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Lapdog by Sigyn
 
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    “Look, he’s gonna drown, will you hold him steady?”

    “He’s not gonna drown.”

    “Stop him flailing about, he’s getting water all over my crypt.”

    “Good. Maybe you’ll have an excuse to wash the floor.”

    “I don’t see you all keen on housework, Donna Reed.”

    “Who?”

    Spike rolled his eyes. Time to update his pop culture references. Again.

    The child was in a five gallon bucket, which Spike had filled with cold water from the watering spigot near his crypt, and warmed with boiled water from his plug-in kettle. He didn’t have anything like a stove – he didn’t actually cook. He hadn’t had to for a century, and it was only recently that he’d eaten much human food at all. Buffy had insisted on a bath for the boy, which hadn’t been a bad idea, as he was covered in blood and dirt and whatever else his captors hadn’t cared if he rolled in. “Damn. I don’t have a towel. Spike, you got any extra t-shirts?”

    “Yeah.”

    “Bring us up a couple.”

    Buffy dried the boy in one black t-shirt, put a diaper on him, and dressed him in another. “I forgot to get him any clothes,” she said. She looked around the crypt. “And where’s he going to sleep?”

    “Coffin,” Spike said.

    “I’m not putting him in a coffin!”

    “Hey, it’s cushioned, lined in silk, and he won’t roll out of it. I got two down below, they’ll do fine. It’s not like he cares what they are.”

    Spike dumped the water out the door of the crypt and came back in to find the kid on top of his sarcophagus, Buffy putting a bandaid on the boy’s neck. “The brat okay?”

    “Not bleeding,” Buffy said. She gave him the squeezed out hedgehog sponge to play with and looked up at Spike. “You have the chip under control, now?”

    Spike shrugged. “We’ll find out,” he said.

    “Listen, if it gets too much–”

    “If it gets too much, I’ll just have to wait for you,” Spike said. “There’s not much else to do. None of your Scoobies would survive as babysitter if he turns.”

    Buffy sighed. “I didn’t think making you babysitter was going to actually hurt you,” she said.

    “Hey, it is what it is. If it weren’t for the sodding chip, you wouldn’t trust me to watch him at all.”

    “If it weren’t for the chip, I couldn’t,” Buffy said. “Could I.”

    It wasn’t accusatory. It was serious, and Spike didn’t really have an answer. She seemed to be waiting for one, though. “I don’t know,” he said. “It’s not like natural blood lust turns you into a mindless animalistic automaton.”

    “Yeah,” Buffy said. “But it’s not as if you’d feel guilty, either.”

    “There are other motivations for not committing crimes besides guilt,” Spike said. He jumped behind her and caught the boy as he was about to fall off the edge of the sarcophagus.

    Spike set him on the floor, where he promptly found the puddle from his bath, and started to splash in it, getting his t-shirt wet. “Wet!” he announced. Spike sighed.

    “Like what?” Buffy asked.

    “Self-preservation. Common sense. Convention. I’m not an animal, I’m a vampire. I can actually make choices.”

    “It’s just you like to make evil ones.”

    Spike turned to her. “Why the hell are you asking this?”

    “Would you turn it off, if you knew how?”

    “The chip?”

    “Yeah.”

    “Doesn’t matter,” Spike said. “I’m used to it by now.”

    “Spike.”

    “Just let it go, it’s a stupid question.”

    “It is not a stupid question, it’s a moral one,” Buffy said.

    “Vampire. Amoral. You already said that.”

    “So, you’d choose to kill. You’d turn the chip off, and go hunting.”

    “It’s not that simple,” Spike said.

    “I just want to know if you’d still choose to turn it off.”

    “Of course I’d turn it off!” Spike snapped. “It’s bloody dangerous.” He glared at her. “It leaves me with one incredibly exposed flank, and a whole army looking in at it. I’ve gone through two world wars and countless smaller rebellions, you think I don’t know what a ticked off human could do to me, when I can’t fight back?” He shook his head. “I’m terrified,” he admitted. “Always. Feasting and killing aside, I’m terrified, Buffy. I went overnight from a god to a hunted rabbit. Yeah, I’d get rid of the damn thing.” He turned his head away and looked down at the corner of his crypt, composing himself. Finally, he seemed to realize he couldn’t. “Excuse me,” he said, turned away, and went down the ladder.

    Buffy hadn’t realized the enormity of what she was asking. Mostly, she just wanted to know if he still wanted to kill people. She hadn’t meant to almost make him cry.

    “Buppy. Buppy, I hungy,” the boy said, pulling at her shirt.

    Buffy looked down. The kid’s shirt was wet, and he looked cold. “Let me get you some... uh... cheese?”

    “No. Cookie.”

    “I should be strict,” she said. “But it’s three days. Eat whatever.” She pulled a little box of animal crackers out of the grocery bag, opened it, and handed it to him. He toddled off happily with it in his hand, and went to pull at some of the roots that were growing through the walls.

    Spike came back eventually with another spare t-shirt, and he and Buffy had to play a bit of a chase game to catch the kid in order to get it on him. He scampered about the room, spilling animal crackers left and right, shrieking with laughter. Buffy finally caught him and changed his shirt, and Spike used the wet one to mop up the puddle on the floor.

    “Sorry I cornered you like that,” Buffy said, still holding the wiggly child. “About the chip. It was just, when you said that spider thing, about laying traps....”

    “Yeah?”

    “Well, why don’t you? Or... are you? I mean... you’re not secretly....”

    “Like I’d tell you if I was, slayer,” he said with an amused smile. “That was another stupid bloody question. But no, I’m not finding inventive ways around the chip to go killing people. Like I said, there are other reasons not to commit crimes, and I’m bloody vulnerable. I got off human blood.” He shrugged. “That wasn’t what I needed about killing, anyway.”

    “What do you mean?”

    Spike looked up at the ceiling of his crypt. “There are two kinds of kill. One, I still do, albeit with demons and other nasties. That’s battle, that’s artistry, that’s the rush and the crunch and the joy in the power. It’s got sod all to do with blood.”

    “And the other?”

    “That’s the blood,” Spike said, and his voice was softer. “That’s... intimate. That’s taking a life and making it part of you. It’s heat and heartbeat and the gift in the death. In it’s own dark way, it’s like making love.” He glanced over at her, almost shyly, and then looked away. Buffy wanted to be disgusted – last year, she would have been. But after having died, a gift of death didn’t seem so bizarre anymore. And he sounded so wistful. “So, yeah, I could set up spider traps. They could kill people, I could wait and catch ‘em still fresh before they clot up, get all the human blood I’d want – presuming I was bloody hundreds of miles away from you at the time, slayer mine, ‘cause I know that would tick you off something royal,” he added with a smile. “But it’s dead blood.” He shrugged. “What’s the point?”

    “Doesn’t human blood... well, taste better?”

    He shook his head, dismissive. “I got off it,” he said. “It’s easier not to get on it again. Of course, blood banks get rid of old or just expired blood all the time, and you can imagine the black market for that here in Sunnydale is thriving. So I have actually had human blood in the last few years. A taste here and there – and,” he interjected, probably reading her expression, “I’ve been told Angel used to as well, by the same dealers he used, so don’t get all holy about it. There’s no victim involved. But a shot or two of donor blood isn’t the same as going exclusively human. Think an ex-alcoholic having a glass of wine. I mean, it’s nice, but I’m gonna stop there, before things get ugly.” He gazed at her. “Getting off it wasn’t fun, pet. You were there, you saw me. It’s not worth getting hooked again, not for dead blood, when killing people would put me at risk from vengeful humans. And you.” He sighed. “I’ve had angry mobs after me before, I’d rather not try to survive one when I can’t fight back.”

    “So, it’s not a moral decision,” Buffy said.

    Spike rolled his eyes. “Does it matter?”

    “Only if you were a person, I guess,” Buffy said. She looked at the light growing outside, so didn’t see the wince he had at her words.“I gotta get home to Dawn. I’ve been out all night.” She looked at the kid, picking animal crackers up off the floor and stuffing them in his mouth. She looked daggers at Spike. “You are going to be all right with him, aren’t you?”

    “This was your sodding idea,” Spike said coldly. “If you doubt it now, take him with you.”

    “You know I can’t do that,” Buffy said. “Dawn, Willow, Tara.” She frowned. “Do you think Willow could cast a spell to see if he’s turning? I mean, reveal the demon early or something?”

    “You mean find out before you get attached?” Spike asked.

    Buffy’s next breath was a little shaky. “Something like that.”

    Spike shrugged. “Ask her. Let ‘em know you’re going to be playing baby-sitter, too. I’m not taking this brat on alone, no matter what you say.”

    “Right,” Buffy said. “I guess I should... tell Giles too...?” She did not sound as if she knew exactly what the best course was. “And I’m gonna need a nap...”She handed him the boy, and Spike took a deep breath. “I’ll be back by this afternoon. Or – maybe later this morning. I’ll be back today, I mean. I don’t... I’ll be back soon, okay?” She pointed her look directly at the boy. “Be back soon. Bye-bye!” she waved.

    “Ba-bye!” the boy said, waving. After Buffy closed the door of the crypt behind her, he looked up at Spike. “Where Buppy go?”

    “Bitch can go to hell,” Spike said.

    “Where Buppy go?” he asked again.

    Spike looked down at him. “You know, sometimes I ask myself the same question.” He turned on the telly. “Hell, if it isn’t early morning cartoons.” He sat down with the kid on his lap. “Amuse yourself.”
 

 

 
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