EPISODE EIGHT
A Break in the Regularly Scheduled Game Plan

Spike's dark brows were knitted together in fierce concentration as he prowled along the camp perimeter. He came to a sudden stop and pointed an accusing finger at his partner. "You're not trying hard enough," he stated.

Buffy glared at him, fisted hands on her hips. "Oh, I'm trying," she gritted, teeth clenched. "I'm severely tried. I am so mad at you right now."

"Yeah, I know." The blonde vampire sucked in his cheeks, thinking. He'd been pushing her buttons for at least fifteen minutes now and nothing had happened - not a single sodding thing. He shook his head. "Can't fathom this bloody link. It's all ... wiggy."

The Slayer let go most of her pent-up anger in favor of a snort of laughter. "You said 'wiggy'."

"Sod off," he snarled. "Gormless bint. Wouldn't have a clue if your bony little ass was afire..."

Buffy waved a weary hand at him. "Give it up. The insults just don't work anymore." She blinked. "Hey, do you think the excitement has gone out of our relationship?"

Spike's scowled deepened for a second before his eyes lit with a lascivious glint. "How about if I told you I did the nasty with Red?"

Buffy raised a skeptical brow. "Uh huh."

"It could have happened. Me n' Red, and her little Tinkerbell - all three of us together. Had a grand old time of it, too."

She just looked at him until his shoulders slumped in defeat.

"It's not fair," he complained. "The rollicking temper bit worked a treat yesterday. What changed?"

There was a brief silence and then their eyes met in startled realization. "The Little Nipper," they chimed in perfect unison.

Spike threw his hands up in the air, starting off on one of his hyperactive bouts of pacing. "Bloody brilliant that is," he griped. "Not parents for one day and the tyke's throwin' spanners in where they're not wanted."

Buffy shielded her stomach with her hands as though covering a child's sensitive ears. "Shh!" she scolded. "He'll hear!"

"He?" Spike pulled up short and cocked his head, eyes flicking from her face to her stomach and back again. "It's a he? That definite?"

She contemplated her belly for a moment. "I don't know." She peered back up at him, a picture of uncertainty. "It feels definite. In a totally vague kinda way."

"Yeah, I get that." Spike was able to sense the truth himself, even though it was still rather out of focus. He let out a heavy sigh, sounding both pleased and frustrated at the same time. "So, we're to have a li'l boy then. Doesn't change the fact that he's put a big hole in the power sharin' formula."

"It's only because I'm happy," Buffy assured him. "Because we're happy. It's a whole big happy deal. I just can't tap into that level of angry now - it's too dark." She gave him an anguished look. "Plus, I don't want the baby exposed to that stuff. Not yet."

Spike sauntered over, looped his arms around her waist and pressed a light kiss on her forehead. "'S okay, love, no need to get all fraught. We won't use the dark side quite that way." His fingers began tracing patterns in the small of her back, only to pause as inspiration hit. "Alright then, what if..." He lapsed into silence, lips puckered in a speculative moue.

"What if what?" The Slayer squinted up at him. "You've lost me." She pouted, a little bit piqued. "I can't follow your thought patterns sometimes. Your mind works funny."

Spike peered down his nose at her. "I love you too."

Her eyes narrowed in a way that could have been considered ominous if you didn't notice the playful twinkle. She raised herself up on tiptoe to bite at his chin. "Grr," she said, nibbling her way along his jawbone. "Aargh."

He snorted. "Very convincing."

"Come on," she urged, bouncing a little. "Tell Sunshine the plan."

"Think of the Nipper," he said.

"Huh?" She wrinkled her nose at him. "That completely came out of nowhere. Way to get me un-lost, cryptic boy."

"Knock off the sarcasm, pet, I'm making sense here. Remember on patrol the other week, when that fledgling got fresh?" Spike arched his brows, waiting for her to catch up.

"You went into protective mode and flashed the fangs. You hadn't done that for a while..." She batted her lashes. "Did it make you feel all manly?"

"Slayer..."

"Oh, lighten up." Buffy giggled, sliding her hands up under his T-shirt to tickle his spine. The muscles of his back quivered intriguingly at her touch, but he didn't give in to the distraction. "Alright, I get it," she relented, yielding to his seriousness. "Really. You want me to plug into the protective instinct. Only you want me to use the paternal side, not the maternal."

"Clever girl."

Buffy closed her eyes, concentrating on the feel of Spike's arms around her body, on the smooth texture of his flesh beneath her fingertips. He was her anchor, her tower of strength. He was the one who supported her, protected her and kept her balanced. She imagined someone tearing that all apart, some unseen enemy taking her lover and her unborn child away from her.

Spike's voice insinuated itself into her head, reinforcing her mental picture. "Got to look out for what's yours, Slayer," he murmured. "Protect it with all that's in you, with all that's in me."

Buffy felt the surge of demonic power entering her system, but this time it hit on a much deeper level. Their earlier connection had been mostly surface emotion, a flash-in-the-pan reaction to an outside stimulus. This was a more elemental kind of sensation - basic, primal. This was the instinctive desire to defend one's own. This was Ripley in 'Aliens' shouting, "Get away from her you bitch!"

"Wow," she whispered, opening her eyes again. "That's really intense." Spike's jolt of surprise filtered in over her other emotions and she was instantly wary. "What?"

He offered a smile that tried to be reassuring, but wasn't. There was too much concern in his eyes for that.

"Well, on the bright side, your forehead's bump-free," he told her. "But the yellow peepers have made a comeback and you've gone a bit fangy."

"Fangy?" She probed at her teeth and accidentally sliced one of her fingers on a finely honed edge. "Ow!"

"Yeah, best watch yourself there," Spike advised. "Takes some gettin' used to. Try not to bite your lip."

"This is more fun than a barrel of vamped-out monkeys," Buffy muttered, inspecting her wounded digit. "The eyeball thing I could deal with. That happened before, right? But this tooth thing is ... icky."

Spike quirked an eyebrow. "Gettin' awfully close to insultin' the father of your kid there, pet." He pulled at his lower lip, taking in the new look. "I like it," he declared after a minute or two, nodding his approval. "It's got ... what's the word? Style."

"I just hope it's not permanent."

"'Course its bloody not!" Spike made a disgusted noise. "Don't see me waltzin' about in a constant state of Grr, do you? Bit o' practice and you'll be able to slip in and out whenever you want." A wicked grin curved his lips. "Hey, wanna scare the ex-Watcher?"

Buffy grinned back, the new set of extra-pointy incisors giving her a diabolical air of her own. "Okay."

~*[+]*~

Angel continued to hold Cordelia against his chest, unwilling to let go, even though she had passed out from the pain more than ten minutes earlier. She was not coping particularly well without the massive dose of medication she usually took and drifting off to sleep had been a tender mercy.

He sighed and cupped her cheek in his hand, skimming the pad of his thumb across her brow. It amazed him how much strength she had. She was stronger than anyone he'd ever met - stronger than he was most of the time.

She whimpered and pressed her face into his palm, reliving the vision in her dreams. The aftermath got worse and worse over time until they managed to do something about the foretold circumstances.

Angel scowled, detecting movement out in the dungeon's main tunnel. He waited for a moment, listening as they came closer, then brushed the softest of kisses against Cordy's lips. "I love you," he murmured. "Remember that. No matter what." He glanced up as the cell door flew open to reveal several guards and the dreaded Belial-wagon. "No matter what."

~*[+]*~

Wesley barely looked up when Fred materialized at his side. He would have loved to drop everything in order to spend some time with the young physicist, but at that moment organizing the rebellion had a much greater priority. He did have a brief moment of panic, though, when Spike popped up unexpectedly on his opposite side.

"Boo," Spike intoned mildly, having sensed his fright.

"Hmm," Wes bent his head, embarrassed at having his fidgety disposition exposed in front of Fred. Having the vampire lurking about certainly kept him on his toes. "Shouldn't you be off making yourself useful?"

"Done." Spike reached over the former Watcher's shoulder and flipped through some of the battle plans. "All primed and ready to go when you are."

Wesley glanced at Fred. She shrugged, not getting the problem, and began scribbling on a stray sheet of parchment.

"What do you mean 'done'?" he inquired carefully. Spike was acting way too nonchalant for his liking. "You've managed to perfect your sharing technique this quickly?"

The vampire's bright head dropped for a second. He took a deep breath and raised laughing blue eyes. "May I present," he announced over-dramatically. "Buffy the Vampire!"

He swung back out of the way to expose the Slayer hovering behind him. Buffy leered at them, her eyes shining a pure golden yellow, fangs gleaming.

Wesley stared, unwilling to admit just how shocked he was by this latest development. After the proclamation about the baby, nothing about their relationship should have shocked him at all, but they kept springing these things on him unawares.

Fred clapped her hands, delighted. "That's so great," she enthused. "You can hold that for a while, right?"

"As long as it takes," Buffy told her. "It just takes a tiny shift in concentration."

Wesley continued staring. "You're not mad," he blurted after a moment.

"Mad cranky or mad insane?" Buffy put her hands on her hips and tipped her head at him. "'Cause, depending on what's about to come out of your mouth, I could go either way."

Spike chuckled. "He's just noticed the distinct lack of temper in the transition," he explained. "No reason for twisted knickers."

Fred blinked at him. "You're funny," she said, deadly serious.

Spike nodded, equally straight-faced. "Thanks, love." He moved in back of his Slayer and rested his hands on her shoulders. Buffy's head lolled back against his chest, her human features back in place. "You two mega-brains figured a way home yet?"

Wesley adjusted his glasses. "What's that?"

Buffy sighed. "I knew we were forgetting something." She waved a hand toward the ex-slave girl. "Fred knows all about the portals."

"Not a lot," Fred disagreed. She tapped her quill against the parchment she'd been working on. It was covered in the same consonant patterns that decorated her cave. "The Trionic speechcraft formulation modification has to alter the dynamic reality sphere ... Lutzbalm predicted it at Zurich in '89 ... laughed him off the stage ... Although the slavery and degradation's no laughing matter..." She let out a distracted giggle. "It's no crug-grain and kallaberry breakfast all right."

Buffy and Spike gaped at her, rendered speechless for the time being.

Wesley just nodded thoughtfully. "The Trionic Ledgers are still in the possession of the Covenant," he said. "We will have to succeed in order to get hold of them."

He set his shoulders. Bloody fantastic. Now he had another reason to worry.

~*[+]*~

Cordelia couldn't believe how much the sunlight was aggravating her headache. She couldn't believe she'd slept through Angel being taken away from her. She also couldn't believe she was being so disbelieving. She should be used to the bizarre twist-of-fatey stuff by now, especially whenever Sir Brood-a-lot was involved.

She pouted and squirmed on the throne she had been ... well, tied to, her surreptitious movements earning a scathing glare from Silas.

Wouldn't do to let on to the masses that the princess wasn't exactly a willing participant, would it?

She gave him a death-glare of her own and wriggled a little. See? I'll move if I want to, not-the-boss-of-me evil robed-type from another dimension.

The priest was seated to her left, still keeping up appearances as the stable guide guy looking out for his empty-headed cow princess. He'd informed her that she was more or less the prize for this tournament. After this Groosaluggy thing killed Angel, she'd be going home with it.

Either that or she'd be killed too - not a great range of choices. The bargain basement of choices, any and all choices subject to availability.

She cast a worried gaze around the area. Part of the Village Square had been cordoned off into an uneven hemispherical arena. The space beyond the makeshift barrier was teeming with demony sorts, all braying for blood.

Some of them were also chanting for the Gemel, so Cordy figured that this whole gig was set up to bring them out in the open. Knowing Buffy, it would. And if Spike was as devoted as Angel said he was, then the vampire would be right there with her.

Just as that thought crossed her mind, she caught a flash of white from the corner of her eye. When she turned her head fully, it was gone.

"Is something wrong, Majesty?"

Cordy glanced at Silas. "Nope. I'm just fine. Thanks. You?"

He frowned at her, not at all certain how to take the inquiry, and then turned back to survey the adoring crowd.

Cordelia swallowed, suddenly nervous. That flash had looked an awful lot like sunlight on blonde hair. Was Spike here?

Her gaze flicked back in the direction the flash had come from and she almost gasped when she made direct eye contact with Buffy.

Not Spike - Buffy.

It was obvious how she'd mistaken the two, though. This was a leaner, meaner Buffy with a crop of streaky white-blonde hair, a long leather coat and ... yellow eyes? The Slayer smirked - since when did she smirk? - and disappeared into the crowd.

Cordelia blinked. Jeez, that was freaky.

She cast a wary gaze back toward Silas and had to bite her lip when she spotted Spike in the myriad faces beyond the robed priest, standing right next to a palace guard.

Cordy's not-so-fond memories of the blonde hadn't done him justice. She did not recall his being so amazingly handsome - the sort of handsome male models would cheerfully commit murder for. And in spite of his raw-boned frame and angular face, he looked way healthier than a vampire ought to. He had a sort of glow to his skin that didn't used to be there, like he'd had too much sun. The darker complexion looked great on him, radiant even.

He winked at her then, and she noticed that his eyes were still a soft shade of winter blue, their human color.

Human. Right. Angel had said that Spike was almost human now, that he and Buffy were linked, and that they had been made for each other - the PTB's very own version of Ken and Barbie, complete with built-in super-strength and demon-killing ability, no extra cost. She hadn't really believed what he was telling her, despite his customary soul-guy guilelessness, and yet here was the proof.

She could see both of them now, stalking along either side of the arena with a distinct predator vibe. Matching blonde heads, matching leather coats, matching smirks, and moving in a dynamic synchrony. Mirror images, they were, two seasoned hunters in their prime - sleek and stealthy and dangerous.

And how was it that she was the only one who could see them?

Cordelia sought the familiar face of the Host among the Sentenced-to-Deathees. He nodded, beaming with enthusiasm, and gave her a jaunty little wave.

Okay, so she wasn't the only one. They were about to get rescued. She gnawed at her lower lip, fretting. Where was Angel? And where, for that matter, was Wesley?

A cheer from the crowd brought her out of her wondering funk. The Groosalugg had arrived. He strode into the arena like a conquering hero.

Cordelia glowered at him. He was the guy from her vision all right - the big beefy guy with muscles on top of his muscles and beady little eyes and the sort of he-man hair that belonged in a B-grade barbarian movie.

'My Angel'? Where did that come from? When had she started thinking of him as being hers? Her mind seemed to shut down as realization hit. Time came to a standstill.

"I love him." She sat blinking into space for a moment. "I'm in love with Angel." Nope, still sounded weird, even when she said it out loud.

"Did you say something, Majesty?" Silas didn't sound remotely interested in an answer. He was too distracted by the Groosalugg's sycophantic bowing in front of the royal booth.

Cordelia didn't acknowledge the Pylean champion at all - Hey! In the middle of an epiphany here buddy, don't interrupt. As epiphanies went this was at the top end of the scale and now that she knew how she truly felt about Angel she wanted to see him. She wanted him to be there with her, all dark and broody and solid and safe. She wanted him to get out here and rescue her, damn it!

The crowd did that unified cheering thing again, rousing her from her preoccupation. She glanced around and noticed that they were all staring expectantly at the entrance on the far side of the arena.

The now-familiar cage trundled into view, drawn by one of those poop-producing demon horses. Angel sat forlorn in the back, refusing to acknowledge anything around him - until the cage rattled to a halt and he immediately swung around to meet her eyes.

She sent him an adoring smile and he responded with an almost comedic double take, shooting to his feet and clutching the bars so tightly that his knuckles whitened. His obsidian gaze skimmed over her, checking that she was unharmed, then his brows lowered in that quirky worried expression he sometimes got, with the knot of lines that formed between his eyes and made his forehead crease up in an accordion of furrows. She had always found it incredibly endearing, but seeing it now distressed her.

He was about to fight for his life and he was worrying about her. He always worried about her - about Wesley, about Gunn, about all their helpless clients...

She glared at his broad-shouldered back as he climbed out of the cage. Why don't you think about yourself for once, you enormous lug? Maybe she was being selfish. She needed him stay alive, in an undead kind of way, for her. She had to tell him how she really felt. She owed him that much.

One of the guards that had accompanied the cage into the ring to the opportunity to wallop him in the back of the head with a truncheon thing and Cordelia let out an involuntary cry.

Angel whirled around at the sound, panicking for a second before he realized that she wasn't in any danger. He grinned then. One of those big, slow melty grins that he'd been torturing her with back in their cell. It immediately settled her nerves. Which was probably what he'd intended it to do all along.

Silas was staring at him. There was the smallest trace of fear lurking in the depths of those creepy eyes. "Why is he in cow form?" he asked. "He cannot fight like this."

Cordelia shot him a suspicious look. "Why not? He does it all the time back home." She smiled smugly. "Angel doesn't need that Belial thingy to win. He's a champion too."

"We'll see, won't we?" Silas called over one of his attendants and then got to his feet. "There is to be a change in the schedule," he announced. "The Groosalugg and the Belial will do battle now!"

Cordy shot a distraught glance toward the Host.

Lorne had an odd mixture of joy and concern on his watchful green face. He was extraordinarily pleased that he wasn't about to face the executioner, but apprehensive about his friend's fate.

"Oh boy," he whispered. "Here we go again."

~*[+]*~

Buffy heard the chief priest guy's lordly announcement and scowled, nibbling uncertainly at her lip. She wasn't finished with the scoping part yet and suddenly it was a toss-up for priority - surveillance for Wesley or rescue for Angel?

"Best to go on with Watcher boy's plan, love." Spike's link-voice traversed the gap between their bodies. He was still on the other side of the arena.

"Yeah, I know. You're right," she returned. "Angel can look after himself. For a little while at least."

She met her partner's gaze across the way. Even at this distance the connection made her heart skip a beat. He smirked at her, picking up the aberration, but she continued on as though nothing had happened. She couldn't afford to let him distract her now, she needed to stay in Protect-the-Nipper mode or she would be completely useless to all of them. "Okay. We'll report in, and then on with the show."

~*[+]*~

Angel eyed his opponent, trying to be objective. He had nothing personal against the guy so the whole grudge-match scenario was out. The worrying thing was that he was so ... pro-wrestler-y. He really looked like he could hold his own. On the plus side, he looked human.

Except for his eyes. Damn. Part-demon then. That meant he was probably about equal in the strength department - if not a tad stronger. Not good.

He let his gaze drift back to Cordelia. What was with that smile she'd sent him? There had been true emotion in that smile, a heartfelt message. It was almost like she ...

He cased out the rest of the arena. It was a rough semi-circle in shape, doming away from the flat side where the royal booth was. Where Cordy was... Stop it, you moron, you're doing it again!

There weren't any weapons around, unless you counted the ones carried by the guards, so that mean hand-to-hand - thankfully a genre that he was well versed in.

He began to circle the defensively postured Pylean champion, and tried a tentative smile. Maybe he could negotiate with the guy.

"So," he said. "You do this tournament thing a lot?"

The Groosalugg narrowed enigmatic cobalt eyes. "Do not speak to me, Beast," he spat.

Angel raised his hands placatingly. "Hey, no need to get personal there, pal. I was just being polite. A little civilized conversation before an ass-kicking is not unheard of."

The other man glared at him, his hands flexing into meaty fists. "You are going to die."

Angel shrugged, unimpressed with the threats. He'd heard worse and the whole 'death' thing was pretty redundant as far as he was concerned. "I'll file that for future reference. Thanks."

The Groosalugg moved methodically forward and Angel shifted back, balancing lightly on his feet, his attention straying back toward the royal booth without any conscious thought.

The Pylean noticed the direction of his gaze and gritted his teeth. "Do not defile the princess with your foul stare," he said piously. "You are unworthy of her."

Angel perceived something in his tone, a hint of possessiveness. He tipped his chin cautiously. "And you are?"

"She is promised to me," Groosalugg said. "She is the reward for my loyalty to the Covenant."

Angel shook as a powerful flood of pure demonic rage flushed his system, drawing with it rumblings of the Belial. "No." His voice was tight in his throat, a savage growl of denial. "She isn't. Cordelia isn't anybody's trophy."

He launched himself toward the Pylean champion, relieved that he finally had a reason to fight the guy - and someone to fight for.

EPISODE NINE
Showdown at the Village Corral

Wesley felt like his heart was going to smack right through his ribs. Logically, he knew that the possibility of that occurring was virtually nonexistent, but his nervous system didn't seem to heed logic.

He blew out a long breath and eyed the man to his right - his right-hand man. Wes, old man, you're a babbling fool. "Are you certain your people are ready for this?" he asked.

Jonah didn't even blink. "We've been ready for this all our lives," he said. "But it was you and your friends, strangers to our world, that made it happen. For that we are grateful."

Wesley swallowed. Good Lord, as if he wasn't under enough pressure already. He turned to his left then and found himself staring straight into Fred's wide brown eyes.

"Are ya havin' doubts?" she asked.

"By the dozen," Wes sighed. "Cordelia is alone with Silas, and I'm not sure if Angel can control his demon side, or if this plan is going to work ... I may have doomed us all."

"It's okay," she told him earnestly, placing a reassuring hand on his arm. "You're a smart man. Brave, too. I'm sure y'all will do just fine."

He bowed his head, humbled by her praise. He was in no way worthy of it. "I'll do my best."

Fred nodded as if he'd just revealed one of the secrets of the universe. "Well, that's all any of us can do, right?" Her forehead crinkled as she thought over what he'd just said. "Though you might wanna keep that whole 'doomed' part to yourself."

~*[+]*~

The Groosalugg was winning, Cordelia could tell.

Angel was bruised and battered and beginning to tire. He wouldn't be able to keep up the block-and-dodge routine forever and being the stubborn vamp that he was, he was refusing to transform even though the Belial's extra strength would probably save him.

"Change," she whispered. "Please change."

The vampire's head shot up and his eyes met hers, zeroing in with phenomenal accuracy.

Had he heard -? Of course not, that was a stupid idea.

"No," he growled, right before the Groosalugg's cudgel, unfairly appropriated from one of the palace guards, swung up under his jaw.

It connected with a sickening crack and sent him sprawling backward in the dust. He rolled over and spat out a mouthful of blood, one hand cautiously checking for broken teeth.

Cordy blinked, her breath catching in her throat. But it was Angel's response to her plea that shocked her rather than his injury.

Despite being over twenty feet away, and despite the incessant roar of the crowd, he had heard her. More astonishing was the fact that she'd heard him. How was that even possible?

Plus he was ignoring her. That just wouldn't cut it.

"Change, damn it!" It was an order this time.

Once again Angel's gaze unerringly met hers. He raised himself up into a crouch and shook his head, either in defiance or to clear his vision, it was difficult to tell. He pivoted slightly, keeping an eye on the Pylean champion as he paid a visit to the weapon-dispensing guard and swapped the cudgel for a sword. Apparently the guy was getting bored with the bludgeoning and was ready for some slice and dice.

The Groosalugg bared his teeth in a silent snarl and then rushed the vampire with the sword raised above his head, prepared to strike, a battle cry tearing from his throat. "Rraaagh!"

Angel was trying to gather enough strength to surge up and intercept the blade when a shrill whistle pierced the air, bringing the proceedings to an abrupt halt. The crowd fell silent, all heads turning towards the source of the interruption.

There, at the very same entranceway where Angel had been released into combat, were Buffy and Spike. They stood hand in hand, uncompromisingly beautiful, the very definition of unity in red cotton and black leather.

In the royal booth, Cordelia slumped back in her seat, giddy with relief. That had been the exact same moment where her vision had cut off. Angel wasn't going to die. Not right now anyway.

Silas' murky eyes widened as though he could believe what he was seeing. "The Gemel!"

Angel had to admit they looked pretty impressive - the sunlight making them sparkle like living jewels, all vibrant and golden in a dimension where darkness seemed to be the predominating theme. Come to think of it, he hadn't noticed a single person with blonde hair in Pylea, especially with their striking ivory shades. He wondered if that was significant.

Around the arena, demons and cows alike dropped to their knees in reverence. Even the Groosalugg knelt, his head bowed over the sword in his hands. Perversely, Angel used the distraction to get to his feet. He swayed a little, blood trickling down his face from a cut on his brow.

The couple strolled nonchalantly into the playing field, stopping only as they reached the beaten vampire.

Spike tipped his head, taking in Angel's wounds. He tapped a finger against his own disfigured eyebrow. "You'll have to watch that doesn't scar," he said. "Can't have you ripping off my look."

Angel's lips twitched. "Buffy's already taken care of that." He glanced down at the Slayer and was startled to see her gazing back with eyes of demon yellow. "God!"

"Not quite." She laughed, flashing pointed teeth. "It's close but no cigar for the broody guy with the bloody face. Want a shot at the consolation prize?"

Spike let out a soft sigh of adoration. "Tugs at the heartstrings, dunnit?" he asked dreamily. "Seein' her like that?"

"No, can't say that it does." Something akin to disappointment flitted across Angel's face and he turned his back on the pair, searching for Cordelia. Was she still okay?

"Suit yourself." The younger vampire snorted, but stepped up to flank his Sire anyway.

Buffy immediately positioned herself on Angel's opposite side and Spike had an odd flashback to the last time they'd been in this kind of situation, the three of them pitted against a common foe. Of course, the dynamics of their little trio had been slightly different at the time.

He chanced a peek at Buffy. She had caught the thread of his thoughts and wagged her brows at him, her tongue playfully testing the razor-sharp tip of one of her fangs.

God, she was amazing. He loved her so much it was a wonder he didn't burst from it, particularly at times like this when she was a fiery mix of sass and class. He had loved her back then, too. Even if he'd been, not completely unaware, but unwilling to deal with it. Love was a funny thing indeed...

Angel's possessive snarl snapped him back into the present.

Sod it all, that Silas bloke had Cordelia. Angel's Girl Friday was held tightly against the priest's side in the classic 'I've-got-a-hostage' position. She was none too happy about it either, dark eyes flashing indignantly.

Spike found himself placing a restraining hand on his Sire's shoulder. "Easy, Peaches," he murmured. "We've a method to our madness."

The coiled tension beneath his palm eased, just barely, and Spike stepped forward. He tucked his thumbs in his belt and stared at the priest, belligerence personified.

"Think you might've heard of me," he announced, his voice ringing with authority. "Name's Falchion."

There was a ripple of stunned chatter from the crowd, but Spike chose to ignore them, figuring that's what leader-types did. He felt Buffy's arrival at his side and he threw an arm across her shoulders.

"This is Annulet," he went on. "We're the Gemel and we've come to claim what's ours."

He vaguely recalled making a similar speech when he and Dru had first arrived in a little Hellmouth of a town called Sunnydale. It appeared that karma was a funny thing, too.

He raised his brows at the priest, waiting for a reply.

Silas' mouth opened and closed a few times. "I represent the Covenant of the Trombli," he said finally, recovering some of his scattered dignity.

"Covenant of the bloody Trembly more like," Spike jeered. The crystalline blue of his eyes gleamed with sinister delight. He so enjoyed bringing down arrogant prats like this. "Look at you. Shakin' in your fancy robes. Been up to no good I'd wager."

He pursed his lips thoughtfully and cast an eye around the innumerable demonic faces surrounding them. "I'd also wager he's not been the only one."

On cue, the Groosalugg rose to his feet in front of them. His head remained bent in a submissive manner and he held out his sword as an offering. "I throw myself upon your mercy, noble Gemel," he said.

Buffy stared up at him, astonished. She hadn't realized how tall he was. He was kinda cute too.

Spike shot her a suspicious look, then ran an assessing eye over the giant. Cute, eh? There was a passing resemblance to his Sire, the way he'd been back before that unfortunate gypsy fiasco. Bulky frame, long dark hair, mono-brow - the git practically screamed Neanderthal. Spike decided that he hated him.

"Yeah," he drawled, tongue held firmly in cheek. "Well, don't think my mercy could take the weight, mate. It's not all it used to be. How about you just hit the road?"

The Groosalugg raised a questioning gaze, shocked that they would just let him leave when he had betrayed them so horrendously. "Lord Falchion?"

"What, are you deaf as well as ugly?" The blonde waved an absent hand toward the gate. "Bloody piss off. We've got bigger fish need frying."

Buffy gave him a mental nudge. "Don't aggravate the man, honey," she chastised. "He's a bigger than you."

Spike sucked on his lower lip, irked by her apparent lack of faith. "Believe there's a common saying 'bout that. The bigger they are..."

"...The harder they can hit." Angel rubbed his swollen jaw, ostensibly joining the conversation, even though his attention was still focused unwaveringly on Cordelia. "You don't wanna take him on. Trust me."

"'Bout as far as I could kick you," Spike grumbled. They were ruining his big moment, the both of them. Sodding spoilsports. He contemplated the Pylean champ, who had not yet made any attempt to leave, and huffed as though he were being forced to make some great sacrifice. "Right, how's this? You join our band of merry roustabouts and I don't bite you."

"Bite?" The Groosalugg was startled. He peered back and forth between them, then stared wide-eyed as Buffy bared her fangs at him in not-so-subtle intimidation. "Yes, uh, that is agreeable." He bowed again and moved back.

"On second thought..." Spike thrust out a hand to stall his progress, catching him around a chunky arm. "Give over the sword, Conan. Could use some decent weaponry in the coming rumpus."

Angel narrowed his eyes at his Childe, baffled by all the cryptic references. "Roustabouts?" he asked. "Coming rumpus?"

Buffy peered at the older vampire, suspicion in her eyes. "Were you always this slow on the uptake? I mean, I was kinda young and everything but I don't remember you being slow."

Spike pointedly ignored them, swiping the broadsword from Groo's grasp and turning it over in his hands as he wandered toward the royal booth, the blade's presence underscoring the impression of total command over the situation. He swung it in a couple of arcs for good measure, rolling his wrists and testing its weight.

"So," he said finally, planting the sword's tip in the ground between his feet and folding his hands on its hilt. "What's it to be? Gonna surrender all peaceable like, or you gonna make me come get you?"

Silas swallowed, visibly shaken, but he did not release Cordelia from his panicked hold. She glared at the priest with her lips pressed in a mutinous line, then defiantly stomped on his foot. Silas retaliated by shoving her away. She fell backward out of sight, yelling curses, unable to break her fall because of her bound hands.

"Son of a bitch," Angel growled, low and angry. Buffy grabbed his wrist as he started forward and held him firmly in place. He shot her a scalding glance, resenting her interference, and wrenched himself out of her grasp. He was trembling with the intensity of his rage, but refused to morph into the Belial - he couldn't afford to go on a mindless rampage now, he had to be strong for Cordy's sake.

Spike's mouth curved in a cruel smile. "Guess that means option number two is a go. I was hopin' that'd be the case."

He hefted the sword and flung it spear-like at the priest's head, missing by the narrowest of margins. It slammed into the rear wall, the blade burying itself almost entirely in the paneled wood.

There was an eerie stunned silence and then pandemonium erupted as Wesley and the rebels stormed the arena from all sides, engaging the unprepared crowd of demons in battle.

A surprise attack. This, obviously, was the coming rumpus that Spike had been alluding to.

Grateful for the distraction, Angel charged the royal booth, a burst of preternatural agility propelling him from the playing field to the platform in the blink of an eye.

He landed catlike on the ledge, then used it as a springboard to push forward into a row of guards that were blocking a rear exit. Silas, slippery weasel that he was, had managed to grab Cordy and get out quicker than Angel would have imagined. He took his frustration out on the hapless sentries, dispatching them with brutal efficiency, and then turned back to face the arena. He was torn between the need to aid the rebellion - they were hopelessly outnumbered and the element of surprise would only continue to work in their favor for a short time - and going off to rescue his princess.

Spike forced the decision by leaving his flank open and getting jumped from behind by a green-skinned demon the same species as Lorne. Angel caught the faint sound of Buffy's warning shout beneath the sounds of the battle and leapt back into the conflict to save his Childe.

Spike, as usual, was less than appreciative of his efforts.

"I'd've taken care of the blighter soon enough," he grouched, sullenly prodding the inanimate body of his assailant with the toe of his boot. "Go get your own."

Buffy sprinted by in the pursuit of a runaway opponent. She was a tiny nimble streak of white gold amid the much larger opposition and the two vampires paused to watch as she took the fugitive down - no mess, no fuss. Angel was awed by her prowess. She was on top form, better than he could ever remember her being. If she'd been this proficient when Angelus was on the loose, he wouldn't have stood a chance.

"Nice work, love," Spike applauded, a wry smirk creasing his face. He was so relaxed Angel half-expected him to pull out a cigarette and light up. Buffy acknowledged her partner's praise with a saucy little salute and returned once again to the melee.

Wesley was visible in the near distance, Fred at his back, doing quite well for himself. He and his sidekick had evidently gotten their lethal-looking axes from Buffy and Spike's portable arsenal - the couple themselves boldly going without.

The Groosalugg was true to his word, joining in on the side of the rebellion and making great progress on their behalf. Angel was about to comment on the guy's fickleness when he was hit in the lower back with a crossbow bolt. He awkwardly ripped the skewer free and spun on the offending demon, catching him as he tried to reload and pummeling him repeatedly, jaw locked with grim determination.

"Sid," Spike said suddenly, breaking his concentration.

Angel gave his adversary one final punch before turning to his Childe in confusion. "What?" The ill-fated crossbower crumpled in a discarded heap of demon goop.

"Sid," the younger vamp repeated. He tested the name, turning it over in his head. "Sid Grey. Got a ring to it, yeah? It's perfect. Don't know why I didn't think of it before."

Buffy emerged from behind the barricade where she had been disposing of a guard. "No," she ordered, pointing an adamant finger. "No way."

Angel peered back and forth between the duo. He had that 'missed-the-establishing-scene' feeling. Something significant must have taken place during his incarceration 'cause now there was a whole other level of what-in-the-hell?

"What is going on with you two?" he asked.

They ignored both him and the battle going on around them.

Buffy stalked up to poke her partner in the chest. "You are not naming him after some psychotic punk from a crusty old group..."

"Crusty?!" Spike was horrified by the description.

"Plus," Buffy continued. "It sounds like something you'd call a dog. An incredibly ugly stray dog."

The bleached vampire actually pouted, reminding Angel of a sulky three-year-old. "I like it."

Buffy was unmoved. "I don't."

"Oh, right. S'pose you wanna christen him Rupert or Xander. Or, God forbid, Riley."

The Slayer ducked her head. "That was a low blow."

Spike winced as a combination of his guilt and her muted pain twigged inside his chest. He nudged a finger under her chin until she looked up at him. "I need to have some input, love," he said softly. "You can't take the full load on your own. Not with this."

"Well, how much more input do you want?" Buffy sounded oddly put out. "You're the one with all the symptoms. I got squat. Or I will. Get squat, I mean."

Symptoms? Angel frowned. Was Buffy sick?

He studied her more closely. She was holding her hands flat against her belly, rubbing in tiny circles. It was a completely unconscious action and he was transfixed by it, so startled by the implications that he almost forgot to listen to what she was talking about.

"All I'm saying is that apart from being able to sense him on some bizarro level, I don't even know that he's here..."

"Believe me, you don't want the alternative." Spike grimaced. "Mums the world over have my bleedin' sympathies."

Angel shifted his intense scrutiny to the other vampire. Under the newly humanized tone of his skin he was pale and sort of gaunt, like he hadn't been feeding properly. Then he realized what Spike had just said.

"I ... Did you just -? Mum?" he croaked.

They looked at him, finally remembering his presence.

"It's British for Mom," Buffy said absently before comprehending his amazement. "Oh. Um, we didn't tell you?"

"Got a Nipper on the boil, we do." Spike puffed up like the proud papa he was apparently about to become. "You gonna congratulate us or stand there and brood, Granddad?"

Angel didn't rise to the bait. "Is that why -?" He indicated the Slayer's eyes and teeth with a terse gesture.

Buffy's hand shot defensively to her mouth. She'd forgotten that she was in protect-mode. "No. No, this is ... Well, its sort of related but its not..." She stopped babbling and glared at him. "You know what? It's none of your business."

Her attention flitted distractedly to a point past his shoulder and Spike executed a textbook spin-kick, duster whirling, to take out the demon that had been rushing them from behind. He turned back to the conversation without a second glance, not even breathing heavily. "That's right. You tell him, sunshine."

"But a baby?" Angel prodded.

"Don't see why you're so shocked all of a sudden." Spike eyed him with disdain. "You're the one who brought it up in the first place. Or don't you remember?"

He did. It had been the day after their link had been made permanent. Buffy had been mortified by the subject matter at the time. Though, seeing as how that had only been a month ago and she was already expectant, then she must have gotten over it pretty damn quick.

Something of what he was thinking must have shown on his face because Buffy's eyes narrowed dangerously. "And again?" she gritted. "None of your business."

Spike graced him with one of his self-satisfied smirks, shoulders hitching as he tucked his thumbs in his belt. "She couldn't resist my sinister attraction," he boasted, only to reel back in pain as Buffy set off his chip. "Bloody hell, woman!"

She scowled at him, hands on hips. "Shut. Up." She gave Angel a well-used and slightly worn smile of apology. "He still needs to work on some of his blabbermouth issues."

Angel understood then that she probably had to make excuses for Spike on a regular basis. He felt sorry for her. Spike would never fit easily into 'proper' society. He was too rough around the edges, too insolent, and way too insightful. Combine that with his blatant lack of tact and delight in mayhem, and you were asking for trouble.

Talk about a dysfunctional family. They really had no idea what they were getting into with this baby.

"No need for the invective, you know. I was just bein' honest," Spike defended, one hand pressed to his forehead. He ignored the battered freedom fighter that suddenly landed at his feet.

Buffy grabbed the fallen man and tossed him back out of the way, but Spike still had her full attention. "You were being a pig."

"And now the pig bit gets another airing. When you gonna try out a new one, Slayer? That's gone into re-runs." His eyes glinted, the point of his chin jutting out in an unspoken challenge.

They were standing toe to toe and Angel balked at the tension in the air. Spike wasn't playing now, he was genuinely angry and if Buffy weren't using his demon at the moment, he probably would have vamped out.

Inconvenient for him - really amusing too.

"What're you so bleedin' happy about?" Spike snarled, noticing the smile on his Sire's face.

"Has the fact that we're in the middle of a revolution slipped your minds?" Angel asked, disregarding his Childe's fury.

Buffy pulled a repentant face, an expression somewhat restricted by her fangs. "Oops. Sorry," she lisped. "Our bad."

Spike gave her the glare to end all glares and charged once more into the fray, taking out any non-human he could get his hands on.

"I pissed him off," Buffy mumbled, her gaze following the destructive path of Spike's hit and hit-some-more strategy. "I hate when I do it by accident. It's much more fun with some purpose behind it."

Angel peered down at the top of her very-blonde head. "He was only doing what came natural. For the demon side of him especially. Hell, if I'd managed to knock up the Slayer, I'd be shouting it from the rooftops..." He took a pensive breath and quickly derailed that train of thought. "Oh, um... Okay, that was a little too Angelus-y wasn't it?"

"Uh huh," she folded her arms at her middle, looking decidedly uncomfortable.

They continued to watch Spike work on his solo demon-eradication scheme, Buffy wincing a little when he took a particularly bad blow and rubbing at the corresponding part of her own anatomy.

Angel bit his lip. There was an awkward silence now, a new experience between Buffy and himself. And he'd never been comfortable with new experiences.

"So, a baby?" he said again, trying desperately to sound positive about it.

"Yeah." Buffy shot him a piercing glance that was way too Spike-like, daring him so say anything further. "Happy news."

"Happy," Angel nodded. "I get that."

Spike bounced back to them then, hyped up on adrenaline. His eyes were wild, the hem of his T-shirt was torn and hanging in a ragged strip, and there was a trail of blood seeping from a split in his bottom lip.

"You side-line sissies are lettin' the festivities pass you by," he reported, wiping at the gore on his chin with the back of his hand. "While you've been standin' here having a right old natter, us more enterprising types've got the bads on the run."

He swiveled around and gave a cheery double thumbs-up to Wesley, who had started rounding the remaining demons into smaller groups, each with their own rebel guard.

Fred was still by the ex-Watcher's side, following his every move with wide-eyed admiration, and the Host had joined them. He looked relatively unharmed, his spiffy ensemble rumpled and dusty, but intact.

Wes himself waved to the vampiricly inclined threesome, urging them to proceed in their rescue of Cordelia.

"Everything seems under control here," Angel said. "I'll leave you guys to it. There's a princess that finally needs to be rescued." His eyes took on a deeply ominous gleam. "And a priest that really needs to be killed."

The worried faces of his companions didn't seem to register, or if they did he chose to disregard them. He sped off toward the castle, not sparing them a backward glance.

Buffy locked eyes with Spike, letting her features morph back to normal. In the split second it took for green to meet blue the animosity between them evaporated.

"Still got your back, Slayer," he offered. He tried the irresistible tilted-head quirked-eyebrow combo, and then added the pouty-lip for good measure. Forgive me?

"You'd better," she retorted. Always.

A beat, and then they grinned at each other, joined hands and sprinted after Angel.

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