: 2009-06-22 09:53 pm (UTC)But Joyce was giving him that maternal you’ll-say-yes-if-you-know-what’s-good-for-you look that hadn’t changed all that much in a hundred and fifty years Brilliant. Spike is such a mama's boy.
You can’t come,” she added to Spike. “You’re pregnant.” I know this is gen (and I'm loving you for it), but I kinda can't help but ship them here. The teasing is adorable (And the "Damn her smiles" line does it for me, too). Also, this is such an inversion of all the baby!fic out there that it makes me giggle.
Once upon a time, he’d taunted Angel with being housebroken. But Angel never had it this bad.
But then -- he glanced at Joyce’s cheeks flushed over the hot water, at Dawn with her head bowed in a book -- Angel never had it this good, either. Too. Cute.
“In case they yell at each other like that other time, and we have to go hide again,” Anya cut in. “I brought my nail kit, since painting each other’s nails is a traditional bonding activity.” Sooo much love for Anya.
“Because he totally shot first,” Xander added. A reason to love Xander!
Fabulous chapter. Interesting solution, too. I'm kind of fascinated by what the Scoobies will and won't do; they have such a strange logic when it comes to morality sometimes, but they hold onto their code in (mostly) admirable ways. You really got that here.
no subject
Date: 2009-06-23 12:50 am (UTC)Cruel teasing is one of my biggest allergies in fic. OTOH, with this cast of characters, Spike's chances of making it to term without some fun had at his expense are pretty much nil.
Also, this is such an inversion of all the baby!fic out there that it makes me giggle.
Hah. Yes. And this being BtVS, the inversion is that much more appropriate, yeah? (That actually hadn't occurred to me until just now. Huh.)
I have trouble remembering it sometimes because of Andrew, but Xander is a total fanboy, limited edition Babylon 5 collector's plates and all.
I'm kind of fascinated by what the Scoobies will and won't do; they have such a strange logic when it comes to morality sometimes.
I know. The Scooby approach to ethics just about drives me up the wall sometimes - it makes no sense! They just have this fuzzy cloud of individual things they ought or ought not to do, with no overarching reason for any of it. Bleah.
no subject
Date: 2009-06-22 09:57 pm (UTC)I really am loving this story.
Anya bringing nail polish was so cute!
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Date: 2009-06-23 12:37 am (UTC)Oh, Anya. She's not getting nearly as much time in this fic as I'd like.
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Date: 2009-06-22 10:03 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-06-23 12:37 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-06-22 10:13 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-06-23 12:38 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-06-22 10:19 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-06-23 12:38 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-06-22 10:33 pm (UTC)“Thought you said I got to choose?” Spike protested.
“Yes,” she nodded in agreement, “except that I can never get anyone else to do it, and meanwhile you’ll be alleviating that horrible guilt you feel for imposing on us rent-free until the baby is born and you find work.” Evil having to do chores and get a job because of its horrible guilt is hilarious.
I loved this: Once upon a time, he’d taunted Angel with being housebroken. But Angel never had it this bad.
But then -- he glanced at Joyce’s cheeks flushed over the hot water, at Dawn with her head bowed in a book -- Angel never had it this good, either. No. If Angel had it this good, he'd soon be Angelus.
You cleverly got around the shadiness of getting Spike blood. Stealing from the bad guys makes it a good deed, right? Well, it is for a good cause. I love Tara's unwavering support. It's nice that Spike has one Scoobie that's nearly always on his side. Xander's little shoulder squeeze was also wonderful. Maybe he's coming around.
no subject
Date: 2009-06-23 12:40 am (UTC)Yeah, the morality of stealing from the bad guys seems a tad sketchy to me, but the Scoobies tend to justify their means with their ends more than maybe they realize.
Yay Tara. :)
no subject
Date: 2009-06-22 10:54 pm (UTC)Spike doing laundry is asking for trouble. Missing underwear and whites turning out pink for sure.
When it comes to tiny ones like this everyone is willing to help. Even Xander.
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Date: 2009-06-23 12:42 am (UTC)And we'll have to see how the saga of Spike vs. The Washing Machine goes. *g*
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Date: 2009-06-23 12:02 am (UTC)"Blood happy? mouthed Willow."
Also, Han totally shot first! Xander knows. *nods*
Nice bit of Tara at the end.
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Date: 2009-06-23 12:43 am (UTC)Glad you're liking the Tara. She definitely wasn't part of the plan at the beginning of this fic, but she keeps showing up...
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Date: 2009-06-23 01:03 am (UTC)notreading this and enjoying it. Loved the little snogging exchange between Spike and Xander. :)no subject
Date: 2009-06-23 02:18 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-06-23 07:31 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-06-23 07:53 pm (UTC)notreading...no subject
Date: 2009-06-23 01:06 am (UTC)Yes, Buffy did get much from Joyce, and not just the eye-rolling. I love the Summers household, and Spike's conflicting feelings about it.
That was a great Scooby meeting (from Anya's escape plan to Xander's supreme waffling) but I kept thinking, "Why can't they do a little of all those things? It might add up." But, of course, that would be wrong. Heh.
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Date: 2009-06-23 07:52 pm (UTC)Even though I'm wrestling with Scooby ethics for the writing of this fic, I still don't quite get all the ins and outs. I'm beginning to think that a lot of their judgments have less to do with actual ethics than with how recently Xander's gotten mad at a vampire and how obsessed Willow is with her latest activist cause.
no subject
Date: 2009-06-23 01:30 pm (UTC)I love how you subert all the pregnany fic conventions by gender-switching.
I love how deftly and cleverly you domesticate William the Bloody.
I love little glimpses of Spuffyness in the banter and mocking.
I love the moral dilemmas you create for them and I love the paradoxal resolution.
I love the voices. Terrific voices.
“I will show you the magic buttons to push,” she told him, “and then I will write the sacred ritual down so that you can’t forget.”
“Off to patrol. You can’t come,” she added to Spike. “You’re pregnant.”
“My blood, my veins. It’s a very close relationship.”
“Because he totally shot first,”
“Not to be all sacrificial lambey,”
Like I said, terrific.
no subject
Date: 2009-06-23 07:44 pm (UTC)Aw, thank you so much. You know, I was pretty nervous posting the first chapter of this, because it was mpreg after all. So the regular comments all this time, from you and other folks, have been hugely encouraging.
I love how you subvert all the pregnany fic conventions by gender-switching.
Oh, I love babyfic pretty much any way I can get it. But yeah, I do dearly love turning everything (including Spike, poor guy) on its head this way.
I love little glimpses of Spuffyness in the banter and mocking.
Heh. I must be doing something right - I've got people commenting on Spuffy and Spander in the same chapter. *g*
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Date: 2009-06-23 03:50 pm (UTC)love love love. *showers affection*
All through reading the next chappie... promise to send it to you a lot faster this time. :)
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Date: 2009-06-23 07:46 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-06-23 04:55 pm (UTC)I'm just worried because you say 17/23 - that implies that you're not going to go much beyond the baby's birth. I want to see Spike raise this girl!!!
Please?
no subject
Date: 2009-06-23 08:29 pm (UTC)It doesn't get much better for a crackfic writer than hearing words like that. Thank you!
I have some ideas for a full-blown sequel, but I wouldn't be tackling it for quite a while yet. Regardless, I'm pretty sure the story doesn't end with this fic. At the very least there'll be some vignettes and one-shots set later on. 'Cause I want to see him raise her, too. :)
no subject
Date: 2009-06-26 01:08 am (UTC)I love the fact that the Scoobies are actually being logical, and the glimpses of Spuffy warm my heart. And lovely Tara characterization.
And some sequel stuff in the works? Priceless.
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Date: 2009-06-26 01:43 am (UTC)And some sequel stuff in the works? Priceless.
It's all just ideas floating around in my head at this point. But yeah, at least some vignettes and things. Hopefully. Sometime.
no subject
Date: 2009-08-15 06:05 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-08-15 07:00 pm (UTC)So true! IMO, he is by far his best when he's interacting with other characters, particularly the ones he cares about. I think that's part of why I found him a little frustrating in S4 and Ats S5 - he didn't have anyone to care about, and it kind of left him at loose ends.
Thank you so much for the comment!
FIC: Seraph (17/23?)
Date: 2009-12-19 11:01 pm (UTC)The Scooby meeting helped, they really found a possible solution (*gg* @ Anya and her nail kit.)
Good for the little one.
Re: FIC: Seraph (17/23?)
Date: 2010-01-01 02:19 pm (UTC)Hee. She doesn't get a lot to do in this fic, but I tried to sneak her in when I could. She is just so much fun.
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Date: 2011-04-07 10:28 pm (UTC)Perfect and wondering and reading on!!!
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Date: 2011-04-08 12:13 am (UTC)