Demon Child

By Weasy

Rating: PG

Disclaimer: If I owned the rights to Buffy and Co stuff like this would have happened more often and stuff like C/A would never happen.

Summary: Fluffy B/A future-fic: Spike's babysitting… with potentially fatal consequences.

AN: Answer to first assignment from Buffy Survivor. It's exactly 1000 words! A limit of 1000 words is officially scarily difficult to stick to.

Never heard of Buffy survivor? the link is up on my Bio page.

Spike really needed a cigarette. He was standing at dusk on the Summers' porch, watching the cat hiss at him from the doorway. Seeing a flash of brown hair streak out the house and past him, he smirked in the dusk.

Readying himself, he braced his knees for the impact. It hit him a moment later, a four year old bundle of sugar high and super-strength that really ought to be on Ritalin by now. Iris grinned up at him. "Unnnncle Spike!"

He eyed her suspiciously. "Demon child." The reply was customary, an in-joke between the two of them sustained mostly because Angel hated it so much.

"Mom said you're babysitting me tonight!" She told him excitedly. Spike dropped her with a thump back to the floor.

"Buffy!" He yelled into the house.

She appeared a moment later, casually dressed in jeans and one of Angel's shirts. Putting on a hard face he glared at her. "What exactly did the lil' munchkin mean when she said I was babysitting?"

Buffy just smiled, picking up Iris she settled her on her hip and carefully covered up Iris' ears. "She never ever goes to sleep!" She said desperately. "Please Spike!"

One scarred eyebrow lifted. "I'm meant to look after the brattling just 'cos you and the poof can't contain your desperate desire to shag."

Buffy smiled innocently at him. "I'm sure you remember what that feels like… oh no, hang on how long is it since Druzilla left you?"

Spike's scowl deepened. "Fine, if it'll get you out of my pitiless existence for one night I'll do it."

Buffy shot him a real smile and pressed a kiss to his cheek. Releasing her grip over Iris' ears she deposited her safely into Spike's grip. "These ears are minor… And no teaching her poker."

Jumping down, Iris bounced up and down on the balls of her feet, one strong hand dragged him into the house. "We're gunna have a tea-party Spike! With Biggles, and Barbie and Ken…"

"Aren't you meant to be having your bath?"

"We ran outta Bubble-bath and mommy said I wasn't allowed to put Biggles in the bath anymore so it's no fun!" She complained in one puff of frustrated air.

Spike really wanted a cigarette.


An hour later Angel had arrived looking crisp and coifed and, gay - damn him, as ever. Spike was sitting at the bottom of the stairs and found some modicum of satisfaction in the way Angel glowered at his presence. "Tell me you're not looking after Iris tonight."

"And what's it to you if I am Angelcakes?"

Angel stalked across the room, and pulled Spike to his feet by his trench coat, and shoved his face in his. Spike just smirked at his ex-Sire's half growl, "Not quite as scary without the fangs." he teased.

Buffy's giggle was enough to make them both twist to face her. Laughing eyes regarded them from on high. Spike felt himself fall against the banister as Angel let go off him and turned to breathe in Buffy's presence. An almost tangible connection that spiralled through the two. Eyes catching, they were lost in a world were only they and the little bundle of Satan they named Iris existed. Mounting the steps, Angel moved to greet her, one hand instantly wrapping around her waist, while he brushed a soft kiss to her forehead. "Ready?" He whispered into her ear and she nodded, her fingers dancing along the edge of his jacket, before making the way up his arm to play with the hairs at the back of his neck, in a serious of feather light touches. Angel was cradling her head in his hand, mindless of her hair as he pressed a series of kisses to her jaw-line.

For a moment Spike thought Buffy was going to say: 'Screw the whole going out thing, let's just do it here!' but Angel pulled away smirking his patented half-smile at her lust-blackened eyes. "I'll just say night to Iris then we should go." He finally voiced, his voice cracking from the strain of talking normally. Shooting a dark look at Spike, Angel padded down the hallway in search of his daughter.


Angel's cell was vibrating in his jacket pocket when the wine arrived. Sharing a worried look with Buffy he left the table, fetching the cell from its hiding place even as he did so. They'd barely been gone an hour Spike couldn't be calling to cite the benefits of 'Just Saying No!' yet; something was wrong.

Picking up he growled "Angel," into the handset.

"Now is that really anyway to be answering your phone? What if it was that prissy Art Critic that loves you so much?"

"Why exactly are you calling me?"

"Nothing, nothing, just want to check up, see how the date's going. So… do you think you've scored?"

Angel said nothing for long moments. "Tell me what you did or die and rot in hell."

"Ah, now, you don't want that, then lil' Iris would be home alone. Besides I'm already dead."

"Spike…" Angel trailed off threateningly.

"I just wanted to check… you know that old photo album, the one with all blondie's pictures of the wedding…"

"Yes." Angel supplied, suspicion tight in his voice.

"You weren't planning on keeping that where you?" Hearing Angel drawing in breath to yell bloody murder at him he hurried on. "'Cos Iris and I would never have had it in the kitchen, where there definitely hasn't been a small fire resulting from trying to make Apple Pie with cat food… and I definitely wouldn't have tried to put it out with water, and it definitely didn't spread into the hallway, and the fire-service definitely weren't called and that particular album definitely wasn't ruined by that weird white foam-y stuff they use to put out fires these days…" he finished in one big rush.

There was a long pause before Spike heard the roar of a car engine over the line.