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Lapdog by Sigyn
 
Lapdog
 
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    The night was cool and peaceful. Buffy knew she should go home. She knew she should make sure Dawn had done her homework and got to bed at a reasonable hour. She knew she had laundry to do, and she hadn’t cleaned her bathroom in... well, ever, and the toilet was starting to get a ring which her mother would never have allowed. She needed to get some groceries, too, and the lawn.... Well, Xander might mow the lawn for her, but she needed to ask him.

    Not for the first time, she wished none of it was her job.

    She knew, if they’d never bothered bringing her back from the dead, that it would all be someone else’s problem. It would be Tara’s job to bring home the groceries, and turn them into breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Willow would figure out how to keep the house clean. Xander would just do the yard and repair work, without anyone having to ask him, and Dawn would have to figure out how to grow up fast, just as Buffy had – what with all the death and slaying she’d had to do.

    And Spike could do the slaying, she thought, as she spied him sauntering through the cemetery, not very subtly coming toward her. “Knew you’d be here.”

    “Didn’t know you would be,” she said. Her feelings toward Spike lately had become very vague. The clearly delineated lines between good and evil had blurred so much in him that she wasn’t at all sure where he stood, either in her opinion of him, or in his position in the world. He’d gone in her Slayer Foes category from dangerous enemy, to trusted enemy, was eventually downgraded to mere adversary, then trusted adversary, then further downgraded to annoyance. Once she’d realized he was in love with her, he’d been slightly upgraded to distrusted and active annoyance.

    After he’d nearly died to protect Dawn at the hands of Glory, Buffy had ostensibly placed him in a completely different Necessity category, but she wasn’t sure if he was a welcome or unwelcome necessity.

    Now that she had been torn back into the real world of finances, frustration, and pain, Spike was just... there. Sometimes she hated that he was there. Sometimes, she was so glad of it.  Right now, it seemed like too much bother to try and figure out what she felt about it.

    “Need some help on patrol?”

    She shrugged. “I checked out the new graves. Nothing unusual.”

    “Um, well... how about them,” Spike asked, pointing through the darkness to the other end of the cemetery.

    A pair of vamps – not newborns, since they weren’t dressed in funeral garb – was on their way through the cemetery, heading for one of the tombs both Spike and Buffy knew led to the tunnels. “Friends of yours?” Buffy asked, as she broke into a run.

    “I don’t have any vamp friends anymore, you know that,” Spike added. “And thank you so much for bringing it up.”

    “It’s not my fault you’re an amoral demon with no problems killing your own kind,” Buffy puffed.

    “Hey,” Spike said. “Gotta kill something.”

    “Actually,” Buffy said, jumping over a gravestone, “no. Most people don’t.”

    “Says the girl with the stake in her hand,” Spike said.

    “I’m not most – people!” Buffy said,  having caught up with the vampires at last, and landing a blow on the nearest one.  A man and a woman, unkempt and slovenly, as far too many young vampires tended to be. Something about coming back from the dead seemed to make most of them feel like the niceties of life were beyond them, or perhaps like they didn’t need to bother with hygiene or good grooming any longer. Buffy had never understood it.

    Until recently.

    She punched the male in the face, and ducked as he swung back. The woman swung a duffel bag off her shoulders and tried to give Spike a good batter with it, but he back stepped it, and then got in a good hit, making the female vampire stagger backwards. Buffy was actually bored by her opponent, who seemed to think that if he just kept hitting wide, one of his blows would connect. But she kept having difficulties getting a good shot at his chest. The woman dropped her duffel bag and tried to head butt Spike’s torso, but Spike grabbed her, turned her, and held her down with his foot.

    “Slayer!” he called out, and Buffy realized the man she was battling had managed to pull out a knife. He suddenly seemed much more confident, and Buffy realized he had skills with the blade he didn’t realize he had with his fangs – he must have been a knife-fighter before he was turned.

    Buffy read Spike’s intention in his fighting stance, so she ducked and rolled, taking over the pressure on the woman’s back, as Spike did a flying twist over her to face the male. This gave Buffy time to stake the female, who went up in dust a second later, while Spike made a round house kick that caught the blade on his thick black boot, effectively rendering it useless. The male twisted, bending over in an attempt to regain balance, and Buffy dusted him before he’d even realized Spike had maneuvered him in front of her.

    Spike grinned, and Buffy couldn’t help but crack a smile, even if she rolled her eyes during it. It had been a good fight. The two of them fought well together, something that had always been the case, even when they were fighting each other. The problem with having a sense of your opponent’s moves and intentions meant that neither of them ever really got the upper hand, so their fights just went on and on. This battle intuition between them worked much better when they were on the same side. The fights usually ended quickly, whenever they voluntarily worked together.

    “Well, that got the old blood pumping,” Spike said.

    “You don’t pump. Blood.” She stopped, realizing she had, yet again, inadvertently thrown him an innuendo. She had no idea how these kept falling out of her mouth.

    “Who said I was talking about mine?” Spike said, managing to make it sound like something erotic.

    “Shut up,” Buffy said, and was annoyed to realize it sounded more flirtatious than anything else.

    “Should we check the tunnels?” Spike asked.

    “Nah. They weren’t dressed like they were heading for a party. I should get home.”

    “I’ll stick with, till you’re out of the graveyard,” Spike said. She didn’t even want to protest. Spike’s company had become much easier than anyone else’s. They’d walked a few steps when Spike stopped. “Hang on a sec,” he said, sniffing. He turned and looked behind a gravestone. Sure enough, there was the medium sized duffle bag the woman had been carrying, carelessly dropped on the turf. “Buffy,” he said grimly. He opened the bag, and pulled something out. At first, Buffy thought it was a bundle of clothes. Then she thought it was another bag within the first one. Then, to her horror, Buffy realized what he held in his hands. A small child, bound with duct tape.

    It wiggled, clearly alive, and Spike ripped the tape off its wrists.

    Buffy looked, and gasped. “What in the hell?” she asked. “Why would a vampire–?”  She cut herself off, realizing the truth.

    “It’s a pack lunch,” Spike said, answering anyway.

    Buffy sagged in horror and sat on the gravestone. “Is he all right?”  The child’s eyes stared wide at them. He couldn’t have been older than two. His brown hair was mussed and sticky, and there was blood on his shirt. Spike worked the duct tape off the child’s mouth, looking him over. Buffy answered her own question. “He seems okay,” she said. “Can you track his scent, Spike? We have to get him back home – if there is anyone at home. Ugh. This is horrible.”

    “More horrible than you know,” Spike said a second later. He leaned a little away from the boy. “It could be even worse.”

    “What do you mean?”

    “He might not be lunch. He might be a lapdog.”

    “A what?”

    Spike showed Buffy the bite marks on the child’s neck. “They might have turned him,” Spike said.

    Buffy was horrified all over again. “But, wait, wouldn’t he be going through transition? He’d look dead, right, until the demon took over?”

    “Not necessarily,” Spike said. “Not at this size. There’s so little blood to start with, you can turn an infant even without even killing them first. And he has been bitten. Until the demon makes it through his system to the brain, we’d have no way of knowing.”

    “How long does that take?”

    “Same for an adult, one to three days,” Spike said. “You know that.”

    “And he might not go through a death transition? He’d just turn around and suddenly be vamped?”

    “Pretty much, though it usually happens while they’re sleeping. It’s just that the heart’ll stop and the demon’ll take over at pretty much the same time. None of this waiting period between.”

    “Why would anyone turn a baby?”

    “Like I said,” Spike said. “As a lapdog.”

    Buffy was surprised at the distaste in his voice. “Spike, does this bother you?”

    He shrugged.

    “Since when do you care about anyone dying or being turned?”

    “Ever been annoyed by a Chihuahua?” Spike asked, stepping back with disgust. “I hate lapdogs, they’re a pain.”

    Buffy collected the child – who was clearly in shock – and pulled him to her. His warm little body was a surprisingly comfortable weight in her arms. He held on to her with his chubby little hands as if she was the angel of salvation. “What are they like, these lapdogs?”

    “Well, the name came from something. Around humans, they’re like rabid dogs,” Spike said. “Ankle biters.”

    “And around other vampires?”

    “Brats,” Spike said with contempt. He stood up to go. “Put it in a cage till you know for sure. I’ll see you later.”

    “What? No!”

    “No, you won’t see me later?”

    “No, I’m not putting him in a cage!” Buffy said. “He’s a victim!”

    “He’s a snack,” Spike said.

    “And you’re a monster.”

    “We’re in agreement, there,” Spike said.

    Buffy glared at him. “You take him.” She pressed the child into his arms.

    “What?” Spike stepped back, refusing to hold it.

    “Well, I can’t take him home, he might attack Dawn or Willow,” Buffy said. “Clearly we’re going to have to watch him for the next three days until we’re sure he’s clean.”

    “So you’re dropping him on me?” Spike asked, incredulous.

    “You’re the only one who’d know what to do with him if he was turned.”

    “Dust him,” Spike said flatly. “It’s bloody obvious. The demon’s a demon no matter how short it is.”

    “Yeah, but if he isn’t turned, I don’t want him any more traumatized than he already is,” Buffy said. “He’s going to have to stay at your crypt until the quarantine’s over.”

    “This isn’t a disease, it’s a sodding demon,” Spike said. “I don’t want this thing all over my crypt.”

    “Why not?”

    “Because he’s supposed to be a meal, not a minion,” Spike said. He stared at Buffy seriously. “You have no idea how awful these things are. They’re too small to hunt properly, and too bloody stupid to protect themselves. Even Dru knew better than to try and turn them into dolls, they’re nasty. They’ll rip things apart, and walk into the sun if you don’t keep an eye on them.”

    “Well, you’re going to keep an eye on him, then, aren’t you.”

    “Buffy, I know this might be hard for you. You’re human, and he’s cute. If he turns, I’ll kill him for you–”

    “I didn’t say that!” Buffy snapped.

    “–but I’m not going to play nursemaid for your latest charity case.”

    Buffy came up to Spike and hit him in the nose with her free hand. He fell backwards against a gravestone, and Buffy sat down on him, straddling his legs, the boy still in her arms. “You listen here, Spike,” she said into his face. “I need your help, and you’re going to help me. You are going to take this child into your crypt and keep him there for three whole days. During that time, I’ll try to find out what house he came from, and if he has any family left alive. In the meantime, you are going to feed him, and change him, and keep him happy, and if I find you’ve locked him in a cage then so help me, I’ll find one big enough for you and keep you there for a year! Do you hear me?”

    “Of course I hear you, you stupid bint,” he growled. “You’re sitting on my balls.”

    Buffy stood up hastily.

    “Fine,” Spike said. “I’ll bloody take him. But I’m going to need to sleep sometimes. If you don’t want me locking him up, you gotta come and take relief watch.”

    “Fine,” Buffy growled. She looked the boy over. He was still in diapers, and his little hands looked too uncoordinated to handle grown up cups. “I’m going to have to go to a store, buy some stuff for him. What do toddlers eat?”

    “I only know how to eat toddlers,” Spike said bluntly. “I have no sodding idea.”

    “That’s disgusting, Spike,” Buffy said.

    “Eating them’s just evil,” Spike pointed out. “This is disgusting.” He headed for his crypt, the kid under his arm like a sack of potatoes.

    It took Buffy a minute to realize he didn’t mean the child itself – he meant changing it to a lapdog.

 
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