Rating: PG so far
Spoilers: Up through season 6 (before Gone—was it Smashed or Wrecked?) for Buffy and season 3 (Daddy episode) for Angel.
Pairings: Spike/Buffy mostly, some Angel/Cordelia, I guess
Feedback: I’d really appreciate it. My second try at fanfic.
Distribution: Couple of mailing lists. FanFiction.Net
Disclaimer: All characters belong to Joss Whedon and Co. and no harm was meant in writing this piece. Only the idea is mine.
Summary: If the WB and UPN hadn’t declared “mortal enemy” status, we would have seen how the characters in both shows would have reacted to what was happening in the other show. I wanted to know. I made it up.
Cordelia touched the baby’s hair with one hand, marveling at the softness. She wondered idly if Angel’s hair would be this soft if he didn’t use so much gel. Was this what he looked like over 200 years before, in his own crib? She couldn’t imagine Angel as a teenager, let alone an infant. But if he had been anything at all like his son, his mother must have loved him very much. Until he sucked her dry, she thought, cringing.
Conner’s eyes opened a slit and he started crying when he didn’t see his father. Cordelia stepped back from the crib. She knew she wouldn’t be able to console the baby. She walked out of the room to get Angel, turning the corner and running right into his broad chest. He put his hands on her shoulders to steady her.
“What—” he began.
“He just woke up. Nothing’s wrong,” she assured him. She saw the panic that had been building in his gaze die down. She touched one of his hands that was still holding her shoulders, hoping to give comfort.
He gently brushed past her and entered his son’s room. Cordelia followed slowly behind, allowing them some space. He reached Conner’s crib, leaned over, and allowed the demon’s visage to take over his human mask. Almost immediately, the baby stopped crying. Angel smiled, his fangs glistening in the soft bedroom light. He leaned over and picked up his son. The baby reached a tiny hand toward his father’s features, eyes wide.
Nobody knew why Angel’s demon face was the one thing guaranteed to calm the baby. Any normal child would be terrified of the yellow eyes and ridged forehead. Not to mention the big pointy teeth. But Conner wasn’t exactly a normal child. They weren’t quite sure what he was yet. But his father’s true face quieted him when nothing else would.
Angel pulled a bottle from his back pocket and sat down on the sofa. He arranged Conner more comfortably in his arms and put the nipple in his mouth. As the baby’s attention shifted away from his father and onto the bottle, Angel’s features shifted back to human. He glanced up at Cordelia leaning in the doorway and smiled.
“Sit?” he asked, nodding his head at the seat next to him. He watched her walk toward him. Her form fitting long-sleeved green top rode further up, showing even more of her flat, tanned stomach. She had the infuriating habit of wearing these short, tight tops, with even tighter hip-hugging pants. It was enough to drive any man insane. Their eyes met and locked. By the look in her dark gaze and the more pronounced swaying of her hips, she knew the affect she had on him.
And then there was a different look. She stopped suddenly and pain clouded her vision. She grabbed onto her head with both hands, let out a long, loud moan and slumped to the floor, unconscious.
“Cordy!” Angel cried.
* * *
Angel hurried down the stairs of the old hotel he called home. He entered the area off the front lobby that they used as offices. He carried a diaper bag in one hand, a black duffel bag in the other, and a green duffel hanging by a strap over his shoulder. He put all three down and looked at the others gathered around the room. Cordelia entered the room behind him, much more slowly, carrying Conner.
Fred looked up from her seat in front of the computer. Wesley was leaning against the desk next to her, watching what she had on the screen.
“Yes, that’s—” he stopped when he noticed Fred’s attention had gone elsewhere. He looked over to Angel, saw the bags, and immediately stood up straight and alert. “What is it? Is there trouble? Someone for Conner?” He made a move toward the door. “Vampire or demon? I’ll just grab some weapons—”
“Wes.” Angel had moved over to his desk to pocket his cell phone. His black trench coat flowed out around him.
“Hmm?” Wesley asked, distracted. He was almost out the door.
“No trouble. Calm down.”
“Oh. Right, then.” Wesley saw how Cordelia leaned near the doorway, one hand firmly around the baby, the other held gingerly to her temple. “Cordelia? Was it a vision?” he asked, concerned.
“That, or someone just stuck a spike through my eyeball,” she answered softly. She shifted the baby to her other arm.
Fred got up from the computer. “Let me take him. You sit down, okay?”
Cordelia handed the cooing baby over gratefully. Angel was in too much of a hurry to think about how weak she was right now. She sank into the seat that Fred had vacated, brushed a hand through her dark, shoulder-length hair and sighed.
“Well, what’s the trouble? How much time do we have?” Wesley asked.
“It’s Buffy,” Angel said.
“Oh,” Fred breathed. She looked down at the baby in her arms and bounced nervously up and down.
Cordelia glanced over at her. She knew how Fred felt about Angel. The poor girl had been obvious about it from the very start. Even though Fred knew there was no future for her and Angel, she could still get hurt.
“Buffy. Is it serious?” Wesley asked. He had a sore spot, where Buffy was concerned. It was hard to forget her lack of respect when he’d been her Watcher, however briefly. Even if he hadn’t really earned it, he thought to himself.
“I don’t know,” Cordelia replied. “It was Spike.” Again, she looked at Fred. “You don’t know him, Fred. Consider yourself lucky.”
Angel added, “Spike is…one of my family.” At Fred’s confused look, he continued. “I sired Drusilla and Dru sired Spike. So he’s kind of like my grandchild.” Fred nodded. “We taught him well, Dru and I. Made him into a vicious killer.” For a moment, he got a proud, faraway look on his face. Then he darkened. “He’s killed two slayers already. He’s been after Buffy for years.”
“If Spike’s back in Sunnydale, it can’t be good. Last time—” Wesley began
Cordelia broke in, “Last time he was here, he tortured Angel. And pretty much liked it.” She brightened for a moment. “Although he was the only one to notice I’d lost weight.”
Fred sat down in another chair. She looked scared. “What…what did you see, Cordelia? Is…she hurt?”
Cordelia shrugged. “Hard to tell. They were fighting. Pretty rough, but that’s nothing new. They brought a house down around them. I couldn’t tell if it was Buffy’s house, or if anyone else was around. It was all too disjointed. Stupid visions should come with some ‘For Dummies’ instructions.” She rubbed her temple again, closing her eyes. “And some aspirin would be nice.”
“We’re going,” Angel said simply.
“Oh, of course,” Wesley agreed. “Just let me pack a satchel.” He moved toward the door again.
Wesley looked at Angel, confused. “But—”
“Cordelia and I will go. I’m not leaving Conner here, not with who knows what after him. Cordy will come to help with him. You two stay here. If we need you or Gunn, I’ll let you know. This is personal.” For a moment, his eyes flashed yellow with that feral look—Angelus’ look.
Wesley nodded. “Yes, quite. We’ll stay here, then.”
Angel walked over to Fred and gently took his son. He placed a hand under her chin and looked into her eyes. “I’ll be back before you know it. Don’t worry.”
“I know.” She dropped her eyes shyly. This Spike character sounded deadly. But she knew Angel could handle whatever was thrown at him. “Bye!” she said, forcing some cheerfulness into her voice.
Angel handed the baby back to Cordelia. She stood without assistance, obviously feeling better. He grabbed their bags and they left for Sunnydale.
* * *
“Ew. Give this boy a breath mint!” Buffy muttered as she pushed the vampire off of her and got to her feet. The vamp snarled, pushing himself to his knees. She didn’t hesitate; she kicked him in the stomach, hard. He flew a few yards away, landing on his back. She rushed to his side and drove Mr. Pointy home. “Dusted,” she said.
There was the sound of clapping from behind her. She whirled around, stake poised, and assumed a fighting stance. She relaxed when she saw who greeted her.
“Nice job, Slayer.”
“Spike. What do you want?” she asked tiredly. She really wasn’t in the mood for him right now. She put her stake away and brushed the dust from her leather jacket.
“Just enjoyin’ the show, pet,” he said. He smirked and raised his scarred eyebrow suggestively.
“Go away.” With that, she turned on her heel and walked away from him, toward the exit of the cemetery. She’d only gotten a short way when he fell into step beside her. She glanced over at him and scowled. “Was it the ‘go’ or the ‘away’ that you failed to get?”
“I just heard what you really meant.”
“Oh, yeah? And what was that, oh wise one?” She walked faster, hoping he’d get tired of following. His taller legs kept pace easily.
“Come here,” he said, in a bad imitation of her voice. He thought a second then added, “Sexy.”
She stopped walking and took a deep, steadying breath. “I don’t have time for this.”
He was looking at her curiously, waiting to see her next move. She didn’t disappoint. She punched him in the face, almost breaking his nose. He staggered back, raised a hand to his bleeding nose and grinned. So that was how she wanted to play, was it? He could handle that.
She turned to walk away again. He kicked her in her side and she fell forward, face in the dirt of a fresh grave. She sprang to her feet, landing a roundhouse kick in the middle of his chest, followed immediately by a fist in his eye. He recovered quickly and threw her into the wall of a mausoleum. She smacked her head, hard.
He watched as she caught her breath, ready to defend himself. “What s’matter, Slayer? Too much for you, am I?”
She stood up straight but made no move to attack. Her expression became hard, determined. “Not enough, Spike. Not even close.”
His cocky grin wavered at her words. How she managed to hurt him over and over, he’d never know. “Right, then.” He turned toward his own crypt and said over his shoulder, “I’ll leave you be.”
She felt a twinge of remorse. “Spike.”
He stopped, but didn’t turn to face her. “Yeah, luv?” he said quietly, cautiously. Ready for his undead heart to be ripped to shreds.
“I just…I can’t. I can’t give you what you want.” She took a step toward him as he turned around. Her expression asked his understanding. “It’s just not in me. Not now. Not anymore.” She shrugged her shoulders, defeated.
“Oh, but it is, pet. Give me a chance; I’ll show you how much.”
“No. I can’t. It’ll destroy me.” She touched a hand to her temple. It was wet with her blood. She was exhausted. It was so hard just going day to day. She couldn’t handle anything more than that.
Spike nodded, his eyes sad. “When you are, you know where to find me, Buffy.” He turned and walked away.
She watched him go, not moving. She couldn’t take what he offered. She wasn’t strong enough.
Continued in Part Two