chapter 24
 

a/n-whoa it's been a while! I don't think I ever gave an explanation to what Chuck E. Cheese is. Basically it's a pizza place that is geared for kids that is the most insane place you've ever been to.

    After his initial disgust at the hordes of unsupervised kids running around, Buffy watched as Spike look of disgust turned mildly accepting.

    They had settled into the Toddler Zone and within an acceptable timeframe, their pizza and chicken wings were delivered by another pimply face teen. Throughout the meal, Spike had continually winced with every high pierced scream that came at him from all directions until Buffy finally handed him a napkin and told him to use it to make makeshift earplugs.

    While first protesting, Spike finally gave in and stuffed wads of paper in his ears, sighing with relief when his acute sense of hearing was not continually traumatized.

    After they had eaten, Spike glanced at Buffy with trepidation when she handed him a cup full of tokens and told him to go play some games with Blake. He looked down into the cup before looking back at her with a truly suspicious look on his face, eyeing the ridiculous games around them.

     But Blake's enthusiasm had him containing his snide comments and Buffy watched with amusement as he headed for some of the machines positioned around the more sedate backdrop of the Toddler Zone.

    But after a few minutes, Spike came back to the table with a scowl on his face. "These machines bloody rob you blind."

    "No twicketss," Blake grumbled, matching his daddy's look.

    "That's right. They don't give you any tickets, do they Blake?" Spike asked his son.

    "No, dey don't," Blake said mournfully.

    It was another moment where Buffy realized how truly advanced her son was, knowing that most children his age wouldn't be aware that the other machines in the place rewarded those who played with a varying amount of tickets, which could then be redeemed for an assortment of prizes.

    Of course Buffy didn't know how much influence Spike had over this particular observation either.

    "Want twickets." Blake's petulant look turned pleading as he looked at his daddy. "Pweese?"

    Never one to resist that particular look on his son's face, Spike's face became determined. "Bloody right we'll get some tickets."

    Buffy watched as he strode purposefully out of the safe haven of the toddler zone into the manic frenzy of the main arcade, his son safely ensconced in his arms.

    She shook her head and sat back to finish the rest of her lunch, the appetite of a toddler not giving her the time to appreciate it fully.
 

    Twenty minutes later, Spike still had not returned with their son and Buffy finally stood up to go look for them. She had quickly become bored and not just a little irritated that every mother that had settled around her since their departure seemed to be of the same yuppy mold, never raising their voice or looking ruffled at anything. She had long since found that this type of parenting bugged her, from their conservative clothes right down to their obnoxious offspring that could do no wrong in their eyes.

    It didn't escape her notice either the glances to her ring finger, disapproval clearly evident on faces that had the application of natural makeup down to a science.    </>   

    She so had to get out of there.   </>

    What should have been an easy task turned into an ordeal with the Saturday crush of birthday parties but Buffy finally managed to locate the two men in her life crowded against the back wall, intent on the game they were playing.

    And she had to take a moment to smile.

    Identical looks of determination were set on both of their faces and it just illustrated their almost uncanny resemblance, finding her eyes suddenly tearing up. Buffy could feel her heart expand and lurch just a little bit more at the sight of them; this was her family. Spike had given her this little boy and then had turned around to offer her his love, defying everything he was genetically disposed to in order to do so. 

    He had killed his vampire family to protect them and the reality of that ultimate sacrifice and show of devotion suddenly humbled her. Oh yes, he had her love.

    "Mommy!" an excited voice called out to draw her out of her reflective melancholy. "Look! Twickets!" A chubby finger pointed to the floor next to the machine where an impressive array of tickets were falling out of the slot.

    A happy and content look stole over Buffy's face as she closed the distance that separated her from the loves of her life. "I see that! Very impressive."

    Spike threw her a smirk and held out his hand in the direction of his son. "Ball," he commanded, watching as Blake took the next ball out of the compartment and handed it to him, his face a mask of seriousness. "Thank you, son."

    "So this is a group effort, I take it?" Buffy asked, amused by the intensity with which they were going about it.

     "Got that right," Spike said distractedly as he lined up his shot. With a quick flick of his wrist, the ball traveled up the short lane and popped right into the 100 point slot.

    "Good, daddy."

    Spike merely smiled and held out his hand again which his son promptly filled with another ball. Using the same technique, the ball once again landed neatly in the 100 point slot and the tickets continued to pour out.

    When he turned a smug look in her direction, Buffy rolled her eyes. "You do realize this is a child's game, don't' you?"

    He merely shrugged. "Don't see many children playing it, do you?"

    Buffy looked and discovered Spike was right. Of the ten lanes, only five were being used and beside Spike, the other four were obviously housewives-all with that same determined look on their face.

    With her own shrug, Buffy took up position in the lane next to her boys and ignored Spike's grumble about her delving into 'his bloody tokens' and an unofficial competition began.

    Blake was in his glory. The tickets never stopped flowing and he was the official ball boy and his giggles were infectious.

    By the time they left, Spike had to admit that for what had started out as something potentially horrifying, it had turned into one of the best times he had spent with his family.

    His real family, he amended. His only family.

    And Blake had got to pick out quite a nice prize as well with the vast number of tickets he and Buffy had accumulated. Not a bad deal, that.

    Of course he blocked out how much money he and Buffy had spent in order to win all those tickets. That was something that just ruined the moment.

     *******

    The next few weeks passed by smoothly, no trips to the hospital or kidnappings to interrupt the usual flow of events. A fact that had Buffy sighing with relief. She had enough trauma in her day to day life just by being the Slayer; she really didn't need to add further to that.

    After Spike had almost her to his vampiric family, he insisted on patrolling with her, refusing to even let her step foot outside the house without his presence, her very own demonic bodyguard. 

    And Buffy was sooo okay with that.

    Besides, it gave her a chance to really talk to him, finding that he liked to open up while stalking the cemeteries by filtered light of the moon. Of course they stopped for some smoochies but had soon found that potentially dangerous. When Spike would touch her in an intimate way, everything else just fell away until there was only him and the way he made her feel.

    Not so much with the good for keeping on your toes against the threat of evil.

    So they decided to make patrol smoochy-free and that allowed for a whole other avenue of 'getting to know each other' to commence. Buffy soon came to the conclusion that she didn't just love Spike.

    She liked him too.

    He made her laugh. He made her think.

    And he made her realize just how lucky she was that she had him in her life.

    For what had started off as something sinister and horrifying, Buffy continually found herself amazed at his depths, his level of caring.  She didn't even question how much he loved her-loved them. She could feel it.</>

    And because of that, Giles' startling lack of producing anything to explain the conception that had occurred failed to bother her. As far as she concerned, no news was good news. He had tried to give her some books that explained claiming rituals but she refused to read them.

    At this point in time, she found she just didn't care. Spike had tried to explain a few times, but Buffy found herself not wanting to know, more than content to bask in her ignorance.

    Because it just didn't' matter.</>

    Graduation was coming up the soon and Buffy found herself more than ready to leave that part of her life behind, feeling years older than her peers already with having been the slayer and a mother these past years.

    There had been no discussion regarding what the future was going to bring after graduation and neither her mom or Spike had mentioned anything about it. Buffy had made it very clear that she was not giving college a consideration at this time and her mom was smart enough not to argue about it.

    Joyce had time to work on her daughter and for now was content to let her choose her own path. She was not blind to the emotions that had rapidly built between her daughter and Spike and it brought a smile to her face daily to see her daughter so happy.

    As far as Spike himself, he had more than proved himself to her. The brutal reminder of exactly what he was would always haunt her as would the scars on her neck, but the fact that he had protected them above everything else was very clear in her mind.

    So with graduation a few days away, Joyce found herself with much to do. After learning of Willow's parents extended trip to Europe that didn't include an opportunity to see their only child graduate and Xander's less than enthusiastic parents, Joyce was taking it upon herself to include them in the celebration.

    She just hadn't counted on her ex-husband coming to town unannounced.

 

tbc..

chapter 25
 

Thank you soo much for all of the reviews! Obviously my kids aren't bugging me as bad because my muse for this fic has returned, LOL! Thank you to OracleHolly for being my comma police! I was in direction violation (and probably still am, LOL)

 

  Joyce had arranged ahead of time to take the day off from the gallery to work on the elaborate plans that she had been cultivating for Buffy's graduation party, more than determined that her daughter would have one memorable night of recognition. It was something Joyce felt she deserved, decidedly more so than the majority of her graduating class.

    But an early morning phone call foiled Joyce's extensive plans for the day, and she grumbled quite heavily to herself as she moved around the house to get ready for her unexpected day at the gallery.

     Sometimes it just didn't pay to be in charge.

    Buffy had already left for school, and Joyce waited until the very last minute before knocking on her daughter's door to alert Spike that she had to leave. The evening before, she had informed him that he could sleep in because she would be home to get Blake up. It hadn't surprised her that she had heard him downstairs in the wee hours of the morning, eagerly embracing his genetic nocturnal urges.

    "Spike?" she called softly when a repeat tap of the door didn't yield a response.

    When she heard some semblance of a mumble from inside the room, Joyce carefully turned the knob. "Spike, are you awake? I'm opening the door."

    As the door slid open tentatively, Joyce called out again, hoping he was decent.

    He was. Barely.

    He lay sprawled on his stomach in the middle of the bed, the sheet riding low on his hips, hair an unruly mess of curls. Finding herself oddly non-plussed by the reality of seeing an obviously naked man in her daughter's bed, Joyce merely smiled indulgently.

    "Spike, I need you to wake up."

    One bleary eye opened to peer at her before his body suddenly coiled with tension, the implications of Joyce waking him up penetrating through the fog of beckoning slumber. Spike raised himself on his elbows to look over his shoulder in her direction. "What is it? Is something wrong?" he asked, all hint of sleep knocked from his voice by his immediate concern. "Blake and Buffy ok?"

    Joyce nodded her head, trying to keep her eyes from following the sheet that was determined to trail even lower, the barest hint of a pale cheek now visible. "No, nothing is wrong. I just got called into work today and I know I said you could have a break today, but...."

    Spike nodded with understanding, grabbing the sheet with one hand as he turned himself over, effectively covering everything that Joyce didn't need to see.  "Right. Don't worry, I've got the boy."

    "Thanks. Blake isn't up yet so maybe you can get a little more sleep."

    Spike ran his hand through his hair, fingers parting the errant curls. "Nah. I'll get up."

    Joyce smiled gratefully and said her goodbyes, closing the door to the darkened room and headed off to the gallery.

    Spike lay there for a moment after he heard Joyce's car back out of the driveway when the sound of a slight whimper echoed through the walls that separated from his son's bedroom reached his ears.

    Jumping out of bed, he quickly pulled on his jeans and made his way to check on his boy. With his acute sense of hearing, he was well versed in every sound Blake made and this was not one that he could recall hearing before.

    He found his son laying limply on the bottom of his crib, his favorite blankie clutched tightly in his hands as he looked up at his daddy with droopy eyes rimmed with dark circles.

    "Daddy," Blake whimpered pitifully.

    "Oh Blake," Spike breathed, reaching down to scoop him out and bring him against his chest, quickly coming to panic as soon as he felt Blake's body against his own.

    His boy was burning up.

     Not being well versed in modern medicine with his 120+ years of illness-free existence, Spike found himself utterly helpless and that jacked him off. He was the Big Bad; nothing got him flustered. But the way Blake was lying limply against him was in such direct contrast to his usual vibrancy that Spike found himself at a complete loss.

    When another pitiful whimper reached his ears, Spike was propelled into motion; striding back into the bedroom he had just left.

    Watching Blake's eyes flutter shut and hearing the continued low whimpers, Spike had no qualms about reaching for the phone that was beside the bed. He was out of his depth here, and he was too worried to even try to deny it. Out of sheer desperation, he found himself pushing the speed dial that would connect him with the school library.

    "Sunnydale Library," the clipped voice answered.

    "Rupes, I need your help."

    "Spike? What is it? Is everything alright?"

    "No everything isn't bloody alright! Would I be ringing you if it was?" Spike snapped, then forced himself to calm down. He could do this. "Look, I think Blake is sick, and I don't know what to do."

    "I thought Joyce was going to be home today?" Giles questioned, trying to figuring out why Spike was calling HIM of all people for medical advice.

    "Was supposed to. Had to go open the bloody gallery this morning. She just left a few minutes ago, and I know Buffy is in class, so I called you."

    There was a hint of something in his voice that Giles had only heard on one other occasion, and that hint managed to cut through all the questions that were trying to crowd his brain.

<>    Spike sounded scared.</>

    "Yes well, I am certain we can take care of this," Giles found himself reassuring the vampire on the other end of the phone. "Does he have any symptoms that you know of?"

    "Symptoms?"

    "Yes, Spike. Is he coughing or anything of that nature?"

    Spike glanced down at his still bundle. "No. Just laying here like a bloody corpse, and he feels like he's burning up."

    Even though Spike wasn't able to see him, Giles nodded thoughtfully. "It sounds like he has a fever."

    Spike gave an exasperated snort. "Figured that part out for myself, you git. I just don't know what to do about it, is all."

    Giles reached into the deep recesses of his brain to pluck out the information that had been stored away, basic first aid a necessary requisite from his days at the Council. "I believe he will require some form of anti-pyretic."

    "What in the soddin' fuck is that?" Spike snarled.

    "Ibuprofen or acetaminophen. I am quite certain that there is something of that nature there; perhaps you could go look?"  Giles suggested easily, not letting himself be affected by Spike's attitude.

    "Oh right," Spike muttered, his mind flashing back to the previous week when Blake had fallen and 'gotten an owie' on his knee. Buffy had given him something then.

    Cradling the cordless phone between the side of his head and his shoulder while keeping a firm grip on Blake, Spike went downstairs and opened the cabinet he remembered Buffy rifling through.

    With a sense of relief, his hand closed around a bottle that said 'Children's Motrin,' and he pulled it out. "Got it."

    "Fantastic. Give it to him then."

    Spike's entire body stilled. "How do I do that?"

    "Bloody hell man! Surely you can manage to give your own son some medicine!" Giles exploded, conveniently ignoring the fact that he himself would most likely be at a loss. "Perhaps I should call Buffy out of class."

<>    "No!" Spike bit out determinedly. This was HIS son and he would bloody well take care of him himself, his resolve hardening at that moment.
    </>

    With that resolve came the dim memory of Buffy showing him things he might need while he was watching Blake, and he now remembered her showing him the medicine cabinet and the contents that might pertain to Blake.

    Spike mentally berated himself for not paying more attention at the time, having found he'd had no bleedin' idea what she had been going on about, merely nodding occasionally while he gave her ass a proper oogling. His thought was that he'd just ring Buffy or Joyce for anything he didn't know, Buffy's physical attributes proving far more interesting.

     Spike turned the bright bottle over and saw that a label had been placed on the back with Blake's name written in bold letters. An arrow had been drawn which pointed to Blake's dose, complete with directions on how to administer it.

    Spike suddenly smiled. 

    He threw the phone down and ignored Giles' sputtering. With surprising ease, he managed to get Blake to drink the copiously syrupy fever medication, cringing at its sickening sweet smell. 

    A moment later, Spike grabbed the phone again once Blake had been all medicated. He was feeling particularly chuffed with himself, if truth be told.

    "Shall I retrieve Buffy?" Giles asked, sounding a bit put off.

    "Nope. Got it under control."

    "Well, yes, I'm sure you are quite capable. However I am sure we will need the information regarding the proper dosage required."

    "I already gave it to him."

    A pause. "Oh. Well then, nicely done." Giles sounded thoughtful. "Oh yes, make sure you don't bundle him up with clothes or blankets."

<>    Spike glanced down at the thin garments Blake wore and scowled, having been just about to head upstairs to put something warmer on him. "Why the bloody not? He looks cold." 
    "Because it makes the fever higher, that is why. You put more layers on him, it just raises his body temperature which is quite the opposite of what you wish to happen," Giles imparted, feeling smug himself that he was able to be the expert in the field of fever reduction. "You might also wish to take his temperature so you can monitor the progress of his fever. You will probably have to take it rectally."</>

    Spike held the phone away and stared at it for a quick moment. "No bloody way! I don't need a bleedin' thermometer, you git. Vampire, remember?"

    "Oh yes. Quite handy, really."

    Spike was just about to reply when the doorbell rang, and he barely managed to curtail his heated curses about the interruption, remembering Buffy's lecture about impressionable young ears.

    "Doorbell just rang. Thanks for the help, mate." Without waiting for a reply, Spike pushed the 'end' button, and after shifting his boneless burden around in his arms, he headed for the front door. When another chorus of whimpers reached his ears, his worry grew. He didn't like feeling this way, not knowing if he was doing the right thing for his son. 

    Before he could reach the door, the bell was rung again and Spike ripped it open in irritation.

    "What?" he demanded at the man standing on the other side, a brief flicker of recognition hitting him. Spike took a discreet sniff and the intruder's identification was confirmed.

    "Oh. Uh. Hello. I wasn't aware that Buffy had employed a babysitter," Hank announced, mentally forming his first impression of the man who was holding his grandson, and it was not in the least bit flattering.

    Spike snorted. "Yeah right."  His mouth opened to properly identify himself when he felt a rapid change in Blake's breathing pattern.

    Blake gazed back up at him with haunted eyes and whimpered, "I sick."

    Spike's own frame of mind turned into one of downright panic, and he completely missed the look of utter confusion on Hank's face.  "Shh, it's ok," Spike soothed, shifting him around so he lay against a cooler portion of Spike's chest, remembering Rupert's instructions about not feeding the fever.

    Hank opened his mouth to make an inquiry as to who exactly Spike was, when he was suddenly rendered speechless.

    With absolutely no warning, Hank found himself the unwilling target of Blake's projectile vomiting.

    Hank's eyes widened with disbelief as he stared from his grandson, to the man holding him; Blake's stomach contents dripping off of him to fall to the ground.

    If Spike thought he was worried before, it was nothing compared to what suddenly slammed through him. Vampires didn't vomit, this was beyond his realm of dealing.

    Ignoring the fact that he himself had not come away from the incident unscathed, Spike's eyes frantically found those of Buffy's father.

    "What do I do?" he demanded, not caring that he was close to begging.

    Hank had forgotten much of raising a child, but the horrors of childhood vomit had lingered. The scars of midnight carpet cleanup and load after load of vomit drenched bedclothes were memories that just didn't go away.

    Shrugging out of his ruined sports coat, Hank hung it over the porch rail before turning to the blonde stranger holding his grandson. "We can start by getting him in the bathtub."

    Without waiting for a response, Hank crossed the threshold and disappeared inside, leaving Spike to follow behind in a daze.

    An insane sire, a century worth of murder, torture and evil- he could handle.

    But a sick, vomiting child he could not.

Chapter 26

    By the time Spike had made it as far as the stairs, Blake had succumbed to a fitful slumber in his arms, and Spike turned around and headed for the living room. Lowering himself gently onto the couch, he carefully rearranged his boy so that he lay sprawled comfortably across his chest as he reclined back against the oversized cushions.

    Spike could hear the water running upstairs, but ignored it. Blake needed sleep. Sleep was good. Sleep allowed the body heal, this was something he knew. Sleep would put an end to the pitiful little moans from tiny tortured lungs.

    Except it didn't, he soon realized. Little gasps and grunts reached his ears and dug deep into his heart, threatening to crush it into the petrified hunk of nothing it really was. Every hitched breath was noted and the mask of concern on Spike's face grew. He didn't like this, this soddin' humanity that insisted on taking over. It was painful and harsh.

    Relentless.

    Tortured echoes of past memories slowly bled back into his brain. He alone had been responsible for so much death and horror in the past without any regard to those loved ones that were left behind, and his self-loathing grew. True he had not killed children as a general rule, but he hadn't had a problem with bringing them home for Dru as a special treat; never once caring that a frantic parent was out there wondering what had happened to their baby, their precious child. It suddenly made him physically ill to think of their frantic worry, especially knowing what their child had typically been subjected to before finally allowed a merciful death.

    He was a monster.

    He didn't deserve this second chance. That thought trumpeted through his head; loud and agonizing. Yet he had it anyway. A second chance. Love. A child.

    A family.

    And he would do anything to protect them.

    Hank stood at the bottom of the stairs, a bad feeling trying to crawl its way into his gut. The ravaged look on this man's face just didn't make sense. He couldn't think of a valid reason why a caretaker should be staring down at his grandson with such burning ferocity, and it made him not just a little nervous.

    Determined to get to the bottom of it, Hank stepped into the room, not missing the dangerous look in the stranger's eyes when the blonde head snapped up at his determined approach. There was a hint of something hiding in the schooled gaze that told Hank to tread cautiously.

    "Guess now isn't a good time to get him in the tub." Hank gestured to the sleeping Blake before looking down at himself. "Although I sure wouldn't say no to it."

    Spike looked over and saw Buffy's dad standing there with steaks of puke running down his trousers and chunks of something unidentifiable in his hair, and his lips almost quirked up into a smile. "Yeah, guess the boy got you pretty good."

    "Well, wouldn't be the first time. I think he's just taking after his mother. I remember getting vomited up on several different occasions, if memory serves," Hank commented, still not willing to relax even though the intensity had left the caretaker's face. Hank gave an self-conscious laugh while running his fingers through non-descript, light brown hair, quickly regretting that action when his hand came away sticky and wet. Grimacing, Hank wiped his hand on a clean patch of his shirt. 

    "So... where are Buffy and Joyce?"

    "Buffy's at school, Joyce just left for work a bit ago."

    There was a brief pause.

    "And you are?" Hank finally asked.

    "Spike."

    "And again I ask- and you are?" Hank repeated a bit more firmly, getting the feeling that the other man was dodging something.

    Spike's eyes bored into those of Buffy's father before looking down at his fretting son, his hand rubbing the small, heated back in gentle, soothing circles.

    "The boy's got a bit of something," Spike commented in lieu of a response, finding himself oddly reluctant to reveal his true identity. Something that felt a bit like shame tried worming its way into his already fragile state of emotions, and Spike bit it back angrily. Ok, so this was Buffy's father.  Didn't mean he should bloody identify with him now that they had both fathered children.

    But he had hurt this man's daughter.

    With a heavy sigh, he merely accepted the shame and filed it away with the rest of the emotions he should not be feeling.

    Hank was growing more confused and more concerned as each second passed by. Something still told him to proceed with caution and he suddenly cursed the impulsive act that had prompted his showing up on his ex-wife's doorstep with no warning. He had meant it as a surprise, wanting to repair his fractured relationship with his daughter.

    For all he knew, this man could be completely delusional. Joyce and Buffy could be tied up in the basement- or something worse- and yet here he stood, covered in puke, making conversation when he really should be demanding to know what the fuck was going on.

    And he would have done just that if he thought his grandson was in any danger. But the hands that were gently soothing the boy were reassuring and almost...

    Paternal.

    With a quick intake of breath, Hank studied the man on the couch, his hands fisting tightly as he noticed something that had escaped him up until now.

    Spike heard the slight gasp and his eyes quickly locked on Hank's.

    And that was when Hank knew.

    Blake had this man's eyes. 

     Anger rushed through him, dark and ominous, as he remembered back to the night Buffy came running into his arms, terrified and crying, yet refusing to speak of what had caused her panicked flight.

    But Hank knew one thing that had happened that night.

    That one thing had left her pregnant.

    His daughter had never been the same after that night, and that was the reason Hank had distanced himself from her life.

    Guilt.

    Because of his own selfish needs, he had left her alone that night and she had paid a terrible price.

    And the cause of it was sitting on his ex-wife's couch.

    "What did you do," Hank bit out dangerously, two years of anger and self-recriminations bubbling up and now overflowing. He knew he was right when he saw the stab of guilt and regret shadowing the features that were so like his grandson's.

    "I'm sorry," was all Spike could say, his demon raging at him for apologizing to a HUMAN. Just a few months ago, this man would have been dead the second he dared to speak to Spike in such a manner.

    And now?

    Now Spike knew the helplessness and worry that accompanied parenthood and felt a kinship. He KNEW. And even more, he knew he deserved the anger.

    "You son of a bitch," Hank growled, stepping forward to yank Blake away from him, rage consuming him that this man had defiled his daughter and he didn't even want to think of what else had occurred. How Spike had come to be situated in his ex-wife's house, he didn't know, but he would get to the bottom of it. Of that he was determined.

    But then Blake's eyes fluttered open and his face crumpled, looking worse than Hank had ever seen him. Blake gazed at his grandfather with a slightly dazed and glassy-eyed look before peering up into Spike's worried face.

    "Daddy, I sick."

    Hank watched as Spike's face melted into worry and felt marginally better, gaining some reassurance from that mere observation.

    Spike put aside the answering rage that had built up when Buffy's father had charged him.

    "What should I do?" he asked when Blake began crying.

    Hank's mouth tightened into an angry line, then came to a swift decision. Blake first, kick ass later. Stepping to the couch, Hank felt Blake's cheek with the back of his hand, his mouth now twisting with worry.

    "He's burning up with fever."

    "I bloody know that," Spike snapped, then forced himself to calm down. "I gave him some fever medication not too long ago." He eyed the orange-tinged stains that Hank continued to sport. "Believe you're wearing most of it there."

    Hank opened his mouth to retort, when suddenly the front door burst open and the sound of feet entering the house was heard.

     "Spike?" Buffy called from the front entry way, looking around for her child and lover.

    "In here, pet," he called back, relief overwhelming him that she was here.

    His girl would know what to do.

    "Is Blake ok? Giles said...," Buffy's voice trailed off when she caught sight of who was in the room with Spike, her eyes widening as she realized the implications of his presence.

    "Dad? What are you doing here?" 

tbc...

 

Thank you sooo much for all the reviews I've gotten for this fic!! It makes me soooo motivated to keep working on it (and finish it, by gum)

Chapter 27
 

    Hank whipped around to stare at his daughter, his mind trying once more to make sense of things. His mouth opened to demand an explanation only to be interrupted before any words could leave his mouth.

    "Mommy," Blake whined pitifully.

    "Oh baby," Buffy exclaimed with concern, crossing the room in two steps to sink down next to Spike on the couch. "My poor little tough guy is sick?"

    Blake nodded sadly, then returned  his cheek to its prior position against the hard planes of Spike's chest while he stared up at his mom.

   Buffy smoothed the limp curls back off the little face, her brow furrowing with concern. "Spike, he's burning up."

    "I know." Spike looked down into the drooping eyes of their son. "I tried giving him some of that orange stuff that you had labeled in the cupboard. Good job with that, by the way. Found I hadn't really been paying attention when you were showing me where stuff was."

    Buffy snorted, drawing her legs up under her so she could scoot closer to Spike and Blake on the couch. "Please. I know where your attention was that day, stealth guy." She leaned into his side and began stroking Blake's head. "How long ago did you give him the Motrin?"

    "About ten minutes ago. Problem is, I think your dad is wearing most of it."

    Buffy glanced over at her dad, almost having forgotten that he was even there in wake of seeing how pitiful her son was. Chewing her lower lip, she finally noticed the state of his clothes and grimaced. "Oh god, Blake threw up all over you?"

    "It would appear that way," Hank replied a bit tightly, trying to refrain from demanding answers and explanations to some very obvious questions. He didn't like at all the direction his thoughts were taking.

    "Should have seen it, luv. It was something all right. Almost like a scene right out of the Exorcist. Your dad didn't stand a chance."

    Buffy couldn't help the amused look that stole over her face, which quickly turned subdued when she caught sight of her dad's rigid posture and pressed lips. 

    Finally, he could stand it no longer. "Who exactly is this, Buffy?"

    Both Spike and Buffy's backs stiffened at the hostility present in the heated question, exchanging telling glances.

    "He's my daddy."

    The determination and venom in which Blake imparted that information belied his illness, and Hank was reduced to staring with his mouth agape.

    It had indeed been a while since he had last seen his grandson and he had not been expecting this level of maturity to be present in such a young voice.

    What else had he missed in his self-imposed absence?

    Spike had to work to keep his smirk in check as he watched his son keep a narrowed, steely stare pinned on his grandfather, a challenge clearly being thrown. It did him right proud, it did.

<>    Hank's features softened and he gave Blake a small smile. "Yes, I can see that, Blake. You look just like your daddy."                                             

    Blake gave his grandpa one more look, then nodded. Suddenly his face scrunched up in confusion.

    "Who you again?"

    At that, Spike couldn't help the snicker that escaped, quickly sobering up at Buffy's heated look.

    "That's your grandfather, Blake," Buffy explained patiently.

    Blake shook his head slowly. "I don't knows him."

    "It been a while since he's seen you. You were just a little guy the last time,' Buffy commented gently, but not quite keeping the accusation out of her voice.

    Blake nodded. "Hi Gwanpa."

    Hank couldn't help but smile at the adorable little boy. "Hello Blake."

    Wanting to avoid confrontation, Buffy nudged Spike. "Come on and help me give him some Tylenol for his fever."

    "I thought we just gave him something."

    "You did and he threw it up. Now we're giving him something else." Buffy stood up and arched her eyebrow, clearly indicating for Spike to follow.

    More than content to escape the company of Buffy's father, Spike lumbered to his feet and followed Buffy out of the living room, Blake firmly set in his arms.

    "You do realize you aren't supposed to have him against your bare skin like that, don't you? You're not helping his body temperature there, you know," Hank lectured in a self-righteous tone as they passed by him.

    Spike ignored him and refrained from tossing him a chilling look as he followed Buffy into the kitchen.

    "Stupid git," Spike mumbled.

    Buffy pinned a severe look on him. "Behave. He doesn't know anything, ok? All he knows right now is that you were the cause of some major freakage two years ago and you got me pregnant. I'm sure his brain is working overtime trying to fill in the blanks. You're lucky he hasn't called you out."

    Spike snorted. "Please. Like that scares me."

    Buffy's face gentled. "Spike, I know he's been a jerk but he's still my dad. I need this to be ok."

    And just like that, Spike found himself feeling contrite, nodding to concede to her wishes. "I'll work on it."

    Buffy nodded, knowing without those spoken words that Spike had already gone against his true nature and kept his mouth shut and his fangs to himself. There had been full disclosure on her part regarding how much her dad's self-imposed exile had hurt her and Buffy knew Spike's thoughts on the matter of her father.

    And they weren't flattering.

    But nothing more needed to be said between them as Buffy gave Blake the Tylenol she had poured into a small measuring cup. Blake took it without complaining and Buffy relieved Spike of his precious burden.

    At his questioning look, Buffy answered, "I'm taking him upstairs to change him."

    Spike nodded and watched as his girl swept out of the kitchen, a drowsy Blake perched in her arms.

    Making a mental note to read up on anything that he might need to know about toddler first aid and illness, Spike turned around to put the medications back into the cupboard and wash the tiny cup that had been used.

    With his back to the kitchen entry, Spike tensed when he heard heavy footsteps enter but refused to turn around, instead concentrated on the other dirty dishes that waited for him in the sink.

    "I want to know what is going here," Hank demanded.

    Spike expelled a pent-up sigh and drew out his housekeeping duties, keeping his back to the door. "I'm washing the dishes, is what."

    Spike wasn't surprised to hear the footsteps cross the room or when his arm was grabbed, and he merely let himself be manhandled by this...human. Spike knew her dad had reason to be angry for his part and Hank actually scored some points with him for this hostile confrontation, his demon appreciating the violence.

    You think I can't see what's going on here?" Hank demanded angrily. "I was there that night. I know what you did."

    Spike's brow tipped in sardonic question. "And what exactly did I do?" He knocked Hank's imprisoning grip off of his arm easily as he took a step forward. "Would that be where I took advantage of a beautiful and sweet sixteen year old girl?"

    Spike couldn't help the evil smile that slid over his face at the anger that erupted within the other man. "Because you're right, I did." Ignoring the gasps of pure rage that sounded from the mortal in front of him, Spike continued, "But that beautiful and sweet sixteen year old was just ripe for the picking and do you know why?"

<>    Spike didn't allow Hank an opportunity to answer his rhetorical question. "Because her dad left her all alone in a strange hotel so he could have a quick go with some bimbo with huge tits."   

    The guilt on Hank's face was immediate and Spike's responding smile was mocking. "So yeah, I might have been the monster, I admit it. But you're not exactly guiltless here, you know."

    Hank was torn; fury that this man had admitted attacking his daughter warred with the ever present guilt that he carried around inside of him about that night. "She should have safe," he uttered, knowing the moment the words left his mouth how inane they sounded.

    "Yeah, but she wasn't, was she? So was the precious Missy worth it, Hank?"

    Hank started at the mention of the girl's name he had left his daughter's side for in Vegas two years ago. "Did Buffy tell you her name?"

    Full lips twisted into a smirk. "Didn't need to. Was right there, you know. Saw and heard the whole thing for myself."

    Finally catching on to what Spike was doing, Hank invaded his personal space once again. "I may have left her, but you're still the one who took advantage."

    Now it was Spike's turn to host a look of guilt, but before he could reply, Buffy's voice broke through the smoldering tension. "I leave for 2 minutes and you guys are already getting into it?"

    Hank backed off as he turned to regard his daughter, noting the rigid posture she had adopted.

    "Where's Blake?" Spike asked worriedly.

    "He fell asleep again so I put him in his crib."

    Spike nodded then turned back to the dishes. Damned if he was going to answer Buffy's questions, her dad could field her wrath.

    "Dad, what are you doing?"

    "I'm trying to find out what has been going on here," he attempted, glaring at Spike's turned back.

    Buffy suddenly sighed, finding herself exhausted. "Look, I know it seems weird and all kinds of suspicious, but you're just going to have to take my word for it. Whatever happened between Spike and me two years ago is no longer open for discussion. We have dealt with it, come to terms with it, and have totally moved on."

    Spike turned his head to capture the sincerity of her eyes, not bothering to mask the reaction her words had on him. Her open acceptance of him continued to astound and humble him and he flashed a smile her way.

<>    She allowed herself to return his smile before turning to her dad again. "Got it? It's over and done with."   

    "But Buffy, I saw you that night. He obviously did something to you, something horrible." Hank paused to glare at the man responsible. "In fact, if you want to press charges, I can..."

    "DAD! Did you NOT hear me? I'm not being brainwashed, I'm not being naive. It's just...not important anymore." Drawing herself up firmly, she crossed the room to wrap her arms around Spike's waist. "What IS important is that Spike is my life now and I love him."

    Spike could feel a burst of unbidden tears well up at Buffy's sincere declaration and he bent down to press a kiss onto the top of her head, wrapping his arm protectively around her.

    "I don't like this," Hank announced, watching the tender display. He was having trouble getting past how terrified Buffy had been that night and seeing this easy acceptance just didn't sit right in his brain.

    Buffy's face closed off a fraction. "You don't have to like it. You just have to accept it."

    Hank crossed his arms over his chest. "So what? He's just... been living here? Freeloading off your mother? Is that it?"

    Buffy had to physically restrain Spike from charging. "Not freeloading off anybody," he growled.

    "You are living here, are you not?" 

    A curt nod followed his remark and Hank shrugged his shoulders, preparing to find flaw when Buffy's hard-edged voice barged in.

    "Dad, just stop. I mean, what gives you the right to barge back into my life and pass judgment? You haven't been here, you don't know how things have been. If you can't just accept what I am telling you, then I want you to leave."

    Hank stared at his daughter, trying to find some trace of the fragile girl he remembered.

    But he realized that girl was gone.

    His daughter had grown up, and he hadn't been there to see it.

   With a heavy sigh, Hank did the only thing he could do. He nodded, letting Buffy know that he would not interfere.

    He still didn't like it though.

tbc

Again unbeta'd. I know, what can I say.

Chapter 28

    By mutual consent, the subject was dropped, although Spike caught each and every heated glare good ole Hank sent his way.  He wanted nothing more than to shift into game face in the wake of an attempted covert dirty look and scare the piss of the man, but self-preservation held strong.

    Buffy would be right brassed at him if he gave into that evil impulse, and that is not something he wanted to experience. Ever.

    He had to work hard to feign indifference as he watched Hank stomp out to his car to retrieve his overnight bag, then disappear up the stairs to take a shower as if he owned the place. Another fact which grated on Spike's tightly woven nerves.

    Spike had followed Buffy into their bedroom while she put away a basket of folded laundry, throwing himself dramatically on the bed, stomach first. His demon was pissed and the acute need to introduce himself to Hank in a highly up-close and personal manner was growing stronger by the second. Especially when he saw the sad, distracted manner in which Buffy was behaving.

    Nobody made his family sad. Especially not the supposed head of said family.

    Finally, he couldn't keep his mouth shut any longer. 

    "Tell me again why I can't eat your dad?"

    Buffy stopped mid-stride and looked at him, rolling her eyes at the absurdity of the question. "Because you can't, that's why."

    "Nope," Spike pretended to think, "don't think that answer is going to cut it."

    "Because we're just not going there, ok?" Buffy informed him pointedly.

    "Why not?" Spike allowed his lower lip to settle in a pout, a look he'd adopted from Blake once he saw how highly effective it was.

    "Because we're just not," Buffy replied primly, not able to keep her lips from twitching when Spike threw himself over onto his back dramatically. "Trust me, Spike. My dad and all this Hell-mouthy stuff? So very unmixy. If we're lucky, he'll just leave and we won't have to see him again for a very long time. Because trying to tell him that you're a vampire and Blake is the product of a conception that should never have taken place?" She shuddered at the thought of that conversation.

    Spike just grunted benignly, keeping his eyes closed. He heard a car pull up into the driveway and sat up. "Your mum is home."

    "She is?" Buffy looked confused. "I thought you said she was working all day today."

    "S'what she said." Spike got up and went to open the bedroom door, trying to keep from gnashing his teeth when Hank chose that moment to exit the bathroom.

    "Well, well. All nice and puke-free, I see," Spike announced irreverently, his lip curling back slightly into a sneer.

    Hank chose to shoot a dirty look that wasn't aimed behind his back this time, and Spike answered it with a smirk.

    "Spike!" Buffy hissed from inside the room and he turned his head in her direction. "Knock it off," Buffy informed him, pointing an accusatory finger at him.

    Before Spike could reply, the front door slammed open and the sound of determined heels was heard marching across the threshold.

    "Spike!!! Get down here!"

    "Oops, I do believe I'm in trouble," Spike announced with mock exaggeration, snickering when Buffy rolled her eyes at him. When Joyce's voice once more called his name, Spike hustled down the stairs to greet her.

    "Bloody hell, Joyce. Think maybe you could call for me a little louder? The boy is only trying to sleep and all," he greeted her with as he reached the bottom.

    Joyce whirled on him. "You? You are in some serious trouble, do you know that?"

    "I have no idea what you're talking about," Spike asked, his face the very picture of innocence.

    Joyce smacked him with the papers she had gripped in her hand. "This is what you did," she accused, waving them in his face.

    "What did he do, mom?" Buffy asked, poised at the top of the stairs as she watched her mom smack Spike around.

    Joyce whirled in Buffy's direction, gesturing wildly with the papers in her hand. "This is what he did. He paid off the mortgage on the house," she announced to Buffy in an outraged tone, still unaware that her ex-husband was in the house.

    "And that's bad.....why?" Buffy finally asked, not sure what was with her mom's major freakage and Spike's generous gesture.

    "It's bad because....," she paused momentarily to think up a good reason, "well, because it just is! You don't just go around paying off people's mortgages, that's why!"

    "You paid off the house?" Buffy asked Spike with confusion, peering down at the obvious discomfiture that plagued her vampire lover.

    Spike shrugged uncomfortably. "Well, yeah. I live here, don't I?"

    "You're so sweet," Buffy teased, knowing how much Spike disliked recognition for his good deeds.

    Spike merely glared into his girl's laughing face before scowling at the looming presence of Hank behind her shoulder. "What are you staring at, you git?"

    It was then that Joyce noticed Hank at the top of the stairs behind Buffy. "Hank?"

    He stepped forward and leisurely descended the stairs, briefly offering his ex-wife a quick embrace. "You're looking good, Joyce."

    Her face had hardened into a questioning mask and Hank could feel her disapproval practically sizzle through the air.

    "I came for Buffy's graduation," he informed her quickly.

    "Without letting us know first," Buffy added unnecessarily.

    Hank had the nerve to look abashed. "I just wanted to surprise Buffy. I thought just dropping in would be the best way to handle it. Apparently, I thought wrong."

    "Apparently," Joyce commented, giving her ex a sharp look before redirecting a quizzical gaze to her daughter, just realizing that she wasn't supposed to be home either. "Buffy, why aren't you in school?"

    "Blake's sick. Giles sent a note to me in class after Spike called him, so I came home." Buffy turned to Spike, her eyes widening with sudden realization. "Wait, you called GILES?"

    "Well, yeah. You were in class, Joyce had just left for the Gallery. Who else was I supposed to call?"

    "Is Blake all right?" Joyce asked concerned.

    "Yeah, I think so. He's sleeping right now. He threw up all over dad though. I didn't see it happen, but I saw the not so lovely results."
 

    "Well. Sorry I missed that sight," Joyce commented before breezing into the kitchen, Hank hot on her heels. She turned around sharply and gave Spike one more accusatory look. "And don't think we've finished this little discussion either, Spike."

    "Yes, mum."

    *****

    Once in the kitchen, Hank couldn't help but ask, "So you know about all of this?"

    Joyce threw him a cool, accessing  look. "All of what?"

    Hank gestured wildly into the living room. "That! That little punk that hurt our daughter and got her pregnant!"

    At the accusation that heavily tinged his voice, Joyce bristled. "You have no idea what has gone on here, Hank. Why? Because you weren't here, were you?"

    When she saw the look of guilt enter his eyes, Joyce refused to relent. "No, you weren't. You chose to deal with it by turning your back on your daughter and grandson. It's been a YEAR, Hank. Sending late birthday cards just doesn't cut it, I'm sorry. So don't you come in here and use that tone on me, understand?"

    "But he lives here. YOU didn't see Buffy that night. She was panic stricken, scared out of her mind. He DID something to her that traumatized her so badly, she could hardly even talk. And yet? Here he is, living in this house." He shook his head. "I'm just having trouble understanding this."

    Joyce crossed her arms over her chest and leaned against the kitchen island, the burden of clueing in her typically clueless ex-husband weighing her down. She thought about how she should proceed before realizing it wasn't her explanation to tell.  "I can't talk about this... I just can't."

    Hank looked at her with barely concealed contempt. "Well, nice to see that some things haven't changed, Joyce. You've always been so good at denying when there is a problem. THIS is a problem. I can't believe you can't see that. I mean... you've got our daughter's rapist freeloading off of you and your response? 'I can't talk about it'" Hank began to pace the length of the kitchen.

   "He's not freeloading," Joyce informed him in a steely voice.

    "Oh. Sorry. Right. He just paid off the mortgage, didn't he? Probably money made doing god knows what. Drugs. Robbery. Why stop at rape when there are so many other lucrative crimes?"

    "Hank, just stop."

    "No. I don't think I will. And do you know why? Because this is disturbing. I can see Buffy getting lulled into believing that she is in love with the father with her child-she's young and impressionable, but you?" Hank shook his head in disgust. "You should know better. You're her mother, for christssake. You are supposed to be setting an example."

    "You'd be wise to bloody well shut your gob right about now," a low and quietly lethal voice spoke from the doorway.

    Both heads swiveled around in that direction, neither having been aware of Spike's presence.

    Hank took a step in his direction belligerently. "Well, aren't you just the chivalrous one. What did you do....brown nose your way into Joyce's good graces?"

    Before Hank could process a hint of movement, he found himself slammed back against the refrigerator, kitchen magnets dropping off to litter at his feet. An unrelenting arm across his chest had him pinned; just shy of being painful.

    "Apologize, you git," Spike snarled.

    "Spike," Joyce commanded quietly. "Let him go."

    With an annoyed look in Joyce's direction, Spike fought back his urge to rip Hank's head off and released him, but refused to move out of Hank's personal space.

    His lip curled up into a sneer when Hank drew himself up to his full height in a failed attempt to intimidate the shorter man.

    "Joyce, could you call your boy off, please?" Hank finally ground out rudely.

    And suddenly found his breath caught in his throat when the turbulent blue of Spike's eyes bled into an angry amber.

tbc...

 

Chapter 29

    Spike could feel his facial bones begin the familiar shift, the sudden scent of fear saturating the air hastening the process. He inhaled deeply to savor the sweet smell, unable to help the slow, satisfied grin that lifted the corners of his mouth, thereby introducing Buffy's father to a lethal pair of fangs that had practically ripped from his gums.

    "What in the hell..." Hank gasped, his eyes bulging in disbelief.

    "Now that's the very question, now innit?" Spike mocked, tilting his head to the side as he regarded the man in front of him.

    "Joyce?" Hank's voice was shrill; panic seizing a tight hold on his vocal cords. He risked a quick look in his ex's direction and was horrified by the absence of fear on her face. 'What has been going on here?'

    "Spike." Just one word, softly spoken yet full of intensity. "Let him go."

    "Do you see me touching the git?" Spike tossed back.

     But the mere fact that Hank's exit was blocked by a creature that he couldn't dare admit existed kept Hank frozen in place, no physical restraint necessary on Spike's behalf.

    "Spike, please. Don't do anything you are going to regret later," Joyce advised, finding herself begrudgingly unnerved at this brutal and sinister reminder of what, exactly, was living in her house. This wasn't the Spike she knew.

    "No mom, he's fine." Buffy was framed in the entryway of the kitchen, her brilliant hazel eyes glittering with anger. With deliberation, she stalked across the kitchen and stood next to Spike. She had to fight back her own need for violence after hearing her dad's accusatory comments.

    "So..., dad. You really wanna know why I was all with the freakage that night? Take one good guess."

    Hank's vocal capabilities seemed to have completely deserted him, only able to stare in muted disbelief, his eyes begging her for an explanation that would make what he was seeing make some sort of sense.

    But Buffy found herself unwilling to make it that simple for him. He had abandoned them for his own selfish purposes. For so long, it had just been Blake, her mom and Buffy trying to succeed as a family until that fateful day when Spike came to town to kill her.

    No. Her dad did not deserve the simple explanation.

    She very deliberately nestled into Spike's side, welcoming the arm that banded around her waist and drew her even closer.  

    "What....are....you...?" Hank finally bit out, his brain trying to process what he was seeing.

    Spike snorted rudely and Buffy couldn't help but roll her eyes, going for the cynical approach.

     "Please, dad.  I totally know you've seen vampire movies. I remember watching Fright Night with you over and over."

    Hank shook his head back and forth slowly, not wanting to accept what was right in front of him. "No. Vampires don't exist. There has to be some other explanation."

    "Ooookay. I think someone is in denial, and for once, it's not me," Buffy commented. "Dad, wake up and smell the reality! Look at what is in front of you. I mean, hello! You're acting as freaked out as I was that night! Don't you think that should tell you something?"

    Suddenly, clarity decided to grace Hank with its calming presence, adding a generous portion of incredulity into the mix. A fact that caused Hank to fall back on a familiar defense mechanism; lashing out at what made him uncomfortable.

    Pushing away from his cowed stance against the refrigerator, Hank drew himself up and looked at the pair in front of him, his mouth working overtime to inflict damage upon the couple. "Well, this is just great. Imagine my relief to find that my daughter isn't really involved with a criminal because being with a vampire is just so much better."

    Spike was on him before the last syllable left Hank's lips, his arm a band of steel against Hank's chest, elbow pushing into his neck, as he slammed Buffy's dad against the hard surface behind him. "Oh believe me Hank, I more than fit the definition of a criminal. Want to know how many innocent lives I've taken?" A cruel grin emerged. "Want to know exactly what I feel like doing to you, Hank?"

    "Buffy," Joyce cried, grabbing onto her daughter's arm as she nervously eyed Spike's fangs so close to her ex-husband's neck, memories of her own experience at Spike's mercy vivid in her mind.

    Buffy turned to give her mom a reassuring look. "It's fine, mom. Spike won't do anything that dad doesn't totally deserve."

    At the complete lack of doubt in Buffy's voice, Spike felt his anger suddenly melt away. He dropped Hank and took a step back, demon features fading back to his human form as his expressive blue eyes swiftly found those of the girl he loved. He didn't know exactly what he'd done to earn her trust, but nothing, not even her asshole father, was going to cause Spike to shake her obvious faith in him.

    It suddenly dawned on Spike just how much he had changed. She'd done this to him, and there was nothing within him that needed to rebel against it. And with that revelation, the vampire found a calming strength. 

    "Looks like it's your lucky day, Hank, old man," Spike announced as he turned back to the man he held pinned against the refrigerator. "See, your daughter loves me. And because I love her so bloody much, I'm not even going to hurt you." He gave Buffy's father a chilling look. "But you've had your last warning. You watch your bloody mouth around my family from now on."

    The words left Hank's mouth before he could stop them. "This isn't your family."

    Spike's smile was cruel. "It is now."

    He shoved himself away from Buffy's father, not wanting to touch the foul human a moment longer. Turning to Buffy, his expression softened. "I hear the boy stirring. I'm going to go check on him."

    "I'll come with you," Buffy replied, taking the hand that Spike offered as they walked out of the kitchen.

    Hank merely stood there and watched his daughter exit the kitchen, his hand unconsciously rubbing his neck and chest where he had almost had his last breath squeezed out of him; his brain running in frantic circles. 

    Vampires were real. There was a vampire living in his house. A vampire had gotten his daughter pregnant.

    He turned to look at Joyce, who was watching with him with a combination of anger and sympathy. "Is Blake... normal?" he found himself asking.

    Joyce's expression hardened. "Yes, Hank. Blake is a normal little boy, who just happens to be extremely intelligent and very intuitive. Not that you'd know, of course, not having seen him for a year."

    "But how? What?" Hank knew he was babbling but couldn't seem to help it.

    Joyce sighed heavily. She gestured for Hank to sit down at the table and walked to the kitchen counter to fix a pot of coffee. Yes, she was angry at her ex-husband, but knew that he deserved some answers. Joyce remembered her own disbelief when she'd learned firsthand of the existence of things that went bumpy and fangy in the night.

    When she placed a mug of coffee in front of her ex's bowed head, Hank looked up at her and nodded his thanks. Taking it between the palms of his hands, the man took a grateful sip.

    "Vampires are monsters, aren't they? The whole blood-sucking and killing thing, they do that, right?"

    Joyce nodded her head in affirmation.

    "So...what?" Hank gestured through the door. "What's different here? I just... can't understand this."

    "Spike's different."

    "How? I mean, look at this from my point of view, Joyce. My ex-wife, daughter and grandchild are living with something that isn't supposed to exist and that has freely admitted to killing people and liking it. How can this be safe?" The anger and outrage had fled, leaving Hank befuddled and disturbed.

    Joyce sighed heavily, resenting the position she'd been put in and once more cursed Hank for his impulsive actions. Buffy was so much like him sometimes. "Let's just say that Spike has earned my trust. I'm not going into details right now, but he has had several opportunities to kill me, yet surprisingly hasn't taken advantage of those situations. Truth be told, instead of doing me in, he saved me from an almost certain death. That type of thing tends to change your opinion of a person."

    Hank was quiet for a moment. "So Buffy... in Vegas...?" His voice trailed off in an unspoken question.

    Joyce nodded. "Again, without going into details... that I don't think either one of us want to dwell on, from what she has said, Buffy saw a lack of reflection and panicked."

    "The reflection thing... that's true?"

    Again Joyce nodded.

    "And he did what?" A hardened edge appeared in his voice.

    "Hank, leave it alone. Spike and Buffy have put it behind them, and quite frankly, it's not my story to tell."

    Hank wanted to argue the point but conceded for the sake of his own personal safety. The one thing that had come through loud and clear was that Spike wouldn't tolerate any upset to what he considered 'his' family.

    And for the moment, Hank wanted his neck attached to his head.

tbc...

A/N- Yeah I know, there was no pain inflicted upon Hank. I'll uh, work on that? Thanks, as always, for the reviews!

<>   
</>