Spike crawled slowly across the floor on his hands and knees. His eyes never left the prey he
was stalking. He could hear people talking, but he ignored them, concentrating on his goal.
"I don't know what to do, Buffy."
"There's gotta be something, Angel. A spell. A curse. Something that made this happen!"
"We've been looking, Buffy, but so far, it doesn't look good. I've gone through all the
spellbooks I have and some of the ones I'm not suppose to have-"
"But if we ever need to talk to our houseplants, see Willow."
"I'll remember that, Oz."
Quiet, quiet, must be quiet. Silent stalking. Light on the feet. No noise, no noise. Angel said to
make no noise. Tip-toe, toe-tip, tip-toe through the tulips.
"It was the Slayer that my Spike's thoughts were on."
"Great, here we go again. Drusilla, I did not do anything to him."
"My Angel, the naughty Slayer is all wrong. She took my Spike and made his head into mush.
Miss Edith doesn't like that."
"God, Angel, why is she here again? I should have staked her the moment she arrived."
Spike stopped crawling and lowered his face near the carpeting, staring intently at his prey. His
rear wiggled from side-to-side as he prepared to pounce, just like a cat. With a small growl, he
pushed off with his knees and leap at his prey, catching it between his hands.
"We're not helping Spike by arguing."
"Giles is trying to get hold of some old vampire anatomy and physiology books. Maybe there's
something in there that we haven't been able to find on the Internet."
"Plus, the doctor should call soon."
"Vampires getting CAT Scans and MRIs. Next they'll be in line for a heart transplant. Argh!
This makes me so mad!"
"Buffy, getting yourself worked up isn't going to help, either."
"I know that, Angel, but look at him. Spike's acting like a child."
Spike batted the balled up sock between his hands, then grabbed it and turned over onto his back,
holding it against his chest. He sighed and closed his eyes. He'd heard his name. He wondered
why they were talking about him. Talking, talking, forever talking. Yelling, fighting, moping,
crying. Sad, not happy.
He opened his eyes and turned his head. He could see the little witch and the little werewolf
sitting on the couch. Willow and Oz, that was their names. Names, games, he liked games. Dru
sat in a chair in the corner and Angel sat next to her. Little Buffy was pacing back and forth in
front of the table. Back and forth, back and forth, back and forth, back and forth. He was getting
"Little Buffy stop, stop, stop," he said. "Dizzy, sick, not good, not good."
Buffy stopped and looked down at him, sadness etched into her features. "I'll stop, Spike. See?
"Stop, stop, hop on pop," he said. He held up the balled up sock. "Spike caught the bad bloody
"Yes, you did," Buffy said. "You're a good Spike."
"Do you really think we should talk down to him?" Willow asked. "Not talking down, like you
standing and him laying on the floor. But, you know, baby talk?"
"He does seem to understand normal language usage," Oz pointed out.
Spike shifted his gaze to Oz when he spoke. He frowned. "The little werewolf doesn't have
green hair. It's yellow. Like my blanket. I like my blanket. Soft, soft, so nice and soft."
"Yeah," Oz said. "I changed it again."
Red hair, yellow hair, brown hair, brown hair, blond hair. What color hair did he have? Spike
grabbed a lock of his hair and tried to pull it down where he could see it, with little success. He
gave up after a few tugs and turned to watch the others again.
"Ugh, it's three already. I guess we'd better get going," Buffy said. "I still have an English paper
I have to write that I'm so not in the mood to do."
"Yeah, we should keep researching," Willow said, standing. Oz stood as well.
"I'll be by tomorrow, er, later, to take over for you, Angel," Buffy said. She glared at Drusilla.
"Keep Miss High-and-Insane indoors."
"I will, Buffy," Angel said with a sigh.
Buffy nodded, then walked over to Spike and crouched down beside him. "You be good for
"Good, good, always good for little Buffy," Spike replied. He dropped his voice to a secretive
whisper. "If I'm good, do I get a kiss? Miss, kiss, Miss?"
She leaned forward and kissed him on the forehead. "Goodnight, Spike."
"Night, night, taking flight," he said. Flying away, away. Away from him. Goodbye, little Buffy. Love her, miss her, love her. Buffy, Buffy, Buffy. Don't go. Don't leave.
Buffy smiled at him, then stood and left with Willow and Oz.
"Everyone's going, gone, leaving, gone." Spike turned on his side and curled into a ball, the sock
clutched to his chest. "Leaving Spike behind. No one loves Spike, Spike loves no one, no one.
No, no, no."
"Come on, Spike," Angel said, walking over to Spike. He bent down and put his arms under
Spike's armpits and hoisted him to his feet. "It's time to get you fed and give you a bath."
Bath, bath, bubbles in the bath. Tickled his nose, tickled his toes.
"Bubbles?" Spike asked, still holding onto the sock as Angel led him into the kitchen.
"Yes, you can have bubbles," Angel replied. "Dru, why don't you go and run the bath?"
"Very well, my Angel."
"Everyone in the bath?" Spike said, tilting his head to one side and watching as Angel took blood
out of the refrigerator. Blood, so red, so sweet, so dead. Blood, blood. Daddy's blood.
Mummy's blood. Trickle, gurgle.
"No, just you," Angel answered.
No fun, no fun. Only him in the bath. Only him in the bubbles. Bubbles meant for sharing.
Sharing, caring, sharing, caring. Bubbles, bubbles. Glub, glub, glub. Ducks in the bubbles.
Quack, quack, quack.
"Daddy, why do ducks quack, quack?" Spike asked.
"Because they don't go moo," Angel replied. He ran a hand through his hair. "I don't know.
That's the sound they make when they talk."
"Quack, quack, I'm gonna quack," Spike said. He would talk like a duck. He could talk to the
ducks. Ducks played hockey. Ice, cold, chilly, fun. Quack, quack. "Quack."
"Spike, you're not a duck," Angel told him. "You're a vampire."
"Count Duckula!" Spike exclaimed, throwing his arms up in the air. The sock ball flew and hit
Angel in the face. Spike began giggling wildly. "Funny, funny, I hit Daddy. Don't get mad, get
glad, not sad."
Angel glowered at him and he immediately dropped to the floor and pulled his knees to his chest.
Daddy was going to hit him. Bad boys got hit. Bad boys got punished. He was bad, bad, bad.
"Bad, bad. I'm so bad. I'm sorry, I'm sorry, don't hurt me, Daddy. Daddy, Dad. Bad Spike.
Spike is bad. Bad boys get hit. Hit, hit, hit 'til it bit. Don't cry, don't cry, Daddy don't like it
when you bloody cry."
Spike rocked back and forth slightly, hugging his knees. Angel crouched down in front of him.
"I'm not going to hit you, Spike."
Bad, Dad, sad, mad. Hurt, it hurts, so bad, so bad. He wanted little Buffy. Buffy little. Come
back, come back. Don't leave me. Sweet little Slayer. Love him, kiss him, hold him. Soft, soft.
Blanket soft. Blanket Buffy. Buffy blanket.
"My Angel, the bath is ready."
"Thanks," Angel said. He reached forward and tilted Spike's chin up until blue eyes met brown.
"Are you hungry?"
Hungry, starving, empty. Spike nodded. Angel reached up to the counter and took down a white
container. He removed the lid and held it out to Spike. Spike eyed it warily, then took it from
him. When the scent of blood hit his nostrils, his face changed, and he greedily drank it down.
"Empty, all gone, no more, no more," Spike said when he finished. He held out the empty
container to Angel.
"I think you got more on you than in you, Spike," Angel commented, taking the container from
him. "Time for your bath."
On, in, on, in. In, out, in, out, in, out. Naughty, naughty. Bath time. Naughty in the bubbles.
Bath time with Buffy. Buffy, Buffy, naughty Buffy. Where was his little Buffy?
"Dru, can you give me a hand?" Angel asked, leading Spike towards the bathroom.
"But Angel, all my Spike wants is that bad Slayer," Drusilla whined from behind them. "I don't
like her. She makes me all icky."
Icky, sticky, picky. Dru was picky. No tea, no tea, Miss Edith a bad dolly. Spike stopped in the
bathroom and stared at the mound of bubbles in the tub. He was prevented from jumping inside
immediately by Angel's hand on his belt.
"If you leave, I won't stop Buffy from staking you," Angel warned. He grabbed the hem of
Spike's t-shirt and yanked it over his head.
"Fine," Drusilla said. "Miss Edith and I will be watching the telly. Won't we, luv?"
Sigh, sigh, Daddy sighed. Not happy, not sad. Bubbles in the bath.
Angel turned Spike around and quickly divested him of his jeans. "Why did I ever make you
two?" he muttered.
"You, two, you, who?" Spike asked.
"Never mind," Angel sighed. "Get in the bath, but don't..." Spike jumped into the tub and water
went everywhere, especially on Angel. "Splash."
Spike leaned back against the porcelain and gathered the bubbles around him so only his eyes
were showing. He glanced over at Angel, who had sat on the closed toilet, and was watching
him. With a little giggle, his hand slipped under the water and he touched himself.
"Spike, don't do what I know you're going to do," Angel said.
"What?" Spike said. "Do, do, I'm not going to do. Nothing, nothing. I'm a good boy."
His left hand slowly began to move up and down, and he bit his lower lip, his blue eyes wide as
he tried to look innocent. He was a good boy. Good, good, felt so good. Needed little Buffy.
Buffy would feel good. So very, very good.
Angel sighed, rubbed his eyes, then dropped his head. "Maybe I'm still in hell."
Hell, oh hell, bloody hell. Felt so very good. Nice, nice, nice. Being bad felt so good. So very
good. Yes, yes, yes. Little Buffy where are you? Bubbles and Buffy, Buffy and bubbles.
Naughty Buffy, Buffy being naughty.
Spike growled as he came, filling the bath water with his semen. He looked up at the ceiling, still
biting his lower lip. He was a bad boy. Good boys didn't do that in the bathtub. Daddy was
going to be mad, mad, Dad. He glanced over at Angel, a fearful look in his eyes.
Angel shook his head and sighed again. "I don't know why I put up with this. Looks like bath
time's over, Spike."
Over, over. No more bath. No more bubbles. All done, all gone. Down the drain. Swirl, swirl,
Spike stood and stepped out of the tub at Angel's prompting, then dried with a big, fluffy towel.
He liked the towel. It was soft like his blanket. So very soft. Buffy soft. Soft as Buffy.
Angel led him to his bedroom and dressed him in a pair of boxers, then put him in bed. Spike
curled down under the yellow blanket that Angel pulled over him and stared Angel with hopeful
eyes. "Daddy, story, story, Daddy?"
Angel sat down in the chair next to the bed. "What kind of story do you want tonight?"
"Little Buffy story, Buffy," Spike replied, with a grin. "Love little Buffy story, love."
"Now, how did I know you were going to say that?" Angel said.
Spike pulled the blanket up and rubbed the soft material under his chin. Soft, soft, so very soft.
Like his little Buffy blanket. "Buffy soft, soft little Buffy," he said and nodded.
"Yes, Buffy's very soft," Angel agreed. He leaned back in the chair. "How about tonight I tell
you about the day she was called."
"Call? Fall, mall, call? Phone call?" Spike asked. Ring, ring, the phone went ring. He answered
with hello and then he would sing. Ding-a-ling-a-ling.
"No, this is a different type of calling," Angel corrected. "This was the day she was told she was
the Chosen One. The day she learned she was the Slayer."
"Slayer, Buffy, little Buffy Slayer. She's bloody good, so good, so good. Can't kill the Slayer,"
Spike said. "Love little Slayer. Love little Buffy."
"Are you ready to listen?" Angel asked. Spike pressed his lips together and nodded. Angel
folded his hands in his lap and began. "Once upon a time, there was a little girl named Buffy..."